Train Theory.

So this afternoon I get off work, power-walk underground, and catch the 7-dollar (each way) rip off that is Metra. I manage to get a ticket and board within a reasonable amount of time, so I settle in next to one of the two emergency exits. There are at least two emergency exits for every car, you know. At least that's what the automated voice keeps telling me after she rattles of ever intermediate train stop.

I don't know what it is (and maybe this is just Chicago) but you notice its always a white person's voice overhead? It could just be me, but its interesting that on Metra, and on CTA, and MTA and the rest of the TA's there is a lways a very content, very pleasant white man telling you where the exits are, that the door is about to close, and that "ASHLAND.Is. Next"

How do I know its a White people voice? Baby, I just know. Black folks grow up with an innate awareness of one-another. No matter how articulate or how slight the tone may be, you know a fellow when you hear one.

Every once in a while, you may hear a woman. Her voice is supposed to be soothing and informative,no matter what the fuck she's saying.

"Ladies. And. Gentleman. The bridge. Up. Ahead. Is. Out. Remain calm and. Brace. Yourself. For. Death..."

The whole time the train's crashing she's "soothing" everyone and letting them know where the emergency exits are.

"Thank you. For your. Cooperation."

Everything they say is broken, staccato like they're drawing from some mega vocabulary hard drive. So why is it that there are no Black voices contributing to this vocabulary hard drive? What they couldn't find a Black woman to run her mouth? I don't believe it. OR is it that the sound of a Black man's voice isn't quite as soothing as the white guys recording? I mean, there are plenty of articulate Black men and women out there.

What gives?

Its bad enough I'm a visual minority. Now I'm an auditory minority?!

They don't want to see us OR hear us.

There's a conductor on this train that sounds like Michael Wincott. Dude I'm serious, every day its a raspy:

"Tickets!" and "That'll be eight-fifty."

Sometimes you really cant' understand him because on top of the lack there of voice, he has the nerve to rush his sentences, so its...

"Waukeganstopisnext..." (rasp rasp)

or

(rasp) "Chicagounionstation,ladiesandgentlemen,Chicagounionstation..." (rasp)

The conductors make for reasonable entertainment. There's another one who works the late shift. I always see him when I'm coming home from a long weekend in the city. We chat.

This guy looks like a Greek Edward Norton. He's extremely matter-of-fact and rocks the hell out of that metal coin changer on his belt. He likes my shoes. His wife just had another baby boy (three total) so he's picking up extra shifts. We chat.

Its guys like him that allow me to forgive the 2-dollar increase in train fare this year. Somewhere down the line, my extra two dollars will help send those three boys to college. Let him and his wife take a vacation. Gets the other conductor a cough drop.

One thing I'm definitely miffed about is how fucking cold the trains are. You could get pneumonia and arthritis just from riding the thirty minutes to Ohare. AC overkill, I say. Although it keeps the smells down. Once you get a certain number of passengers on these vinyl seats, the air can get a bit ripe.

All in all most of the rides home are good for people-watching. I don't have to drive in traffic and every now and then I witness something genuinely funny. Time to go, the soothing white man is telling me my stop is next.