The scene: #56 bus on California and North Avenue
The time: Approximately 6 p.m.
The situation: While I was walking onto the bus, a man shrouded in a Puerto Rican flag for a button down shirt is spouting off expletives to anyone that could hear him. Today, that anyone was everyone on the bus.
“This is Puerto Rico, man! You in my neighborhood now man! This is Puerto Rico. Rico! !@&#’in A-man, this is my neighborhood now. We’re part of America, this ain’t no Mexican #&*%.”
It was a little rough. But like most places on California Ave., it got rougher. Mr. Flags found someone at whom he would direct his rageful state (I was going to say delirious, but maybe it was his neighborhood, I didn’t want to fact-check.)
“I don’t like your glasses man. You punk @## white boy! You in my neighborhood now. Com’mon, let’s take this outside. Or are you a &%$$*??”
Without provocation, the punk @## white boy in the front seat tried his best to keep his cool. As the drunk and vile yelling continued from Mr. Flags, Punk finally stood up. A middle aged white man with sun glasses and a leather jacket started walking towards the back of the bus as if he were going to fight. Mr. Flags walked out the back of the bus and Punk sat down. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Until Mr. Flags made his way back to the front to shout a few more explitives. Think of the most grotesque things that you would be embarrased to say even in front of your friends. Except this time, it was with strangers — an elderly man to my left and a 3-year-old and his mother to my right.
And yet, in that moment, I felt like I found a community. We all looked at each other to gauge our reactions. It was the first time a CTA-riding-Chicagoan ever looked anyone else in the eye. Time stood still. And not because we all simoltaneously began a group hug, but because we knew that everyone who looked at each other was not as crazy as Mr. Flags. Even the elderly man with missing teeth, a lisp and improperly timed giggles – he was nowhere near crazy. The teenage kid with his cell phone taking video of the scene was nowhere near crazy. The mother who was trying to hold her son’s ears and laughed nervously was nowhere near crazy. The 50-year-old man with a TAZ! t-shirt and a Walkman was nowhere near crazy. The uncomfortable looking (& dashing) young woman w/ the curly hair and feigned disinterest who was talking to herself out loud saying “it’s not worth it, don’t do it. it’s not worth it,” was nowhere near crazy. Yet, for one shining moment, everyone that sat around each other was on the same level of normalcy.
After 5 minutes of waiting (and exchanging phone numbers and recipe cards for the #56 Cooking Club that we started), the cops never showed, the bus driver moved on and Mr. Flags waved good-bye with a salute that was very unlike the one his son was giving in the military.
Good luck Mr. Flags. Thanks for bringing some strangers on a bus together. Good luck with your community organizing for your own neighborhood.
