I decided to go to LensCrafters today. I woke up late and didn't have time to wear my contacts, instead slipping on my green plastic frames with the wiggly limbs. There are screws lose in that pair of glasses, making them loose around my face. If I look down, they slip down my nose and fall off, making me afraid to look over the sides of bridges.
So, I went to LensCrafters for the second month in a row to get them tightened. After waiting, explaining my situation to the guy there ("I think the screw is stripped..."), and waiting some more as he took them into the back, I decided to get up and wander around a little, looking at glasses. Coveting them. LensCrafters is ridiculously expensive, but they have some pretty cute glasses. True, many of them are pretty emo, but that's not quite a deal-breaker for me. I looked over at the blurry image of the man sidling up to me.
"I went to adjust the screw and the frame just snapped," he said, quietly, apologetically. I squinted and looked closer at the glasses in his hands. On the top right side of the left lens, the frame had broken cleanly apart.
"Oh, no!" I exclaimed. No way in hell could I afford new glasses. "Do you think I could superglue it?"
"Uh, maybe," he said, "but you really need new frames."
I let out a short laugh. "I can't afford that, I can't even afford to buy groceries."
"Well, it wouldn't cost you anything, I mean, I broke your glasses." He looked at me seriously. My mouth dropped. New frames?? Of my own choosing???
"What about the lenses?" I asked excitedly.
"We would replace those too," he replied. I put my hands over my mouth. "Let me see if we can order those frames," he said, referring to my broken glasses.
"Wait," I said quickly, "can I get different frames if they're around the same price?"
"Well, yeah, sure," he said. "I'd say these were about 150."
I am a kid in a candy store. I quickly call my roommate to come down and help me decide which glasses I want. I try on pair after pair, looking for something colorful, maybe trying out wire frames again for the first time since high school.
We decide that between the light pink plastic frames and the purple wire frames, that I will get the latter. They're nice and tight against my face, too, no more glasses falling off as I play my DS on the bus!
They're 170, a little more expensive than the green ones, but the awesome guy who broke my glasses says that it's okay. I keep expecting something to go wrong, or to be charged for something, but amazingly enough I'm not.
Me and the roommate come back in an hour to my new glasses, fitted with my prescription. I am definitely a fan of my smaller, sexier glasses!
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Shit Fuck Goddamn
Tonight is just a big ball of shit, being rolled around on my life katamari-style.
Why do I feel the urge to have a boyfriend? It's a constant problem in my life. I claim that it's because I get bored without one. It's true that they're fun to hang out with on a regular basis, I guess. I don't fucking know. They're so difficult to sustain. I think half of the reason I feel the need to have one is for sex, anyway. I'm not a big fan of fuck-buddies or one-night-stands.
Alls I know is, I gotta break the habit. I'm sick of boys. Gimme some girls! Either that or no one at all. Relationships are fucking stupid. They're for people who feel the need to have someone else to depend on. And most other people don't give a shit about your problems. As I realize over and over. I get sad and consider calling people, and realize that people either don't want to talk about it, or just don't care. A big thank you to a certain friend who hung up when I tried to call her. No explanation. Not like she's ever cared much about when I try to contact her, anyway. I'm just fucking sick of it.
I'm supposed to just depend on my family, but I was never really able to talk to them about personal things, anyway. I don't know. I should just stop fucking whining.
I've been called a lot of bad things lately, and maybe I deserved it. Well, I don't think I'm a cunt. Maybe a bitch. Maybe paranoid or crazy.
Well, I broke one guy's heart, and strung along an internet guy that I didn't really like. I'm just waiting for the drama to be over. I QUIT. Internet and boys and relationships.
Why do I feel the urge to have a boyfriend? It's a constant problem in my life. I claim that it's because I get bored without one. It's true that they're fun to hang out with on a regular basis, I guess. I don't fucking know. They're so difficult to sustain. I think half of the reason I feel the need to have one is for sex, anyway. I'm not a big fan of fuck-buddies or one-night-stands.
Alls I know is, I gotta break the habit. I'm sick of boys. Gimme some girls! Either that or no one at all. Relationships are fucking stupid. They're for people who feel the need to have someone else to depend on. And most other people don't give a shit about your problems. As I realize over and over. I get sad and consider calling people, and realize that people either don't want to talk about it, or just don't care. A big thank you to a certain friend who hung up when I tried to call her. No explanation. Not like she's ever cared much about when I try to contact her, anyway. I'm just fucking sick of it.
I'm supposed to just depend on my family, but I was never really able to talk to them about personal things, anyway. I don't know. I should just stop fucking whining.
I've been called a lot of bad things lately, and maybe I deserved it. Well, I don't think I'm a cunt. Maybe a bitch. Maybe paranoid or crazy.
Well, I broke one guy's heart, and strung along an internet guy that I didn't really like. I'm just waiting for the drama to be over. I QUIT. Internet and boys and relationships.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Rant
The advertisements on myspace really piss me off.
"Overweight? Looking to lose those extra pounds? Look like our ridiculously skinny girls bordering on anorexia!" Really, it's horrible. Even the women on television and magazines are usually nowhere near as skinny. I fucking hate how women are portrayed in the media. Ever since I took the psychology of women class I've begun to notice it.
Women are just bodies to the world. They swoon over the dominating male (nothing against men), touching him as he looks unimpressed and unemotional. I saw this calvin klein advertisement in cosmo recently. A woman is laying across two shirtless mens' laps as they look off in opposite directions, ignoring her obvious plea for attention (as all women obviously crave).
On that note, it's getting just as bad for men, especially in ads by abercrombie and fitch. I've seen gigantic ads on building of just the torso, head cut off. Everyone is just a body, an ideal to set for the rest of the world. Men are expected to have a six pack and perfectly shaped muscles and women must be big breasted and skinny as fuck.
Screw the media. This is why I don't watch TV or read magazines.
"Overweight? Looking to lose those extra pounds? Look like our ridiculously skinny girls bordering on anorexia!" Really, it's horrible. Even the women on television and magazines are usually nowhere near as skinny. I fucking hate how women are portrayed in the media. Ever since I took the psychology of women class I've begun to notice it.
Women are just bodies to the world. They swoon over the dominating male (nothing against men), touching him as he looks unimpressed and unemotional. I saw this calvin klein advertisement in cosmo recently. A woman is laying across two shirtless mens' laps as they look off in opposite directions, ignoring her obvious plea for attention (as all women obviously crave).
On that note, it's getting just as bad for men, especially in ads by abercrombie and fitch. I've seen gigantic ads on building of just the torso, head cut off. Everyone is just a body, an ideal to set for the rest of the world. Men are expected to have a six pack and perfectly shaped muscles and women must be big breasted and skinny as fuck.
Screw the media. This is why I don't watch TV or read magazines.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Hot 2 Trot
I leave Steve and Katrina in the Clark and Division station. My train is here, going north.
I sit down in a row of seats facing the direction the train is going. I always sit in the direction of motion because I get restless and sort of dizzy if I don't. It's closing in on midnight, but there are people around me, coming home from their Sunday nights. The train is bright and there's a sleepy air about everyone, an end-of-the-weekend feeling.
For a while, I just draw the face of a boy I see in the reflection of the window. The train calls out Fullerton, then Belmont. Almost everyone gets up and leaves. Addison. The boy gets up and I put away my notebook. Sheridan, Wilson, Lawrence and Argyle. I notice that someone is sitting in front of me and he's got his cell phone out.
His back faces the seat to my left. The hood of his sweatshirt is up and he's wearing blue track pants. My mind goes in and out of focus as I stare out the window, and he opens his arms in a stretch.
A very, very obvious stretch. Cell phone in hand, screen facing me, lit up. I squint and look at it.
What is that? Is that...? ...Yep. That's a penis.
It's a thick-ish, dark brown penis. The shaft is darker than the head, which is almost tan. It's wrinkly but erect.
I quickly look out the window again, slightly taken aback. I mean, it's not like I've never seen a penis before. But I wasn't expecting to see one on the train tonight. What was he trying to accomplish by showing me this? Did he think I would jump up from my seat to sit on his lap and compliment his enormous penis? Or wait. I get it, he's a flasher. A more modern kind of flasher. And don't those people get off on seeing you scared? I should just laugh at him. I should just burst out laughing and embarrass him. But oddly, I don't feel like laughing.
I can see him out of the corner of my eye, and I turn my head back casually. I'm not scared. This situation is hilarious, right?
He's still pretending to stretch, and rest his hand on the bar in front of him, and scratch his ear. The dick is still on the screen. I squint again at it.
Is that... on the train? Does he have it whipped out right now?!
On the display I can see the blue of his track pants, a line, and a gray floor. I look down at the floor of the El. Gray. In front of me the man has his legs spread apart, and in front of him the bottom of the seats makes a line. Dear god. Is his cock still out?
I avert my eyes, my mind racing. I really want to insult him. I want to say something or laugh at him. But I can't, what if he retaliates? Could he be arrested for something like this? I should press the CTA call button. Or call the cops. But will they care? It's not as if I'm in any real danger. I've gotta say something, have to get back at him somehow. Okay. I'll do it as I get up to leave.
I turn my head to the left. It's black outside. The reflection of the two of us is shown clearly in the line of square windows.
I can see his overshadowed bulbous eyes, staring at me. His face holds a dangerous expression; it's almost obsessive. It's dark below his hood, and there's a short black beard circling his solemn mouth.
I should have realized. His head was tilted to the left this whole time. He was watching me, gauging my reactions.
My body suddenly feels light and tingly, and my knees start to shake slightly.
"This is Loyola." One more stop, one more stop, one more stop. My eyes avoid the cell phone. He's making it even more obvious now, practically waving it in front of my face. The train rushes past the windows of apartment buildings and finally begins to slow to a stop.
Have to wait until the train's about to leave, or he'll get up and chase me. Am I wearing anything baggy enough to grab onto? No. If he gets off with me, I'll just run down the the cubicle where the CTA man sits.
"This is Morse." The train slows and comes to a stop and my legs shake as I get up, balancing myself with the seat behind me. I face the windows in front of me, looking at the reflection of his shadowy, serious face.
"Pencil Dick," I say clearly to the image, and he turns around in his seat.
"What'd you say?" he demands, voice muffled by the hood of his sweatshirt. But I am not waiting around to repeat what I said. My feet move quickly to the doors and I cut in front of a small group of girls; the only other people in the car. The doors open and I rush down the stairs to the El station.
No one is in the cubicle.
I don't think he followed me, but I turn to look behind me anyway. No one. Only the group of girls at the top of the stairs.
Anger surges up in my chest; the CTA man is NEVER here when I need him. I sigh and turn my back to the cubicle, leaning on the empty glass-paned box.
"Hey, can I use your phone? The pay phone here is broken." A man, also with his hood up, approaches me in the station. His face is almost gaunt and there are deep circles under his eyes, although he looks no older than 25.
I stare at him for a moment. No fucking way, I think. "I forgot it at home. I'm...sorry."
He shakes his head in defeat and looks down at the ground. He tells me that the '7' button isn't working on the pay phone on the platform, and that he's trying to call his friend.
"Oh, I'm sorry, that sucks," is all I say, and he leaves to wait outside the station.
My body is vibrating with nervous energy as I curse the CTA man.
Keys jingle somewhere behind the box and an old man appears behind the turnstiles. I stare at him, wondering what to say. Why did I think he could help me?
"Is something the matter, miss?" He asks, and I glance back to the figure outside of the door.
"Are you usually here?" I ask stonily. He looks at me, confused. "Why is it that there is never anyone here when I need help?" My voice is beginning to shake.
"Do you need help?" He asks, his wrinkled face alert.
"I-I don't know, I'm just scared...nevermind."
"Is someone bothering you?" He says from the other side of the gate. I glance back again to see if the phone call man is still outside. He is. "Is that man bothering you?" He nods toward the other man's back.
"N-no...." Well, technically he isn't. "It-it was someone on the train, I... nevermind." I turn my back on his confused expression. He can't help me with anything.
I pull out my phone. I call Steve, he doesn't answer. I call Katrina, and she does. "Kat?" I say. I realize that the man outside is going to know that I was lying about my phone, but at this point I don't care. "Just stay on the phone with me, okay?" I say as steadily as I can, and I push through the door into the freezing night. I walk past the man without looking at him, and he doesn't follow me.
"I know I pretend to be a strong person, but...." I say when I am out of earshot of the phone call man. "I-I guess I'm not." And to my surprise, I start to cry.
I sit down in a row of seats facing the direction the train is going. I always sit in the direction of motion because I get restless and sort of dizzy if I don't. It's closing in on midnight, but there are people around me, coming home from their Sunday nights. The train is bright and there's a sleepy air about everyone, an end-of-the-weekend feeling.
For a while, I just draw the face of a boy I see in the reflection of the window. The train calls out Fullerton, then Belmont. Almost everyone gets up and leaves. Addison. The boy gets up and I put away my notebook. Sheridan, Wilson, Lawrence and Argyle. I notice that someone is sitting in front of me and he's got his cell phone out.
His back faces the seat to my left. The hood of his sweatshirt is up and he's wearing blue track pants. My mind goes in and out of focus as I stare out the window, and he opens his arms in a stretch.
A very, very obvious stretch. Cell phone in hand, screen facing me, lit up. I squint and look at it.
What is that? Is that...? ...Yep. That's a penis.
It's a thick-ish, dark brown penis. The shaft is darker than the head, which is almost tan. It's wrinkly but erect.
I quickly look out the window again, slightly taken aback. I mean, it's not like I've never seen a penis before. But I wasn't expecting to see one on the train tonight. What was he trying to accomplish by showing me this? Did he think I would jump up from my seat to sit on his lap and compliment his enormous penis? Or wait. I get it, he's a flasher. A more modern kind of flasher. And don't those people get off on seeing you scared? I should just laugh at him. I should just burst out laughing and embarrass him. But oddly, I don't feel like laughing.
I can see him out of the corner of my eye, and I turn my head back casually. I'm not scared. This situation is hilarious, right?
He's still pretending to stretch, and rest his hand on the bar in front of him, and scratch his ear. The dick is still on the screen. I squint again at it.
Is that... on the train? Does he have it whipped out right now?!
On the display I can see the blue of his track pants, a line, and a gray floor. I look down at the floor of the El. Gray. In front of me the man has his legs spread apart, and in front of him the bottom of the seats makes a line. Dear god. Is his cock still out?
I avert my eyes, my mind racing. I really want to insult him. I want to say something or laugh at him. But I can't, what if he retaliates? Could he be arrested for something like this? I should press the CTA call button. Or call the cops. But will they care? It's not as if I'm in any real danger. I've gotta say something, have to get back at him somehow. Okay. I'll do it as I get up to leave.
I turn my head to the left. It's black outside. The reflection of the two of us is shown clearly in the line of square windows.
I can see his overshadowed bulbous eyes, staring at me. His face holds a dangerous expression; it's almost obsessive. It's dark below his hood, and there's a short black beard circling his solemn mouth.
I should have realized. His head was tilted to the left this whole time. He was watching me, gauging my reactions.
My body suddenly feels light and tingly, and my knees start to shake slightly.
"This is Loyola." One more stop, one more stop, one more stop. My eyes avoid the cell phone. He's making it even more obvious now, practically waving it in front of my face. The train rushes past the windows of apartment buildings and finally begins to slow to a stop.
Have to wait until the train's about to leave, or he'll get up and chase me. Am I wearing anything baggy enough to grab onto? No. If he gets off with me, I'll just run down the the cubicle where the CTA man sits.
"This is Morse." The train slows and comes to a stop and my legs shake as I get up, balancing myself with the seat behind me. I face the windows in front of me, looking at the reflection of his shadowy, serious face.
"Pencil Dick," I say clearly to the image, and he turns around in his seat.
"What'd you say?" he demands, voice muffled by the hood of his sweatshirt. But I am not waiting around to repeat what I said. My feet move quickly to the doors and I cut in front of a small group of girls; the only other people in the car. The doors open and I rush down the stairs to the El station.
No one is in the cubicle.
I don't think he followed me, but I turn to look behind me anyway. No one. Only the group of girls at the top of the stairs.
Anger surges up in my chest; the CTA man is NEVER here when I need him. I sigh and turn my back to the cubicle, leaning on the empty glass-paned box.
"Hey, can I use your phone? The pay phone here is broken." A man, also with his hood up, approaches me in the station. His face is almost gaunt and there are deep circles under his eyes, although he looks no older than 25.
I stare at him for a moment. No fucking way, I think. "I forgot it at home. I'm...sorry."
He shakes his head in defeat and looks down at the ground. He tells me that the '7' button isn't working on the pay phone on the platform, and that he's trying to call his friend.
"Oh, I'm sorry, that sucks," is all I say, and he leaves to wait outside the station.
My body is vibrating with nervous energy as I curse the CTA man.
Keys jingle somewhere behind the box and an old man appears behind the turnstiles. I stare at him, wondering what to say. Why did I think he could help me?
"Is something the matter, miss?" He asks, and I glance back to the figure outside of the door.
"Are you usually here?" I ask stonily. He looks at me, confused. "Why is it that there is never anyone here when I need help?" My voice is beginning to shake.
"Do you need help?" He asks, his wrinkled face alert.
"I-I don't know, I'm just scared...nevermind."
"Is someone bothering you?" He says from the other side of the gate. I glance back again to see if the phone call man is still outside. He is. "Is that man bothering you?" He nods toward the other man's back.
"N-no...." Well, technically he isn't. "It-it was someone on the train, I... nevermind." I turn my back on his confused expression. He can't help me with anything.
I pull out my phone. I call Steve, he doesn't answer. I call Katrina, and she does. "Kat?" I say. I realize that the man outside is going to know that I was lying about my phone, but at this point I don't care. "Just stay on the phone with me, okay?" I say as steadily as I can, and I push through the door into the freezing night. I walk past the man without looking at him, and he doesn't follow me.
"I know I pretend to be a strong person, but...." I say when I am out of earshot of the phone call man. "I-I guess I'm not." And to my surprise, I start to cry.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
We Are Family Guy!
I'm on the train coming home from work, and as soon as I position myself into a corner of the train, a group of little kids comes in, escorted by their very angry sounding mother. There are four kids, and shortly after the man next to me gets up, a little girl sits down next to me. She leans over, watching me play my DS, until her older brother begins to sing.
"It seems today, that all you see..."
She chips in with "Lah-da-dah-da-dahdahdah..." Apparently the boy is the only one who knows most of the words, but that doesn't stop the rest of the from joining in.
"Ladadah-dadadah-da-SEX ON TV," they yell in unison.
"Sexy sexy sexyyyyy, sex sex sex!" The tiny girl next to me sings. I'm trying desperately to not get pissed off; to concentrate on my game.
Their off-tune voices raise up in chorus and they finish with, "WE! ARE! FAM! LEE! GUYYYYYY!!!"
Then they start all over again.
I get up, stumbling to get my balance, and push past the mom to a seat on the other side of the doors. Sighing, I sit down and return to my game. A few minutes pass, and I feel a shadow fall over me.
The little girl is watching me again. "Why did you move?" She finally asks.
"Because it was too loud," I say, and she locks eyes with me for a moment before running back to her mom.
"Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!" She shouts, trying to get through whatever conversation the mom is having.
"What?!" The mom responds angrily.
"Do-do you know why that girl moved? It was because it was too loud!"
I laugh, look back at them, and turn back to my game for a minute before the little girl comes back to watch me play.
"It seems today, that all you see..."
She chips in with "Lah-da-dah-da-dahdahdah..." Apparently the boy is the only one who knows most of the words, but that doesn't stop the rest of the from joining in.
"Ladadah-dadadah-da-SEX ON TV," they yell in unison.
"Sexy sexy sexyyyyy, sex sex sex!" The tiny girl next to me sings. I'm trying desperately to not get pissed off; to concentrate on my game.
Their off-tune voices raise up in chorus and they finish with, "WE! ARE! FAM! LEE! GUYYYYYY!!!"
Then they start all over again.
I get up, stumbling to get my balance, and push past the mom to a seat on the other side of the doors. Sighing, I sit down and return to my game. A few minutes pass, and I feel a shadow fall over me.
The little girl is watching me again. "Why did you move?" She finally asks.
"Because it was too loud," I say, and she locks eyes with me for a moment before running back to her mom.
"Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!" She shouts, trying to get through whatever conversation the mom is having.
"What?!" The mom responds angrily.
"Do-do you know why that girl moved? It was because it was too loud!"
I laugh, look back at them, and turn back to my game for a minute before the little girl comes back to watch me play.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Thug Lyfe
The El passes me by and I run for it, glancing to my right for a relatively friendly looking train car. I choose the second to last and sit down, looking around me.
Oh, the red line at midnight.
Chinstrap and Ballcap over there are drinking vodka from a plastic bottle when Ballcap decides to stumble over and sit next to me. His poofy jacket is wide enough to crowd me against the window.
"Hey, --- - -- - -?" His drunken mumbling is obscured by the sound of the train.
"What?" I lower my head to hear, wondering whether I should tell him to fuck off, ignore him, or act nice so I won't set him off.
"---&@)-(--?" He asks again.
"I can't hear you." I say, raising my voice slightly.
"You can't hear me?" He manages to say.
"You're too drunk, I can't understand you."
"You can't hear me?" He looks up at me and offers me an earbud from his MP3 player. I shake my head 'no.'
I'm frowning heavily by now, because it's midnight and I'm tired and I'm fucking sick of being harassed by dumbfucks who want to show off to their pals or solicit me for sex on the train. Finally he turns his attention to the guy across the aisle who is conveniently ignoring my discomfort. Ballcap says something to him, and the guy shakes his head. At last, the thug next to me gets up to rejoin Chinstrap and I bolt up and out of my seat, headed for the next car up. I'm glad I know how to work those emergency handles now.
Either I attract creeps, or I'm asking for it by riding the red line alone at night. Maybe I should just act crazier than they do.
Oh, the red line at midnight.
Chinstrap and Ballcap over there are drinking vodka from a plastic bottle when Ballcap decides to stumble over and sit next to me. His poofy jacket is wide enough to crowd me against the window.
"Hey, --- - -- - -?" His drunken mumbling is obscured by the sound of the train.
"What?" I lower my head to hear, wondering whether I should tell him to fuck off, ignore him, or act nice so I won't set him off.
"---&@)-(--?" He asks again.
"I can't hear you." I say, raising my voice slightly.
"You can't hear me?" He manages to say.
"You're too drunk, I can't understand you."
"You can't hear me?" He looks up at me and offers me an earbud from his MP3 player. I shake my head 'no.'
I'm frowning heavily by now, because it's midnight and I'm tired and I'm fucking sick of being harassed by dumbfucks who want to show off to their pals or solicit me for sex on the train. Finally he turns his attention to the guy across the aisle who is conveniently ignoring my discomfort. Ballcap says something to him, and the guy shakes his head. At last, the thug next to me gets up to rejoin Chinstrap and I bolt up and out of my seat, headed for the next car up. I'm glad I know how to work those emergency handles now.
Either I attract creeps, or I'm asking for it by riding the red line alone at night. Maybe I should just act crazier than they do.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Tryin' to face the strain
I've been wearing makeup and contacts lately and dressing nicely for some stupid reason (because I want to feel pretty, let's just admit it). I don't want to admit it, so I say I'm doing a "social experiment." I've gotten compliments.
"No one wants you, girl." I wonder if that actually got to me, if a creepy guy on the train who seemed like he wanted to mug me and then rape me (he donned a mask) somehow changed my opinion of myself. He shot it at me as he was leaving the station. I was waiting by the CTA booth in case he decided to try something. Usually I try to calm myself down about these things, thinking it's just paranoia, but I think this one was justified.
He sits down in front of me, apparently done panhandling, and faces me.
"Hey," he says.
I glance up, raising my right eyebrow. "Hey," I say nervously, and go back to playing my DS.
"You going anywhere?"
Well, I am on the train. "Uh, I'm going home." I look around. We're the only people in this car.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" Smooth guy.
"...Yes," I say. You always gotta say that, even though I'm a single woman now.
"Well... what he don't know won't hurt him."
My mouth opens a little in surprise, and I take a second to answer. "Sorry, I'm really not interested in that."
This is when he stands up and pulls a mask out of his pocket. Not a ski mask, but something like a Zorro mask. He starts to put it over his eyes, and lowers it at my stunned look.
"What?" he asks. "What?" he keeps saying. He's getting a kick out of this, I can tell.
I get up, and my hands shake as I try to figure out how to work the goddamn emergency entrance to the next car. Lift up handle cover. Slide lever. I move to the next car, hands a little scraped up from the experience.
When I leave the train, I nervously glance behind me, and of course, there he is.
When we reach the turnstiles, I pause.
"No one wants you, girl!" He says, turning his head toward me as he passes. Swearing, I look around for the CTA guard, who is conveniently absent from his or her cubicle. I wait there for a few minutes more before deciding that he wouldn't have bothered to wait outside for me.
And this is why I don't really feel safe in my neighborhood anymore. Along with many other reasons: gunshots, plenty of car alarms, a few more incidents witnessed on the El at my stop, being propositioned for sex, being screamed at by a crazy guy ("Don't go past here! There are niggers everywhere!").
Too bad Uptown is the ghetto, I'd move there.
"No one wants you, girl." I wonder if that actually got to me, if a creepy guy on the train who seemed like he wanted to mug me and then rape me (he donned a mask) somehow changed my opinion of myself. He shot it at me as he was leaving the station. I was waiting by the CTA booth in case he decided to try something. Usually I try to calm myself down about these things, thinking it's just paranoia, but I think this one was justified.
He sits down in front of me, apparently done panhandling, and faces me.
"Hey," he says.
I glance up, raising my right eyebrow. "Hey," I say nervously, and go back to playing my DS.
"You going anywhere?"
Well, I am on the train. "Uh, I'm going home." I look around. We're the only people in this car.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" Smooth guy.
"...Yes," I say. You always gotta say that, even though I'm a single woman now.
"Well... what he don't know won't hurt him."
My mouth opens a little in surprise, and I take a second to answer. "Sorry, I'm really not interested in that."
This is when he stands up and pulls a mask out of his pocket. Not a ski mask, but something like a Zorro mask. He starts to put it over his eyes, and lowers it at my stunned look.
"What?" he asks. "What?" he keeps saying. He's getting a kick out of this, I can tell.
I get up, and my hands shake as I try to figure out how to work the goddamn emergency entrance to the next car. Lift up handle cover. Slide lever. I move to the next car, hands a little scraped up from the experience.
When I leave the train, I nervously glance behind me, and of course, there he is.
When we reach the turnstiles, I pause.
"No one wants you, girl!" He says, turning his head toward me as he passes. Swearing, I look around for the CTA guard, who is conveniently absent from his or her cubicle. I wait there for a few minutes more before deciding that he wouldn't have bothered to wait outside for me.
And this is why I don't really feel safe in my neighborhood anymore. Along with many other reasons: gunshots, plenty of car alarms, a few more incidents witnessed on the El at my stop, being propositioned for sex, being screamed at by a crazy guy ("Don't go past here! There are niggers everywhere!").
Too bad Uptown is the ghetto, I'd move there.
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