An open letter to the drunk girl on Red Line run #906

I just need to thank you for momentarily changing the way I perceive this citys public transportation system. Long have I thought of it as an open forum for the citys poor and somewhat less than poor alike to turn an efficient mode of public transit into a part of my life that is convenient, yet utterly disgusting. There must be a thousand empty bags of Cheetos crammed in between the seats and the wall, yet it just wouldnt be public trans without them.

Your pure, unrestrained drunkenness undoubtedly made it impossible for you to clearly remember this train ride. It was crowded so you were standing, as were many of the passengers. Next to you was your boyfriend, a man with red hair, a goatee and clothes that may have been in style during his fraternity days in 1999. My apologies if I am being presumptuousif he wasnt your boyfriend then he was definitely grabbing your ass more than the average white male late night rider might.

Enough settingback to the topic at hand. You were quite drunk and would have been more comfortable sitting in a position where you could have simply passed out. You were standing, however, and for some reason your arms didnt seem to be functioning because you were propping yourself up by resting your face against the upright handbar.

Perhaps in your intoxicated state you thought it was a giant corn dog, because you were damn near licking the very bar that thousands of homeless people, commuters, chronic masturbaters, and ass-scratching scumbags grab hold of when the train lurches to a stop. The manner in which you was firmly committed to mouthing that bar almost convinced me that the palm sweat of half the city of Chicago must somehow make it delicious. Perhaps it has something to do with just the right combination of salts and spices from the countless fingers of people having their ghetto lunches of Cheetos and Doritos. For a moment, I perceived the train as a true monument to flavor, thanks to your revolting display of public drunkenness. Perhaps as an encore you should next try licking the train’s electrified “third rail!”

In the end I came to my senses and simply thought to myself Woah there drunky! The train hasnt arrived at White Castle just yet. For a moment there though, you really distorted my view of this towns beloved train system!

Sincerely,
Tzeen

P.S. the top you were wearing looks like something the police might wave before an injured deer to distract it before they shoot it in the head. You should demote it from Friday night bar hopping top to dust rag.