Taking the Blue Line train in Chicago is a journey. In rush hour it’s a true adventure. Stepping off the bus at Chicago and Milwaukee, I was immediately affronted with tons of people going in every direction. Every direction, but the direction I was going. I had to have my wits about me and know exactly where I was going; otherwise I would’ve been trampled by the herd behind me. In this place there is no such thing as a lackadaisical Sunday afternoon stroll, everyone is at a sprint.
People around act like insects, scurrying in multitudes of directions with seemingly no purpose. Of course, we all had a purpose; we were all going in the same direction. People were trying to get around the slow ones in any way they could, if it came to climbing over someone we probably would have done it. 1.7 million people take the CTA each day, it felt like all 1.7 million were taking my train! For a short moment there was chaos but eventually everything turned into water sliding through a funnel. The funnel fills to the top and nothing moves, then all of a sudden everything falls down that little hole in one swift, smooth, silky, motion, and that little hole, was the stairs.
Running down the stairs is an entertaining experience and almost impossible one. The stairs are always wet with some liquid substance, which I hoped was just water. Water turning to ice is also inevitable in the colder months. Having, 1.7 million people dashing down the stairs, like the place is on fire, is quite a sight to see. I had to keep moving at all times or I would have been run over by the herd of buffalo loping behind me. All these people going in unusual directions dealing with slick or icy steps still managed to get to the place they are going. I think it is a magnificent feat that no one trips, or even slightly skids as you are making this decent. Making my mad-dash down I heard a whooshing sound that indicated the train had arrived, the already fast pace accelerated. It’s almost as if everyone spouted wings and began to fly.
The beeping sound of everyone’s card going through the slots signaled my next quest. In the tiny space of about a minute and 30 seconds, I had jumped out the bus, run into at least three people, glided my way but not fallen down the stairs, fumbled in my purse for my Upass (university train pass), had it ready so that no one was stuck waiting behind me and made sure I didn’t drop it in the liquid on the floor. There was this fear inside me that if I placed my Upass in the wrong way it would have been swallowed up like a python swallows its victim whole; I would never see it again. If, however, I did everything right then I was safe to face the next part of my expedition.
The card was placed in the correct-facing direction and the light turned green.
The moving metallic bar allowed me to move to the next realm of the station. One more set of steps, not slippery this time. The tunnels were finally reached and as my feet hit the smooth ground, a train whizzed by. The train was going the opposite direction, to Forest Park. There was a quick realization that the rushing was for nothing. CTA trains make about 2,391 trips each day and serve 144 stations, it appeared that this, 1,984th train was not our train and the tedious wait must now begin. Like vultures that swoop in, in hoards, to savor something only to realize it’s still alive, we had to find something else to prey on.
There was a moment for me to catch my breath; I usually walked down a little ways so I could catch a cart that not everyone else was waiting for. As I took leisurely, deliberate steps to my target, I inhaled; the smell of aged air assailed my senses, like a boxer would strike his opponent. I wheezed slightly, but only slightly so that no one would see my reaction to the odor. It seemed that down in the tunnels I was at my most vulnerable and I felt like everyone was scrutinizing me, observing me like a child examines bugs through a magnifying glass.
Everything was dim and dingy. Paint was flaking off from every wall, but gazing closer I realized it wasn’t paint just filth. There were some blocks painted blue indicating that I was in the right spot, I was in the blue line station. To which I was thankful for as the very rare signs around were indecipherable.
A decrepit old lady sat in the corner rocking herself to sleep. There was a young couple sitting and whispering, giggling like they had a special secret. There was the wandering musician, playing for himself but hoping everyone else appreciated and donated to his cause. In amongst this there were your ‘everyday’ travels. The young business man going to the apartment he rents alone, the weary old man who looked like he is going to his second job after he’s already worked 12 hours, the druggy asking for spare change everywhere she turns to feed her indulgence, the children with backpacks with their nanny making the trek home and the college football fans singing some bizarre jingle as they headed to their game.
Somehow, with all these people there was a strange kind of stillness; it’s as if we all gradually realized that we weren’t in our own worlds and were all of a sudden surrounded by others. We were all seeking the same watering hole, but pretending we weren’t. This quiet made everyone uncomfortable and nervous. Everyone’s eyes were downcast, heaven forbid we looked at anyone.
Most people stood close to the tracks, as if standing closer would make the train come sooner. Everyone would peer out to see if anything was coming even though we all knew when the train had arrived. The head- lights of the train are always so violently bright you can see them from miles away. So, everyone waited, gazing down at the tracks. An odd rat would run by, obviously about to face its death, liquid also runs down there, nobody knew where it came from but it was there none-the-less.
The stillness was abruptly broken; I heard the sounds of the train edging closer towards me. Looking down the railway those bright lights were coming towards us, at an alarming speed. My hair was propelled every which way it could possible go, even my arm hairs stood on end. No one moved at this time, the train zoomed by and came to a rapid halt. Everyone paused for just a couple of seconds, as if in a quandary about which cart to board, then swiftly that mad-dash appeared again. The doors opened and I had less than 30 seconds to make it through. Everyone rushed forward, like thousands of ants all trying to get in the same tiny hole at the same time. There was pushing and shoving to made sure that we would board that very train. No one wanted to be left behind, all alone, for the next train. As much as we ignored one other, we still felt reassurance in numbers.
Astoundingly we all made it. We were like a bunch of cotton balls stuffed in a jar, but we all made it.
There was that moment again where I could breathe. Even thought my body was smashed up against at least 5 other people in the train, I could breathe. That stillness was there again, the one where everyone looked down was in their own worlds. No need to rush anymore, besides the constant movement when people would get on and off the train, we did not need to budge. There was a sense of relief, an almost audible sigh of everyone in the cart was apparent. We would make it to our final destination. What should have been a simple daily traveling event was indeed an expedition.
