There are times when I wish I was brand new to Chicago. I wish I had the awe and wonderment of a first-time visitor.
For example:
When I first moved to Chicago and got a job downtown, there was a special moment that stopped me in my tracks. As I was walking out of the building, I passed by the window that faces the skyline. I thought, “Wow, I finally did it, I finally made it down here.”
And now it does not render the same effects. But the newness of the city for which I wish is not because I want to fall in love again with the unique architecture, the rich history or the vast landscape of possibilities. I want it for the weirdos.
I read an article yesterday that ranked Chicago as the 7th most diverse city in the world (New York was #1, shocking). But aside from culture, when you have a city of millions of people, you’re going to run into at least a trillion weirdos. I mean, people are WEIRD, man. Again, when I first moved here, I noticed everyone and everything and all their strange little habits. It’s fading, but I’m hanging onto my daily shock that gets diversified everyday. Rather than give an elaborate narrative, I will list just a few examples:
- On the westbound Division bus: a woman had no top teeth and thumb nails that were 2 inches long and curling.
- On the northbound Milwaukee bus: an old man’s grocery caddy kept rolling away from him every time the bus moved because he was fumbling in his pockets. The only thing he said every minute was an unenthusiastic, matter-of-factly, “sh*t.”
- On the north bound red line at 1 a.m.: a man came up to me to sell his poetry which he wrote in a #2 2/3 pencil and ripped out of a spiral notebook. I bought it for a dollar.
- On the eastbound blueline (during rush hour): a 30-something-woman who looked like a washed up White Snake groupie was boasting, “I don’t know why my momma let him rape me, I don’t know! I’ll F—- him up. I will, I’ll F—- him up.” The packed car of working people received their morning news audibly that day.
- On the eastbound train blueline: One seat was left open and a woman (possibly homeless) with several bags, struggled to lift the bags off the seat next to her so I could sit down. I thanked her, and sat down. She reeked of roses and urine to the point where I couldn’t concentrate on my book (“possibly” moves to a most likely, homeless status).
- On a browline train to the loop: A late-20s man going to work enters the train. A spider is crawling up his back towards his shirt collar. A strange woman slaps the man’s back on the quiet train as he’s reading his newspaper. The woman says mid-slap, “Sorry, sorry, sorry, but there was a spider on your back.”
o Confession: the woman was me!
o Confession: I’m probably a weirdo too
It makes me think; how do other people see me? I wonder what they see about me that makes them say to themselves, “I can’t wait to tell my husband/wife about this one.” Perhaps it is the weird faces or exasperated breaths I take. Maybe it’s the way I slouch in the seat, take up too much room w/ my legs and show a general disregard for life around me. Maybe it’s that I sing out loud w/o having head phones in. I laugh out loud at books. I laugh out loud when I think of a grown man wearing a pink leotard. I laugh out loud w/o provocation.
The more bizarre I act, the more people will want to avoid: making conversation, asking questions or approach me with harm. They say you become a product of your environment.
Case in Point; I’ve become a regular Chicago Joe-Weirdo.
