March 29, 2005
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Get Outta My Face!
What began as your run of the mill annoyance at a fellow CTA passenger yesterday morning ended in a dull but persistent case of heartache.
As my commute to work begins, I become greedy to soak up any remaining time left before work that I am able to, which primarily manifests in my vulture-like behavior when scouting for a prime place to sit or stand on the bus and subway car that are the vehicles of my commute. Enthralled with Kafka on the Shore, I boarded the bus yesterday morning and immediately scanned the crowd. A young woman in scrubs with an intricate criss-crossing blonde and black weave was gathering her things in a my stop is next type of way. The coast was clear—no pregnant women, no elderly people, no small children—so I scurried to ensure my butt would replace hers on the nappy, blue bus seat. This would allow me to enjoy my reading better than a standing position would allow. But the passenger who shared the two-seat row with me was not about to let me read in peace.
“I said git outta my face!”
Startled, I glanced over. A teenage girl, sixteen at most, was sitting next to me, chatting on her cell phone. I hate it when people carry full-blown cell phone conversations on the bus. Don’t they know that is my quiet time?
“No-she needed to git outta my face! She had all these babies back in the day and things was different then. We live in the modern world now, yo. We live in the modern world, you know what I’m sayin’?”
I tried to imagine what she was saying. Now women have legal reproductive options? Now “non-traditional” motherhood is more accepted? Less accepted? I wished she were more articulate. I did not know what she was saying.
I tried to get back to my book, but my eyes just stare blankly at the page as I eavesdropped.
“You know—when she was unemployed I gave her my paycheck to cover half the rent and you know, no one else offered her a fuckin’ cent, you know. Where was her sista’s then? Where was her cousin then? I give her that money. And you know what—she didn’t even remember my birthday.”
I closed my book. There was no denying it—her story was more interesting than Haruki Maurakami’s.
“No-she didn’t even remember my birthday! My auntie called to see what we done on my birthday and my momma said, ‘oh, you know—we played it chill. We stayed at home and celebrated nice together.’ Bullshit ! That woman is talking shit. I crept out on Friday to go to a party at my cousins and I didn’t get home ‘till Sunday around 5. She didn’t even notice I wasn’t at home on my birthday. And you know—she got my other cousin an outfit for her birthday last month and my own momma didn’t get me anything! You know, I don’t care if she unemployed! She could take money outta my own check and get me something to surprise me, you know…”
I was beginning to wonder if there was a person on the other line. This girl was talking non-stop.
“…and now I’m ditching school ‘cuz I had to pick up another shift so we could have the phone for this month since Shaniqua is almost due and we’ll need it, you know, to pick her up and go to the hospital when it’s the time. So you know what—when momma yells at me for dumb shit I don’t deserve, hell yeah I’m gonna tell her: Get outta my face!”
I have never been more thankful to transfer to red line at North and Clybourn. I wasn’t sure how much more sorrow I could take so early in the morning. But before I could squeeze my way through the crowd, she dropped one more bomb.
“She always say, ‘your daddy is rolling over in his grave.’ Bullshit, I tell her. My daddy not in a grave. He ashes.”
I hope someone is able to “get in this girls face” and tell her that her mom’s issues are not her responsibly. Tell her to focus only on school. Tell her to let her mom figure out how they will have phone service. Tell her that she is important and valuable and give her a birthday outfit.
I don’t pray. But I do ponder and wish and volunteer and try my best to create change. But at the end of the day—I’m just me and the jaded teenager on the bus will still have to miss her classes to support a mother who has seemingly forfeited the right to “get in her daughter’s face” to make sure her child gets to school. So perhaps prayers aren’t such a bad idea after all, if only to provide comfort in a world ready to jump out and rattle your emotions at every turn.
How do you deal?
Comments (6)
Great post. Aren’t we all just spectators in each other’s lives. It’s crazy, but true. Do u ever just go to the park and watch people…that’s fun.
Omigod, Chicagoartgirl, you have an exceptional ear for dialog. The way you wrote that, I was right THERE listening in on that cell phone conversation. It reminded me of David Mamet, and I’m not kidding. You really are a good writer and you really ought to hone that talent on whatever you choose to do with it: plays, screenplays, short stories, whatever. It doesn’t matter much to me whatever that teenager’s problem was. Was stood out for me is your ability to tell the story with such clarity, without letting your narrative self get in the way. Brava!
As for the Red line, have you ever been to that Web site for Red line riders? It’s full of crazy stories and is run by a friend of mine. (We worked at one of the newspapers together.) It’s here . Very funny site.
Lynn
you made me feel like i was beside you listening to that one sided convo… and it’s a story i heard too often when i taught in the city- her mom is probably not more than 24- 25- which is why she doesn’t know how to be a good mother- not that 24 year olds can’t be good mothers, but younger ones- the 14- 17 year old ones- have a tough time being moms instead of teens….
Switch Chicago for NewYork, the red line for the X23, and CTA for MTA, and you’ve got my life. I stopped trying to read books (now only the newspaper- not even the Times!) on the bus long ago. The cacophony of snoring and dopey, too-loud cellphone conversations is just too distracting to absorb anything of value.
Great post!
That’s much more interesting (albeit saddening) than most cellphone conversations I hear. Today’s college students must be required by federal law to start a phone conversation *the minute they leave an office, class or building.* Most of the convers I overhear break down one of two ways:
Conversation #1: Oh hi! Where are you? You’re in the union? I’m right outside the union. Haha. So I guess I’ll see you in the union. Haha. So where are you? In the food court? Hey … I’m heading toward the food court! Haha!
Or …
Conversation #2: Yeah, I just got out of class. It sucked. The prof’s mad because I didn’t do my homework. Yeah! (Hideous Long Island cackle I could never possibly spell.) So anyway … I’m on my way to another class where I didn’t do my homework. Yeah, I know. So I’ll call you after that class.
I must be old because I only use the cellphone when I have an actual reason to have a conversation. These people use it compulsively. Cripes, I just heaved a whole blog entry as a comment.
I love listening to other people’s stories on the train, and that’s a humdinger. It’s hard not to think our own lives are hard, but it’s important to remember, that some are much worse.