Dear Metra

While I was on the train this morning an automated message that sounded oddly like my cousin Jay came over the loud speaker.

Please be courteous to fellow passengers. Turn off the ringer on cell phones
and keep the volume on headsets to a minimum.

But there is something missing from this list, which is why I’m writing you this letter.

You need to add:

Please don’t speak and please sit still.

Those were the primary rules in my house as a kid. Well, my dad didn’t say please he said, “Damn it”, but I think “please” is more PC. I know it sounds strict, but if people think speaking is against the “rules” then when they do it, it will be funny or meaningful because they know everyone will hear. It certainly won’t be 45 minutes of incessant hyper spastic bitching from a woman who is obviously on speed. The sit still rule should be enforced because if riders move it will be subtle, not trampoline like abuse while getting situated in a seat, flagrant flailing of the arms while applying make-up, or personal space invasion by today’s puffy coat fashions.

Now I don’t know about you, but I can tolerate ringing cell phones. That, “dut-do-dut-do dut da do” is a catchy tune. It almost makes me want to get up and do a little dance. That is if I wasn’t trapped in my seat by a bitching puffy coat, but I’ll get to that later.

Loud music isn’t offensive either. In fact, I see it as a necessity, but again, more on that later.

What I can’t stand are the chronic complainers, the incessant bitchers who go an entire trip ripping to shreds each and every person they’ve ever come in contact with. What is wrong with these people? If they are so miserable about life and society then shouldn’t they be locked up? Should they be medicated? Shouldn’t they at least be quarantined to a special Metra car reserved for AM crab asses?

I invested $4.80 this morning to fly from the burbs to Chicago instead of driving my car and polluting the environment. I would like a refund. Let me tell you why.

As you may know by now, I despise puffy coats because this morning a woman in her mid-40s sat next to me, wearing a black puffy coat. From being cornered into listening to this woman bitch I later learn she has been married for many many years with kids, in-laws, bills, and bunions. I’m not saying she had nothing to bitch about, I’m just saying I was the victim here. First of all, when she plopped into the seat next to me I’m pretty sure I hit my head on the ceiling of the train. I may have suffered a little brain damage because I can’t remember the last time that I had a date, but don’t worry; I’m not going to sue. This woman hit the seat like a damn wrestler. I thought she weighed like 880 lbs. but then she took off the coat and it was more like 20.

So, when she took off this coat, or I should say the RV disguised as a coat, of course it actually made contact with me and was like 3 or 3.5 inches over that stitching line that is the unofficial boundary between seats. Okay, Metra, you don’t know me, but I hyperventilate if my “me” space is invaded be it by a coat or a crumb. I couldn’t help but focus on this violation. When is she going to move it? Doesn’t she see it is in my space?

I mean, what am I paying $4.80 for? What exactly does that include? Please be specific. If that weren’t bad enough she starts squirming around, bouncing the seat up and down, so I had to balance my coffee like a waitress who was running with glasses of water. I tolerated the elbowing as she looked through her “purse” for apparently the house it could fit, but when she took out a gallon bottle of perfume I had to speak up. I asked her to please not spray the perfume because I have asthma. (I said please not damn it even though I wanted to.) Her facial expression called me a freak and she put her coat back on as if she was going to leave. Of course I got swiped in the face by the 50 lb. left sleeve. Honestly, I wouldn’t be shocked if a class action law suit surfaced in the future due to all the damage those coats do. They should be taken off the racks and used to insolate homes! Just when I thought my prayers were answered, her phone rings.

Who knows what she started to complain to the caller about, I don’t even think the caller even got a chance to speak. That would be funny if it was a telemarketer. She got angrier and angrier and she complained about her sister-in-law, mother-in-law, husband, sister, landlord, neighbor, the coffee shop, the mess in the parking lot, her hair dresser, the traffic on the way home, office politics, how there is never any half and half left for her in the morning at the office. It was clear that this woman was wronged by so many people, but that didn’t excuse her from jabbing me as she talked. If I scooted over anymore towards the window I’d be sending blowfishes to people waiting to get on the train. Not that I even wanted to come in contact with the train window and all that goo-whatever it was. I can tell hair goo from baby spit goo, but this was an UGS, an unidentified gooey slime.

The goo was my only salvation. My escape from listening to this woman go on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on. I wanted to jump off the train. I actually thought it out, how to jump and roll just the right way to escape this hell without breaking an arm. Hell, if I broke an arm it would still be worth it. No, that would be bad because then if I ever sat next to this woman on the train again she’d jab my broken arm and then her bitching and jabbing would really cause me agony-both mental and physical. I wanted to kick the back of the guy’s seat sitting in front of me and command him to say something happy to change the subject. To help this miserable fellow commuter because she was making others and me miserable. Why couldn’t he turn around and lie and say she was funny, or pretty, or that she should get off the cell phone because he wanted to call her. Guys use these lies all the time. Why not use them when they’re useful! I think the lucky SOB was sleeping.

I did my part by looking at her out of the corner of my eye, real evil like, and sighing. It was the best passive aggressive sign language I had for shut the hell up. You know what was funny, the first thing I wanted to do when I got off that train was to dart to Osco and buy the loudest CD player they had, so during times like this, I can just pump up the volume to drown out the bitter women who take advantage of an isolated situation, like a train ride, to trap everyone into listening to her psychotic babble, because otherwise no one would give her the time of day with that crap.

Would you believe she was still complaining? Now it was about Christy at the office. Christy “looks” at her funny. I tried to imagine what she meant. Does Christy look at her cross-eyed? Does she stick her tongue out at her? My guess is that Christy looks at her funny in a vain effort to make this woman laugh, hopefully dislodging the mammoth sized uncomfortable object that has settled up her ass. Hurray for Christy I say!

This woman should keep her anger inside and develop an ulcer as far as I’m concerned because her tone and irritableness was released into the air like toxic mold or the stench of sewage. She knowingly transferred her misery to the rest of us on the train. I compare this to people with flu like symptoms who know they’re coming down with something, yet they still kiss their significant other who then really comes down with the flu. It’s wrong. It reeks of intent and it should be punishable by law.

You offer a refreshment car for people to drink and unwind after work, why not offer a counseling car, for people who need to bitch. You could create cute flyers to promote the program like bitch-n-cheese where you offer free cheese, or bitch-n-stitch where they complain while learning to crochet. Once they know how to crochet they will then be peaceful, if not thoroughly boring people.

Thank you for taking the time to listen to me bitch, I mean suggest. I feel much better. If you feel my suggestion is a good one, then please contact me. I have more.