Red Line Justice

by Charlie Monte Verde

Bad things can happen on the Chicago Transit Authority’s Red Line. It runs 24/7 which sounds convenient but in actuality means there are a lot of people awake at hours that they really shouldn’t be. This story is much less harmful than many, and has a happy — er, karma-fulfilled — ending.

The story goes that a couple dozen people are on a crowded late-night Red Line train heading northbound. It’s a mixed crowd with individual late-shifters, older folks, weekend-girls-night-outers, and drunken Lollapalooza patrons.

Our particular subject — let’s just call him ‘Steve’ — is of the last group mentioned. Muscles-for-miles, backwards hat, sunburn, and one of those tank tops that five years ago were exclusively for women. The certain male archetype built around intimidating everyone into enjoying their presence.

At North and Clybourn a seat opens up. Steve has come from Lolla with . . . ‘Shannon’ but Steve is not a gentleman so he plops down drunkenly in the seat and tells Shannon, “Come here and sit on my knee, baby.”

At this point everyone around Steve is trying to picture him having a mother and father. Let’s just say he does. How did they raise him that this is how he carries on in front of people? Is this chivalry?

And these same people, some of them a little older (thirties) than Steve, are now graced with conversation they didn’t initiate, nor would they have. You see, they’ve been on the Red Line before and they know you don’t start harassing strangers on the train late at night.

Steve’s telling them they should come out. How great it’s all gonna be. And that — “I’m going 100% tonight, bro.”  That’s an actual quote.

And they are polite and say, “No thanks,” and sort of laugh. But Steve has been drinking and maybe he thinks they’re laughing at him wearing his big sister’s tank top, so he starts mumbling and harassing them about being ‘past your prime,’ and generally making it a very uncomfortable experience.

And now they’re at Fullerton and Shannon is trying to push Steve out of the train because that’s their stop. “Don’t you push me . . . too old . . . past their prime . . .” A few more four-letter words and it’s all over. Steve is off to the bar to pick a fight with a complete stranger just because . . . well he can’t remember why.

Relief comes over the remaining Red Line passengers. Sometimes it’s the crazies. Sometimes the smellies. Sometimes the drunks. But it’s peaceful on the train again.

And for our ‘older’ friends on that train, they’ll probably get over their thoughts of being past their prime. And because karma is a B sometimes, and because every once in awhile things even out, one of the older gentlemen looks down on Steve’s abandoned seat and joyfully exclaims, “Are these that guy’s keys?!”

Because maybe they’re past whatever Steve considers their prime. But at least they’re able to get into their apartments at the end of the night.