July jollies: Gordita-eating trannies
The hands-down winner of Best Tattler Tale of July is the The Gordita-eating Trannies. I mean come on! The title probably wins best title of 2005:
Patrick teased us earlier this week with promises of his story about the Gordito-Eating Trannies. Jocelyn and Gladys begged him to post it. He finally did. And of course it deserves a full posting, not just at the bottom of "Crazy Commuting Tales."
This is the tale of Ms Macramé and Ms Demure.
First, let me say that I love, no LOVE, the Transit Theater. I credit this to my late mother, a 1960’s cocktail drinkin’, Chesterfield smokin’ minister’s daughter who often took me, as a child, to hang out at the international terminal at O’Hare just to go “people watching”. At age 6 I was already fascinated by the seemingly endless visual smorgasbord of the human race.
Earlier this summer on a late Friday afternoon in mid-June, I left work a bit early. I was tired, it had been a long week and I just didn’t want to deal with the rush hour crowd in the loop. Mornings I usually take the Brown Line to downtown because I enjoy the morning light but at night I just want to get home as soon as possible so I always grab a north bound Red Line at Monroe. This Friday was like most; the car was full but not packed and it was very quiet. At the Lake St stop it all changed.
A few people got on including two remarkable young black women who grabbed everyone’s attention. They were young, tall and even taller in their summer heels. Big hair and breasts really added to the eye-popping vision. The shorter quieter one (whom I shall now and forever call Ms Demure) was a vision but the tall one? Absolutely stunning!
Open toe high heeled sandals. Hip huggin’ low rise jeans, skin tight and with the top button already open, so scandalous yet inviting. Big red nails and glamorous eye make-up let everyone know that she takes her public appearances seriously. But all that was nothing compared to her, um, mid-section. She was wearing a sleeveless, mess tank top of sorts except that it was red-yarn macramé with HUGE openings in the yarn so you could see…..everything. Wait! I forgot to mention that she had HUGE breasts and she was NOT wearing a bra or anything else under her macramé top. Yes, full on surgically enhanced big bare titty action on the rush hour Red Line! (She will now and forever be known to me as Ms Macramé 2005.)
Everyone was staring with mouths agape. Were they hookers? Were they strippers? Hooker strippers? What on earth had boarded the Red Line? I could tell Ms Macramé loved the attention and she put on a show, slow to choose a seat. She also gave everyone that “look”, the one that said “don’t even think about messin’ with me”. That’s when I noticed something really extra special….the size of her hands and her feet. Oh my! A TRANNIE! Wait, make that two trannies! YEE HAH!
That’s when they had my complete and unending admiration. By now Ms Macramé had taken a seat. I was standing near the door and when she glanced in my direction I gave her a smile to sort of let her know that I had figured her out and thought she was cool. Her look back said, “Oh yeah Mr Middle Age Bald White Businessman? How about this?” and she then adjusted her red macramé top so that both BIG nipples were poking out and aimed at me like little flesh guns. After adjusting she looked at me and smirked again to let me know she was fierce and had just put me in my place. Of course the previously snoozing grandma next to her could only stare.
That’s when she and her friend, Ms. Demure, took out their bags from Taco Bell and spilled the contents into their laps. Yay, gorditas for dinner! What a sight watching them eat their gorditas with their big hands and big red finger nails. Uh-oh, their stop. They hopped up and got off at Clark and Division. The whole car let out a collective gasp as they exited.
Every good story has an epilogue and here’s mine. I saw them a week or two later in the morning. They were sitting in the bus shelter at Belmont and Clark…….eating Dunkin’ Donuts.
I thank my mom every day for teaching me it’s okay to stare at other people.