No Sleep 'Til Wisconsin (Pt. 5: the big leap!)

TODAY'S QUESTION FOR COMMENTING: Cats and other works by Andrew Lloyd Webber -- yay or nay? Discuss! -- Erin :)

(Continued from last week.)
October 2006, Evanston, Illinois

Full disclosure: I do not want to write these next couple installments. I mean, I really do not. Because these are the sections where I reveal myself to be an even bigger moron, at least when it comes to public transit (and isn’t that just a big mirror that reflects our whole lives?), than you or even I thought possible. But I must soldier on. If I don’t write this part, we can’t get to the donuts on the soccer field later!

So here we go.

I was in the record store, chatting with the clerk about Ted Nugent’s beef jerky business while he looked up the book All You Need to Know About the Music Business for me on the computer. I have a copy on loan from Adam, but I need my own because, much like the businessman on the Metra, I like to highlight. No. I need to highlight. It’s become something of a thing with me (points if you know what movie that’s from!) ever since I read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance while working at a YMCA camp in the Rocky Mountains.

If you know that book, you also know the YMCA/mountain setting is an almost eerie one in which to read it. There were so many mind-bending ideas in the philosophical parts of the book, and I knew I’d want to remember them. I also knew there was no way in hell I would ever waste another second of my life reading about how to maintain a motorcycle! (Say what you will about Zen . . . , but there is no false advertising in the title. None whatsoever. Kind of like the musical Cats, which, I learned the hard way, is just about cats and that’s it.)

Anyway, Vintage Vinyl was out of the book, so I stopped by Dr. Wax on my way back to the train (no luck either). It was almost 1 p.m., and the announcer in a Metra booth kept making garbled comments about how a train was running at least 20 minutes late. Which train? Heading which direction? No one on the platform could tell. But we all distinctly heard Waukegan mentioned. Big whoop. I was sick of Waukegan and I hadn't even been there (yet).

Two semi-creepy men kept trying to talk to me, and since, mathematically, two semi-creepy men equal one total creep, I went inside the station. I asked the disembodied voice which train, specifically, was late. If it was mine, I wanted to do a little more shopping instead of spending half an hour getting leered at by suburban bankers.

The woman assured me my train was on time. But the weird announcements continued and by the time a train pulled up, heading north (AKA "to Wisconsin"), I was more confused than ever. Which train was this? Was it the delayed train, which was only going to stop in Waukegan like the first one I’d been on? Was it my train, the train that would FINALLY get me to the land of cheese curds and that quarterback with the unpronounceable name?

I looked around, hoping to see a sign, either on the train or from God. The El trains are clearly labeled on every car. On the Metra, you are apparently just supposed to know and trust. Ha.

I got on the train, looked for a conductor to query, and couldn’t find one. I asked the first passenger I saw, “Is this train going to Kenosha?” All the woman could say was, “I think so.” Not good enough. I had a one-track mind, and a voice in my head wouldn't shut up: We are NOT going to Waukegan! Don't make me go ninja!

I'm sure Waukegan is a fine place, but there was no denying the will of the voice. So I did the unthinkable. I still cannot believe it. As the announcement was made – “doors closing!” – I turned around and jumped off the train.

WHYYYY???!!!!

(To be continued . . . Tune in tomorrow when we find out if leaping off the train was a good or a bad move. Heh. What do you think?)