My roommate Claire and I did another all-nighter last night and hoped to find some cool stuff to write about by riding on that sketchy red train where the homeless get blamed for everything. The more we travel, the more we meet unhoused persons who befriend us, offer us snacks, or ask what we are doing and if we are “okay.” Of all the people we see, homeless persons are usually the most polite.
However, there are some wild and hardcore homeless types we are learning to avoid. It is true it takes all kinds of people to make up the world.
There are usually a few different types of people on the train. First, there are in fact some homeless people, all quiet and hiding in a corner, trying to get some rest—they are behaving.
Second, there are some hardcore folks—stretched out half naked—over four or five seats and needing a shower sometime soon. We do not judge—we just observe.
Third, there are some people who act like they are in a circus and have a variety of issues—the guy with no pants on, the dudes cowering in a corner and smoking weed, the salesman trying to sell cigarettes at one dollar each, the kid sitting there telling some story about a camping trip with nobody listening, some drunken blond stud who is screaming into his phone while people try to guess what language it is (Estonian???). Once in a great while, riders are treated to the famous dancing woman who is wearing a blue-and-red argyle men’s dress sock—and nothing else.
Fourth, there is the young couple from DesMoines or Mankato trying to sleep. This cute kid and his girlfriend look like little angels…
They drank a big bottle of champagne to relax—and to celebrate finally being in the big city.
Some random guy befriended them, giving them “something special and strong” to smoke—and not charging them a dime for it! He instantly became “their new best friend!”
Not knowing how to behave in Chicago, they have every conceivable kind of backpack, telephone case, purse, camera bag, satchel, and suitcase lying about—not knowing that by late morning when they finally wake up every single item they own will be gone. This might include the girlfriend.
Fifth, there are the crazy graduate students who are trying not to stare at people, taking notes on little legal pads because to have a tablet or laptop out in plain view in the middle of the night on the Red Line would be like wearing a sign that says, “Scare the kr*p out of me by screaming weird sh*t at me and then grab my new tablet and run off the train…”
The night is very quiet—a few people sleeping, a few people from the circus department have come in and worked their random shift while we watch… and we are sometimes frightened, sometimes amused. In the middle of the night, things pick up on our train-car-turned-television-screen…
Things suddenly changed in the middle of the night.
A security “detail” entered our TV show. Two men with dogs, a woman, and three more men walked onto the car and stood around, talking. The group of security people toward the conductor’s end of the car traded off, alternating between teasing and petting the dog at that end. This dog scratched and scratched, trying to remove the metal cage that was covering his mouth. The other dog was wearing one too.
The dog at our end of the car, and his handler, stood near the door. All the security officers were wearing black costumes, and they were all using filthy language, laughing, and talking loudly—even though some people were clearly trying to rest.
Suddenly, a train pulled up on the other track and its doors opened. Immediately, all the security guards left our train and walked over to that other train. It is important to note that the security guards did NOT break into two groups. They ALL went over to the other train—presumably to protect riders there—and we would guess to protect each other.
A random young African-American male left the other train while the security force was entering the train. The doors closed behind them.
The man was around 25 and about 6 feet tall, thin, wearing a bright blue hoodee. He was African-American, with a very, very high forehead and dreadlocks. He looked much like a Klingon (Claire and I compared notes later on this point.) He entered our train…
He was noisy and rowdy (we’ll call him Louis) and started yelling at one of his associates. They yelled back and forth. Louis had a huge wad of money in his hand, and he suddenly ran back over to the other train, screaming he had forgotten something.
Louis beat on the door and yelled that he needed to get back on the train to look for something. The guards would not open the doors—though it did appear they were looking under the seats for whatever he claimed he had lost—or left—on that train car.
Louis flashed a bunch of money at them, but they would not open the doors.
That train pulled out.
Soon, lights flashed on our car, and our train started to rock. Louis ran back over to our train, and he was yelling at his friend again.
Louis next sat down on the floor of the car and took a black marker out of his jacket. Next to a side seat, he wrote some capital letters, with a little word under that display. Then he got up and went back to talk to his friend.
A man (Black, 30s, tall, thin, construction boots and red jacket) who had been harassing a woman down at the other end of the car went and sat in that side seat where the tag was displayed. He had a huge duffel bag full of clothes and other items. Claire and I decided this guy was creepy (not objective but fitting the situation).
Louis decided he wanted the bag.
Louis yelled at the creepy guy “That’s my bag!” and several other such statements, like ‘I need that bag!” and “That’s my bag now—I need all the sh*t that’s in it.”
The creepy man holding onto the bag was yelling back, “That’s my bag!” and “How am I gonna take your bag? I need that stuff ‘cuz it’s mine!”
Louis started lunging at the man, and he started throwing things at him—most of which bounced off the window, it sounded like. (We could not stare and we alternated glancing down there so we would not be swept up into the impending battle—which NOBODY was protecting us from.)
Louis jumped up to reach the bar overhead, so he could swing forward and kick the creepy man in the face—presumably to knock him unconscious or kill him. Just as he got ready to attack the creepy man, he warned him, “Give me my bag or I will f*ck you up!”
At this, the creepy guy grabbed the bag and ran over to the conductor’s door, cowering in the corner and holding onto the bag.
Louis grabbed a big knife out of his pocket and rushed the guy—saying, “I will f*cking kill you!”
The guy started screaming, of course…
The conductor (roughly 6’3” and 350 pounds) came out of the cockpit and told the guys, “One of you has to go to a different car or get off the train. I have to separate you!”
The creepy man started yelling about Louis trying to take his bag—and threatening to kill him.
Louis stood there, holding his knife.
The conductor repeated his statement.
The conductor said nothing about the knife.
Eventually, Louis gave in, going to the second car, mumbling about killing people as he did so. His associate went with him…
The creepy guy went back to harassing the woman sitting across from him. We could not hear what he was saying exactly (and “StreetSense” does not print words like that anyway) but we did hear her say about a dozen times she “Did not have time for all that” and how he should stop.
I mentioned to Claire, under my breath, I did not see the Redline getting much safer lately.
Claire whispered something back, but I will not repeat it.
.
.
Note: By leaving the train car we were on, the group of seven black-shirt security guards had left us in the middle of a fight between a sketchy guy with a huge bag of “stuff” and an out-of-control aggressor with a six-inch-bladed knife—who was allowed by the conductor to remain on the train. Every single security guard, including the two men who were handling the dogs, were on the other train, as we witnessed an aggressor with a knife run around the car, threatening to kill the guy whose bag the aggressor wanted.
We felt trapped. We could not move, for fear we would attract more attention to ourselves. We could not get off the train, for we were not sure where we were. We did not know how to take his knife away. We were not trained as ninjas. We were stuck there. Without protection.
Claire and I agreed we did not feel safe last night on the Redline. However, we know that is a subjective statement to make.
I would still have to admit, though, I have NEVER felt that terrified in my life.