I got on the L last night after having a quick dinner/drink with the Fabulous Ms. B, and thought myself lucky to find a good seat on the train. In this case, it was the window seat of the pair that faces forward next to the pair that doesn’t. Normally I prefer the second of the singlette seats because it lets me stretch my legs, but this was a still a pretty good seat to score for a crowded train.
I was (and still am) tired and sick, and really looking forward to getting home so I could hack and wheeze in private. I sat in my seat, musing over these things when the woman who was sitting in front of me in the seat facing towards the inside left her seat and was replaced by Pukey Girl.
There was nothing repulsive about Pukey Girl at first. She was dressed a little strangely, but she didn’t give off a particularly wierd vibe. She was just another passenger on her way home…until the train moved. When the train moved, so did she. Back and forth, rocking to her knees. Back and forth. Back and forth.
I stared at her for a minute because this was outlandish behavior. I’d expect this at 10p.m. on the Red Line, but not on a 7p.m. Brown Line train. Shocking. Back and forth. Back and forth. She slowed down a bit as we pulled into Clark and Lake, and I hoped she just needed to calm down a little before she stopped. Nope. She started back up with the train. Back and forth. Back and forth. It continued that way stop after stop.
I closed my eyes, but I could still feel her moving. Back and forth. Back and forth. I tried reading a magazine. Back and forth. Back and forth. I looked at the window. Back and forth. Back and forth. I was desperate. I was going to be ill. The combination of spinach dip, a sour stomach and Pukey Girl was making me nauseous. There was no use asking her to stop…acknowledging disturbed people is a tricky business and I had no way of knowing if she’d stop or speed up her crazy seat dance. Back and forth. Back and forth. The train was so crowded, and at each stop I prayed that she would leave or another spot would open up so I could move. But no.
At some point I knew I had crossed a line of safety. There was no way I was not going to be sick. If I moved, I was doomed. If she didn’t stop moving, she was doomed. Because if I was going to be sick, then Pukey Girl was going to be the object of my gooey, spinach-colored projectile retribution.
Back and forth…and then god bless the CTA, we stopped at Belmont. For a very long time, and, eventually, so did Pukey Girl. The doors were open for a good two minutes before she decided to leave.
I sat on my hands, closed my eyes and tightly held my breath until Kedzie and home. I didn’t get sick on the train, but I woke up at 1a.m. in a furious fit of coughing and puked my guts out.
Damn you Pukey Girl.
