Yup, I was on that train. (Well, not THAT train, but the northbound one immediately opposite.)
So. I'm on the northbound Red Line, on my way back from an interview, and a few minutes after we come out from underground, we pass a southbound Red Line, and . . . THUMP. A big thump. A massive thump. A 5.2 Richter-scale ohshitWTF kinda thump.
Conductor stops the train, pokes his head out the window, then starts yelling into his radio. Uh-oh. Then he goes onto the intercom, telling us all to stay on the train. Yeah, dude, we're in the middle of an elevated section of track with no station anywhere near. Who the heck is getting off this train?
He comes out, opens the side door, and while people are all like, "What happened?" he jumps out onto the tracks and runs back towards the southbound train. Runs, guys. CTA conductors don't run unless Armageddon is coming.
We wait.
In the meantime, we're all looking out of the windows, trying to see what's back there. Two CTA workers on the tracks are just standing around.
We wait.
The conductor comes back, advises us that there's been a derailment, that it's not our train, but since they had to cut power, we won't be going anywhere for a while. Joy. Ten minutes later, a quarter of the Chicago Police Department, half the Chicago Fire Department, and every friggin' news helicopter in the city shows up. And a couple of HUGE trucks with cranes on 'em that look like they could lift Sears Tower. Fun times.
We wait some more.
Apparently, half the train has opened the side doors to check out what's going on, which results in the conductor racing through the car, closing ALL the doors, because you know some idjit is going to fall out sooner or later. So much for fresh air.
We wait some MORE.
So. A half-hour later, we're sitting there, doors closed, no A/C 'cause the power's been shut off, and some asshole lights up. Because, as she said, "I've just gotta have a cigarette." And so she does. Nevermind the laws against it, and just fuck the rest of us on this overheated, already-airless train, just trying to BREATHE, because your cigarette break is so much more important. D: Humans, man.
Then a dude with my kinda sense of humor started blasting "Crazy Train" on his phone. As the intro started, those who got it, laughed. Those who didn't were like "huh?" And every refrain of "goin' off the rails on this crazy train" triggered renewed giggles. Sir, whoever you are . . . you are forever my hero. Best usage of music EVER.
We're still waiting.
Half an hour later, the conductor comes back, fussing up a storm. Apparently, those two workers who were on the tracks left a switch open and THAT'S why the other train derailed. Someone will be losing his job, methinks.
Wait, wait, wait.
Another thirty minutes and the train starts moving again. First, we're told that since our train was involved in the incident, we all have to get off at Fullerton. Cue moans and complaints. Fifteen seconds later, he corrects himself. Now we DON'T have to get off the train. Whatever, dude, just get me home.
Then . . . after it's all over, after we're buttoned up, powered up, and on our way to Fullerton station, the girl behind me, who has been quiet as a mouse the entire time, pulls out her phone and starts crying at the person on the other end. Like, full-on blubbering. I have no idea what language that was, but she was crying like her dog had just died. Weird.
. . . and now, some two hours after the initial incident, I'm finally home. Yay?
The Chicago Transit Authority. Gotta love 'em.
Da news.
Looky, it's my train! (My train being the one NOT all bent outta shape.)
Conductor stops the train, pokes his head out the window, then starts yelling into his radio. Uh-oh. Then he goes onto the intercom, telling us all to stay on the train. Yeah, dude, we're in the middle of an elevated section of track with no station anywhere near. Who the heck is getting off this train?
He comes out, opens the side door, and while people are all like, "What happened?" he jumps out onto the tracks and runs back towards the southbound train. Runs, guys. CTA conductors don't run unless Armageddon is coming.
We wait.
In the meantime, we're all looking out of the windows, trying to see what's back there. Two CTA workers on the tracks are just standing around.
We wait.
The conductor comes back, advises us that there's been a derailment, that it's not our train, but since they had to cut power, we won't be going anywhere for a while. Joy. Ten minutes later, a quarter of the Chicago Police Department, half the Chicago Fire Department, and every friggin' news helicopter in the city shows up. And a couple of HUGE trucks with cranes on 'em that look like they could lift Sears Tower. Fun times.
We wait some more.
Apparently, half the train has opened the side doors to check out what's going on, which results in the conductor racing through the car, closing ALL the doors, because you know some idjit is going to fall out sooner or later. So much for fresh air.
We wait some MORE.
So. A half-hour later, we're sitting there, doors closed, no A/C 'cause the power's been shut off, and some asshole lights up. Because, as she said, "I've just gotta have a cigarette." And so she does. Nevermind the laws against it, and just fuck the rest of us on this overheated, already-airless train, just trying to BREATHE, because your cigarette break is so much more important. D: Humans, man.
Then a dude with my kinda sense of humor started blasting "Crazy Train" on his phone. As the intro started, those who got it, laughed. Those who didn't were like "huh?" And every refrain of "goin' off the rails on this crazy train" triggered renewed giggles. Sir, whoever you are . . . you are forever my hero. Best usage of music EVER.
We're still waiting.
Half an hour later, the conductor comes back, fussing up a storm. Apparently, those two workers who were on the tracks left a switch open and THAT'S why the other train derailed. Someone will be losing his job, methinks.
Wait, wait, wait.
Another thirty minutes and the train starts moving again. First, we're told that since our train was involved in the incident, we all have to get off at Fullerton. Cue moans and complaints. Fifteen seconds later, he corrects himself. Now we DON'T have to get off the train. Whatever, dude, just get me home.
Then . . . after it's all over, after we're buttoned up, powered up, and on our way to Fullerton station, the girl behind me, who has been quiet as a mouse the entire time, pulls out her phone and starts crying at the person on the other end. Like, full-on blubbering. I have no idea what language that was, but she was crying like her dog had just died. Weird.
. . . and now, some two hours after the initial incident, I'm finally home. Yay?
The Chicago Transit Authority. Gotta love 'em.
Da news.
Looky, it's my train! (My train being the one NOT all bent outta shape.)