Commuting

The public transportation morning trip on Fridays is weird for me. I didn’t realize how many people actually read RedEye until I starting taking the train. I’ve actually sat next to people who are reading my column, and I watch them for signs of enjoyment, hate, distate, humor — you name it.

And of course I never get recognized. Why would I? Few people actually pay attention to who’s writing the column, let alone the picture. For most people, my little weekly rant is nothing more than something to fill their time and keep them from staring at all of their fellow weird commuters while swaying back and forth to the rhythm of the el.

I’m grateful for the lack of recognition. It allows me to ask a lot of questions without people thinking that I’m automatically writing about them. I usually ask questions just because I’m curious. No other real reason. If I wrote about everything I learned in the answers to the many questions that I ask, I would have to write several weekly columns. People are just too fucking strange, and their stories are bizarre.

Most of them don’t become topics because their lives aren’t interesting to most others, just bizarre. Particularly bizarre to me, if for no other reason than they (the storytellers) often think that the weird shit that goes on their lives is normal. If I shared some of my stories, you all would be thinking the same thing about me — weird and uninteresting — which is why I spare you most of the gory details of my life. You’re welcome.