Wet Socks

So I'm sitting here in my cube looking out the window at the white sheet blanketing the city. Pretty, yes. Serene? Sure. But upon close inspection and slow motion replay... it's a horrific experience to be entreanched in the debacle that is the commute.

People of Chicago, hear my words.

Shovel your sidewalks!!!

It's not enough that I forgot my boots at my parents. Nope, Mother Nature decided to provide the Midwest with a torrent of snow. The snowy trail left by previous pedestrians on the way to the Blue Line made for a dicey journey. With every step came the uncertainty of the next. The uneven pedway made for a strenous lower body workout. Thankfully, years of neglecting my ankle health has given way to ankles able to bend and twist in any direction without injury. But that's just two joints that are not affected by the beautiful evil that is snow. Nope, the ligaments in my right knee are a bit strained as walking down my street proved to be the equivalent of a hard tackle during a soccer game. After each step came a mis-step follwed by another. Suffice to stay, the elementary school kids probably got a laugh out of it watching me gracefully try to navigate the sidewalk. The police officer must have chuckled as I stumbled with every footprint. Ah, but alas, the fun does not stop there...

The slush. The greyish murky dirty melted/melting snow that inhabits every sidewalk exit and entrance. That ladies and gentlemen is why my socks are soaking my poor feet. Cars, it seems, like to collect the inhuman substance for pedestrians to walk through. But the automobiles can't be blamed for this accumulation. No, this is something we all have to put up with. I have only myself to blame for wearing regular shoes out today instead of boots. Still, as I am never at fault, I must find someone or something to blame. Ergo, slush, you are not my friend today. I shudder at the thought of how my feet will smell at the end of this day.

On a completely different topic... What a gracious amount of time to allow a passenger to exit the train? You would think that after 5 seconds and the disembodied voice telling all passengers that the doors will be closing would be ample time to allow someone to disembark from the tin that is a Chicago 'L' car. But apparently, some people would like about an hour to do so. Not to name any names... but you, yes you. The crazy lady who gave everyone a death stare on her way off the 'L' as you took your time to exit. You madame are a piece of work. To yell at us boarding patrons as the doors were about to close is, well, awesome. This is your stop? Oh well, we should have heeded your signs as you sat in your seat until the last possible moment when you realized that this was your stop. Well, we're sorry, we didn't know you wanted to get off here from the primal scream you so eloquently provided us before we set foot onto the train. Your tattered clothes and infinite bags must signal some sort of royalty that we are all too unaware of. But, I, on behalf of all sane peoples, will apologize to thee my fair queen of the Washington Blue Line stop. Please accept it wholeheartedly as it is sincere. I know this as fact because as we pulled away from your devilish stare and unapproving shake of your head, we as a collective gave each other the WTF look. No, it's not from disbelief or inquisitive nature of humans. Rather, it is from our shock that we did not bow down to your highness. We apologize that your schziophrenic demeanor would be looked upon by others who are not familiar with your stature in society as that of a jack-hole. That's a technical term. But again, I say sorry. Next time, I'll be sure to run the hell out of your way if I see you. Apparently, you need to part the Red Sea in order to disembark from the train. The overcrowding is a problem and it must have been a solitary incident that put you and us at the same juncture of time. I'm sorry your desheveled hair gave you the appearance that you are an indigent person. I'm sorry your odor did not give us ample caution to allow us to kneel to your presence and clear a path for you and only you. I'm sorry that everyone behind you went through the other door as you screamed at us.

But I digress as I sit here with my feet soaking in my shoes with wet socks. Man I could use a beer.