I leave

the office in a foul mood.

Everything tech-related was flakey today – making the easiest tasks irritating.

I pass the gauntlet of homeless people on the Madison Street bridge; most just shaking their plastic cups, too tired/lazy/crazy/high to ask for help.

Then, walking through Union Station, I see Sir Richard the train conductor and suddenly I just feel better.

Finishing our conversation from this morning, he tells me how he works at the Chicago Board of Trade in addition to the trains. Working on the grain floor, he used to make sure the trades were accurate because “errors can be costly, you know.”

Now, with electronic trading there are no worries when it comes to errors. But I didn’t get to hear what he’s doing for them now because he had to help someone looking for a train.

The extra money allows him to take his family on amazing vacations – right now they’re saving up to go to Australia and New Zealand.
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Okay. Of all the things that drive me completely bat-shit, #1 is the sound of crinkling wrappers.

Yesterday on this train I sat next to a woman eating Cheese Nips. One at a time, extracting them from the bag between two elegant yet fat fingers.

Every time she reached in I wanted to scream: “Dump a bunch in your hand! Pour them into your mouth! Either way, cut the crinkling!”

Let me just say this: she sure didn’t need the Nips. And I didn’t need to hear it.

Today – wouldn’t ya know it – she’s next to me again. Crinkling that goddamn snack bag, oblivious to the excruciating mental pain it’s causing me.
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And yes, you can forget that whole giving-up-being-irritated-with-people-I-don’t-know thing.

Lent is just no match for two days with the Nip Lady.
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“Oh, it’s a guitar!” I realize, staring at the large cardboard box sitting in the luggage bin at my feet.

Taylor Quality Guitars.

Somebody on this train is excited. They’ll get home and carefully take it out of the box, run their hand over its smooth surface, play that first magical chord. And smile.

Or, they’ll wrap it up and give it to someone. Someone who’s wanted a guitar for as long as they can remember.

Turns out, it’s an old, white-haired man with the guitar. He gingerly pulls the box from over his head, making sure not to bump it against the rail.

He doesn’t look excited, just inconvenienced. Almost angry.
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Train conversation:

“Jimmy Carter got it right: he lusted in his heart.”
“He was the first president that I voted for.”
“He is a good man.”

We’re on this train. Heading in the same direction.

But that’s about all we have in common sometimes.