Thursday, February 16, 2006

with sympathy...


So as you may or may not know, they are tearing down some of the El stations on the red and brown lines. I guess to expand them like the "sleek and modern" Addison station. The old stations would have an old fashioned charm if the city of Chicago would ever bother to clean them! Is it too much to ask for them to blast off the 100 years of pigeon shit? The stations are so disgusting. I hold my breath whenever I climb up or down the station stairs so I inhale as little of the birdshit disease fumes as possible.
I was on the red line the other day, and every time I exit the station at Belmont, I remember Halloween night, 1985. I would never recommend riding the train alone on that night, by the way, because of all the creepy people who just stand there in those masks that cover your whole face and head. "Are they looking at me...or not...?"
I used to wear extensions in my hair back then, to add to the full and spiky Robert Smith or Al Jourgensen look (they were my hair idols), and on that night I got one caught going down the stairs and ripped it out. And do I mean ripped. With all those people behind me, there was no time to stop and yell. "AAA! My over-styled fake hair is caught up on sumpin'! Help! Wait! Stop! My punk wiglette! MY PUNK WIGLETTE!" So I just kept going. I imagined this little piece of cut-up wig dangling there with a bobby pin still stuck on it. Oh, the shame! The new wave shame! I was so embarrassed.
When I was on the train that other day, I was also inspired to write about the night in 1986 I was mugged on the train.
I was at my boyfriend Jeff's place watching that horrible, awful movie "Faces of Death" (I cringe to even write that title, because I associate this terrible night with it so much. I also have an irrational fear of "Looking for Mr.Goodbar", because BOTH times I watched it, something REALLY bad happened.) with his roommates, Cathy and Kristin, when I decided foolishly at 4 in the morning to go home. He lived on Pratt by Loyola and I lived at Belmont and Racine. That's a good 40 minute train ride. This was early March, so when the guy with no shirt got on the train at the next stop, I knew it wasn't going to be good. He was with two other guys, and they immediately came up to me asking for money. I was 19 and barely working, so I had none. They didn't believe me, so I turned out all my pockets and emptied my bag to prove it to them. The "leader" said: "My friend has a gun. Do what we say or he'll use it. Where are you going? Belmont? We're going there, too." So I moved slower to have time to think about my escape route when we got to Belmont. Once they saw I didn't have any money, they started taking the things of mine they wanted. Surprisingly, happily, not my shirt. When we get to Belmont, I push my way off the train.
"Where are you going?" the leader said, grabbing my arm. "I'm meeting my boyfriend and his friends!" I said loudly and angrily. "Oh yeah?" he said with interest, as he started to rub my crotch with one hand and my ass with the other. "Oh shit" I think to myself. "I am being mugged by gay rough trade."
Well, I guess one of the other guys was his boyfriend, and he was PISSED he was touching me 'cause he WALLOPED me in the face, knocking me to my knees. "FUCK THIS SHIT" I yell as I escape down the stairs. Gun or no gun, I had enough. I ran into that little Mexican place next to Berlin, where I saw some friends, and told them what had just happened.
"Where did they go?" my friend Brian asked. He was so pissed, he ran after them, not caring it was three against one. They got the upper hand, and hurt him so bad we had to take him to the hospital. I felt like shit. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
But the next day, after some of the dust settled, I could see Brian was hurt, but not permanently. He said he was glad he did it, and he would do it again, for me. And someone had even found my bag and brought it to my work. That night, I took the train home. I think that was the night I knew I was my own person, with my own life, away from my parents, and no matter what happened, it was all going to be ok.

5 comments:

Steve said...

"AAA! My over-styled fake hair is caught up on sumpin'! Help! Wait! Stop! My punk wiglette! MY PUNK WIGLETTE!"

LOLOLOLOLOL

David said...

If you would have played nicey nice with them you would of had a hot Gay gangsta sex 3 way to Blog about now!

BC said...

you're so evil...

BC said...

and it would've been a four -way.

Mer G said...

I have a very similar story. Red Line. By Loyola. At least no one wanted to rub my crotch, thank God. Sorry this happened to you, babe. But I'm glad I didn't know you back then, because I would have been running after those guys, too. And my ass would have definitely gotten beat.