Pick Your Battles
I took the Metra back to Downers Grove this past Saturday to see Travis’ band play (thumbs up), and to watch the Superbowl with my parents and my sister, all of whom will soon be Caribbean-bound for a temporary reprieve from these dastardly temperatures. Leave me in the prairie trenches taking icy wind-blasts to the face, real cool guys.
Anyways, I found a seat on the BNSF and proceeded to mind my own business while my headphones launched a shock and awe campaign against what little hearing I have left. Across the aisle from me was a cute blonde boy (3-4 y/o), who was clearly pumped to be on a train, and his grandfather. The little guy wasn’t being annoying, he was just jacked up to ride the train and take a bath and get a haircut (apparently he had big plans for his Saturday). I smiled to myself, recalling a simpler time when all that mattered were Legos and cardboard box spaceships. Then I zoned out, staring zombie-like through the window of the train car, taking a mental vacation from any kind of law school related analytical thought process.
My mindless self-indulgence was interrupted by shouting that was loud enough to drown out what I had previously thought to be an insurmountably boisterous level of hateful music. I paused my shit and turned around to see what was up. Some huge, Biggie Smalls looking dude was in the face of the Metra conductor. Loud enough for everyone on the car to hear, this dude shouts:
“Man, this is some bullshit. This don’t even look like real money. Why you givin’ me phoney money?”
He’s holding up a $10 bill. Apparently, it wasn’t crisp enough for his liking. A barrage of shouting and expletives continue to spill out of this dude’s mouth while the conductor just keeps telling him to take his seat. Biggie starts stomping up and down the aisle, grabbing random people’s tickets, throwing them around, and telling them they should all get a refund. He then asks the conductor for his money back, and the conductor denies his request. More dialogue follows:
Conductor: “Please take your seat, sir”
Biggie: “You take your seat, motherfucker. You gonna make me sit down?”
Conductor: “No, but I’m going to call the cops”
Biggie: “Call the motherfucking cops, I’ll tell them you tried to give me some phony money”
My little blonde buddy across the aisle starts crying. Biggie won’t sit down, just keeps pacing up and down the aisle shouting. Conductor calls the cops. Biggie assembles every black dude on the train car (complete strangers) to examine the “phony” $10 bill. Half of me is dying laughing on the inside, the other half is insanely pissed that this dude is being ridiculous and clearly upsetting a bunch of people.
One of the bill examiners exits the impromptu huddle and re-takes his seat immediately behind me. He gets on the phone with a friend and says something to the effect of:
“This guy better be mafia or some shit. Somebody gonna follow this guy home. This is why I don’t like dealin’ with white motherfuckers”
I don’t even know what to think at this point. Are we going to have a fucking race riot on a Metra train over an old $10 bill? Biggie gets out his phone and calls 911! He wants to give his side of the story, apparently. The conductor is not happy, and he’s talking to some motorcycle gang looking good old boys on the other end of the car. I’m looking for the nearest exit.
We get to the La Grange stop and there are a bunch of cops waiting. Biggie and the Conductor get off and give their statements. In the meantime, the train is stopped for a good 10 minutes while we wait for this bullshit to get sorted out. As we pull I away, I see one of the cops writing Biggie what was probably a disturbing the peace ticket. Without further incident, we make it to DG and I exit the train with a sigh of relief.
Now, let me just say that it does suck to get shitty bills back as change. $1 bills are especially brutal when they’re all old and wrinkly because I can’t use them in vending machines to buy fat boy treats. What sucks even worse, though, is a grown man acting like a child on a train full of people who shouldn’t be subjected to his bullshit. Oh, and Biggie won’t have to hold on to that “phony” $10 bill very long, because I’m sure the ticket they wrote him was for at least $50, probably more.
Anyways, I found a seat on the BNSF and proceeded to mind my own business while my headphones launched a shock and awe campaign against what little hearing I have left. Across the aisle from me was a cute blonde boy (3-4 y/o), who was clearly pumped to be on a train, and his grandfather. The little guy wasn’t being annoying, he was just jacked up to ride the train and take a bath and get a haircut (apparently he had big plans for his Saturday). I smiled to myself, recalling a simpler time when all that mattered were Legos and cardboard box spaceships. Then I zoned out, staring zombie-like through the window of the train car, taking a mental vacation from any kind of law school related analytical thought process.
My mindless self-indulgence was interrupted by shouting that was loud enough to drown out what I had previously thought to be an insurmountably boisterous level of hateful music. I paused my shit and turned around to see what was up. Some huge, Biggie Smalls looking dude was in the face of the Metra conductor. Loud enough for everyone on the car to hear, this dude shouts:
“Man, this is some bullshit. This don’t even look like real money. Why you givin’ me phoney money?”
He’s holding up a $10 bill. Apparently, it wasn’t crisp enough for his liking. A barrage of shouting and expletives continue to spill out of this dude’s mouth while the conductor just keeps telling him to take his seat. Biggie starts stomping up and down the aisle, grabbing random people’s tickets, throwing them around, and telling them they should all get a refund. He then asks the conductor for his money back, and the conductor denies his request. More dialogue follows:
Conductor: “Please take your seat, sir”
Biggie: “You take your seat, motherfucker. You gonna make me sit down?”
Conductor: “No, but I’m going to call the cops”
Biggie: “Call the motherfucking cops, I’ll tell them you tried to give me some phony money”
My little blonde buddy across the aisle starts crying. Biggie won’t sit down, just keeps pacing up and down the aisle shouting. Conductor calls the cops. Biggie assembles every black dude on the train car (complete strangers) to examine the “phony” $10 bill. Half of me is dying laughing on the inside, the other half is insanely pissed that this dude is being ridiculous and clearly upsetting a bunch of people.
One of the bill examiners exits the impromptu huddle and re-takes his seat immediately behind me. He gets on the phone with a friend and says something to the effect of:
“This guy better be mafia or some shit. Somebody gonna follow this guy home. This is why I don’t like dealin’ with white motherfuckers”
I don’t even know what to think at this point. Are we going to have a fucking race riot on a Metra train over an old $10 bill? Biggie gets out his phone and calls 911! He wants to give his side of the story, apparently. The conductor is not happy, and he’s talking to some motorcycle gang looking good old boys on the other end of the car. I’m looking for the nearest exit.
We get to the La Grange stop and there are a bunch of cops waiting. Biggie and the Conductor get off and give their statements. In the meantime, the train is stopped for a good 10 minutes while we wait for this bullshit to get sorted out. As we pull I away, I see one of the cops writing Biggie what was probably a disturbing the peace ticket. Without further incident, we make it to DG and I exit the train with a sigh of relief.
Now, let me just say that it does suck to get shitty bills back as change. $1 bills are especially brutal when they’re all old and wrinkly because I can’t use them in vending machines to buy fat boy treats. What sucks even worse, though, is a grown man acting like a child on a train full of people who shouldn’t be subjected to his bullshit. Oh, and Biggie won’t have to hold on to that “phony” $10 bill very long, because I’m sure the ticket they wrote him was for at least $50, probably more.