Wow

I'd just like to preface today's entry by saying that I am ordinarly a very understanding and compassionate person. Ask any of my friends and they'll tell you that, while I am a smart ass, I'm a pretty good guy. I'm pretty much only saying this now because what I'm about to write will probably make me sound like an uncaring, heartless bastard...but really, I'm not.

Today I thought since my friend Brad has a hall pass (read: wife out of town) for the week and is coming in to grab food and a few beers tonight, I would go ahead and take the Red Line home instead of my usual bus. Even with the five block walk it's faster, so I'll have time to hang my suit and tie up as opposed to falling asleep on them when I come home at God knows when.

As usual, I was able to get on a Red Line with no delay right after work today. Even better the car I was getting into had plenty of empty seats, so I thought "Rock on!" Well I, along with the other half dozen poor souls that got on with me, realized that there was a reason for all the open seats.

Now let me preface everything by telling you about my sense of smell. It's pretty good. I've been able to distinguish which type of Old Spice High Endurance body wash my poker buddies wear. I was able to tell what my coworker was eating from Panda Express without having to see it. My biggest pet peeve is my clothes smelling like food because I inevitably smell it for the remainder of the day no matter what amount of Febreeze I use.

Anyway, my olefactory senses were suddenly assaulted by what I can only describe as a Chuck Norris roundhouse kick to the nose. I looked around and, sure enough, found the source of said roundhouse kick. There were a couple of grocery bags full of trash and a bag woman in serious need of a shower and change of clothes. Seriously folks, this was a moment where I was envying the guy that has to take out the trash that somebody forgot about last week at a bad Indian restaurant. Cat diarreah on your rug after said cat eats food from the aforementioned garbage bag would have smelled better than what I was enduring at that moment.

To make matters worse she had her back turned away from me and I had no idea what it was she was doing. More than likely she was just trying to rest, but I've seen some weird shit in my time. Like one time, I got off the Red Line at Washington and turned, looked and saw a homeless man pulling up his pants and throwing a plasting bag full of "something" toward a lightpost. The bag went "splat" and not in that fun Double Dare kind of way either. That was a fun morning. So, now I have that going through my mind and I start wondering, "What if she does throw shit at the rest of us? Is there any way I can dodge that? Why did I bring my golf umbrella, I'll never get that open fast enough. Will that come out of wool? As long as it doesn't get in my mouth I'll be ok, right?" Yeah, I'm pretty whacked, I know.

Anyway, I start looking around and realize I'm not the only one having issues. The girl sitting next to me was valiantly trying to read her book, but I'm sure I saw her start dry heaving a little. A trixie sat down behind the homeless woman and the look on her face was one of pure dispair once she realized that she got blocked in by another passenger and couldn't get out. I was seriously having difficulty breathing through my mouth. My chest hurt the same way it would if I had 100lb weight on it, or if I was trying to watch Paris Hilton act.

I tried to do my sudoku and make it to my stop, but I just couldn't. I ended up switching cars at the Clark and Division stop. It was just too much to bear. I saw some of the other passengers get off at the Fullerton stop and they looked like they were ready to lose it, especially that Trixie.

Anyway, I wish there was something I could have done to help her, but I have a strict no homeless interaction guideline that I follow when in confined spaces. Hopefully she gets some help one of these days and I'll be praying for that.