I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard it. It’s part of the automated announcements Chicago commuters hear when riding the Metra Rail to work. I was riding the train back home one night from my odd-hour non-profit job downtown when the announcements rang out as usual.
Safety and security are our highest priorities. You can help us by being observant of your surroundings. If you see something, say something. Please report any suspicious behavior or items left unattended. Together, we can make us all more secure. Thank you for riding Metra today.
Halfway through the appeal, my gaze caught something unusual across the aisle. What I saw hurled me into a state of shock. I was in awe, deeply concerned and totally furious. I had seen something all right. It was one of my fellow commuters, headphones on, iPhone out, sipping a cold one two rows ahead of me. I leered at him questioningly trying to catch his attention, praying he would notice me shaking my head at him in utter disdain. To my dismay, he didn’t even look up. Content and engaged in what I could only assume to be an advanced level of candy crush, he was savoring his beer as if sitting in the privacy of his own living room. Completely oblivious to the rest of us grumbling around him, waiting for the moment when we got home to do the things we actually cared about.
After my attempted death by gaze failed, I pulled out my phone and began rapidly punching letters into the google search bar: Chicago – Metra – Beer Drinking. There had to be some sort of explanation for this blasphemy. Sure enough, what I found on the Metra Rail Website, sandwiched between the various rules and regulations associated with sitting in a “quiet car” and a statement on the legality of pets on the train, was the short and sweet answer to a seemingly obvious question.
Q. What about alcohol?
A. Alcoholic beverages are permitted except during certain events and festivals, such as the Taste of Chicago and Blues Fest.
Really? No…but yes! I looked again at my fellow traveler, this time with much less contempt, desperate to make an intimate connection. I was attempting my eyes to convey, in a single concentrated glance, the magnitude of the special secret we now shared. He barely even moved, beer in one hand and phone in the other.
Immediately after work the following Friday, I closed up the office and darted across Grand Avenue to Binny’s Beverage Depot. I was excited and anxious, the way one feels when they’re 16 years old and about to ditch 10th period algebra class by climbing out of an open window in the gym wing. I perused the microbrew section for the perfect single bottle train brew. At last I decided on a Revolution Brewing Co Anti Hero IPA, a strong one with a bold and colorful label. Perfect for attracting attention. I was utterly excessive at the register, where a tired and methodical clerk made the mistake of asking me how I was doing. Great! I blustered. Just got off work, long week, going to go home ON THE METRA and relax with this NICE COLD BEER. She looked at me skeptically as I grabbed the receipt and bolted out the door.
I had to run half the way to make my train. The cold IPA was bouncing around in my bag building up carbonation. I knew once I made it to Ogilvie Station that I would need to navigate the 6:30 mob. Moments later I found myself darting in and out between faceless suits; men and women returning home to their partners, exhausted from a week’s worth of uptight bosses leering over their well-ironed shoulders. I stumbled into one of the middle train cars, especially chosen for being the most crowded, and found a single seat on the upper level with the highest visibility to the other commuters.
I made a few large gestures while taking off my leopard print coat to hang it on the coat hook, yet another reason why Chicago commuters love the Metra. I needed to ensure I was noticed by the maximum number of people. Once seated, I made some casual eye contact and flipped my hair a bit before deliberately reaching into my bag for the beer. The train was moving now, gathering speed and I was right there with it. Ready. Shhh-tak. I cracked open the beer in one swift defiant motion and paused for a second before taking the first sip. “Delightful”, I thought, as I eased into my seat.
No sooner than taking the second sip I could feel them, the presence of 1000 angry eyes burning into me. I didn’t want to look up, savoring the feeling of my anarchic act, perfumed with an air of total indecency. I could hear their thoughts. What does she think she’s doing? This can’t be allowed! Shhh…she’s probably crazy. I didn’t care; I was justified. I knew that everyone was looking at me like I was breaking the rules, and I loved every second of it. They were jealous and I was winning, because I was indulging in one of Chicago’s best-kept secrets.
As the train pulled into the Ravenswood station, I began to gather my things. I had waited the entire ride without casting a single glance. Slightly tipsy and ready to face my audience, I finally looked up. To my utter dismay, nobody was watching me. Not a single one of them. In a desperate attempt, I tipped my nearly empty beer bottle to the conductor as he walked by, a gesture which procured nothing more than a mechanical head nod. Exasperated, I scanned the crowd again. That’s when I saw him, my friend from the other day; headphones on, PBR tallboy in one hand and iPhone in the other. He was watching me and smiling. We tipped our beverages at one another in an acknowledgment of mutual respect as I headed towards the door; happy, satisfied and brimming with the joy of possibility.
