Some much-needed change

Bowl Of Oranges
-bright eyes

"The rain, it started tapping on the window near my bed.
There was a loophole in my dreaming, so I got out of it.
And to my surprise my eyes were wide and already open.
Just my nightstand and my dresser
Where those nightmares had just been.
So I dressed myself and left then, out into the gray streets.
But everything seemed different and completely new to me.
The sky, the trees, houses, buildings, even my own body.
And each person I encountered, I couldn't wait to meet.
I came upon a doctor who appeared in quite poor health.
I said 'There is nothing I can do for you you can't do for yourself.'
He said 'Oh yes you can. Just hold my hand. I think that would help.'
So I sat with him a while and then I asked him how he felt.
He said, 'I think I'm cured. No, in fact, I'm sure.
Thank you Stranger, for your therapeutic smile.'"

***

Maybe it's the cold. Maybe it's my messy sleep schedule. Maybe it's the fact I have $2.78 in my checking account. For one reason or a combination of them, I'll be the first to admit I've been a bit negative lately. Not negative in the sense of "my life sucks" but in a more obnoxious, unfair way. I've found myself secretly judging others and their lifestyles. Over the past year I've really bought into the theory of Nietzsche (I know, not the best of role models) that there are no "right" paths in life. Aside from being a good person, I do believe there are no right answers to life. Lately, though, I seem to be noticing ways I don't think people should live their lives, and not only is this unfair and selfish, it gets me, rather, gets us, nowhere.

Mainly I've been bashing materialism. Note: This could be a symptom of my lack of funds, but I doubt it. Prior to traveling, I donated most of my things to Goodwill and have not thought about a shopping mall ever since.

Funny anecdote: My great friend Scottie called the other day to tell me about this second-hand store in San Diego where you give them stuff and they give you store credit to buy stuff. "It's just like Goodwill but better," he said. "So, it's like Goodwill without the Goodwill," I asked. "Fuck you," he said as he laughed. "Don't make me feel bad." Love you Scottie!

I live in a very nice, rich neighborhood called Lincoln Park in Chicago. I am able to afford this because I sleep in a twin bed against a brick wall in the living room of my friend's girlfriend's apartment. Aside from lacking diversity, I really do like the area. Since I can accomplish my work in my underwear if necessary (I'm working on a screenplay and a book) and can do it on my own time, I am very content with my lifestyle. However, aside from my musician friend Tim, I do not have many friends. By friends I mean people who like to/can hang out on a consistent basis. Everyone is so busy. Busy working. Busy being too tired from work. Busy going to bed to wake up from work. Busy being busy. And aside from the lucky/smart few who actually pursue careers based on things they are passionate about, most people I have encountered around town speak of this busy lifestyle in a negative tone. We aren't talking about 64-year-olds here who are looking retirement in the eye. I am speaking of people my age, 23-year-olds, who are too busy to do anything but work. They live to work. The only thing work accomplishes if your job is not fun nor gratifying is having money. I understand some people are in debt and respect the hell out of people who work hard to support families. But what's up with the people who work all the time just for the sake of it?

I cannot help but see these people as materialistic, whether consciously or subconsciously. They don't like their work. They do it for money. They buy unnecessary things with this extra money. In all fairness, I'm probably just sad I don't have many friends to play with. Whether it's stupid or not, I'm a dreamer. When I was on the road I had people to share dreams with. Here it seems I can't talk to anyone about dreams because they're already sleeping.

***

Let it be emphasized I am neither proud nor happy of this recent attitude. It's judgmental, stereotypical, negative, and pointless. It's not the way I normally live. It's not me. I don't support it. I'm admitting it simply to help put the following story of one of the most-thoughtful human beings I've ever encountered into context:

I had gone grocery shopping the previous night. This left me with $2.78 in my checking account and $10 in my wallet. I managed to spend $2 at the coffee shop despite being there for seven hours (hot water is free, the $2.04 tea bags are good for a while, and the girl at the counter let the 4 cents slide). This left me with eight accessible dollars.

The $2.78 is sure to double in the near future since I started a new job. Unbeknownst to me, a handful of employers demand you get tested for tuberculosis. I was unaware this was such an issue. Not HIV, not rabies, not the bird flu. Just TB. And this convenient little test requires you return 48 hours after getting pricked to see the results (small mark = negative, some reaction I'm hoping not to see within the next 48 hours = positive). Since I am leaving town on Thursday, it was a must that I get pricked on Monday so I could return Wednesday for the good (I'm an optimist) news. This required me to take the el from Lincoln Park to Union Station ($2) and the Metra train out to the suburbs ($5), leaving me with $1 to spare. Perhaps you're supposed to tip your TB tester? I don't know. I'm new at this.

I thought I left in plenty of time. I don't have a watch nor do I ever know what day it is. The point is, I suck at time. I think it's just a made up thing to give people something to stress about. Anyway, apparently trains run on something called a schedule. I watched the Brown line el whiz by me as I climbed the staircase. It would be another 15 minutes before another would come.

I sat next to a friendly girl who helped me strategize my route for getting to Union station by 1:30. Take the Quincy exit. Head west. Walk three blocks. Or in my case, since it was 1:26, sprint three blocks.

I did just that, dodging frightened people on the downtown sidewalks who assumed I was either going to attack them or that I must have stolen something the way I was running in street clothes. I arrived to the station at 1:30:33....1:30:34....1:30:35...The ticking digital clocks everywhere did not let people, including myself, forget how important time is. I asked a man with a nametag where to catch the 1:30 train to Aurora. "Too late for that one," he said. "You'll have to catch the 2:30."

I called Tim, who was to pick me up at the Aurora station, to inform him I would not be there as planned. I never thought I'd be trying so desperately to make it to a destination in which someone with an all-blue outfit would stick a needle in my forearm, but here I was, blood boiling. I was wasting this precious concept known as time.

I'm aware that you can purchase tickets for the Metra on the train, but I had an hour to kill, so I figured I'd buy the ticket in the station. As I went to get in line, a young gentleman and his father asked me for some assistance at the self-purchase ticket machine. This was ironic because just the night before I spoke to my brother about how I am old-fashioned when it comes to certain things. The example I cited was never using self-check-in at airport. "I always prefer to speak to people," I claimed.

Their problem was simple. They were trying to put the money in first before selecting an option. They wanted the $5, one-day fun pass. What makes this pass fun? I'm not sure. But you could use it for 24 hours and it claimed it included all trains and buses. The father did not learn from his son's success, so I had to instruct him as well. They thanked me and went on their way. "That wasn't too hard," I thought to myself. So I decided since I was there, I might as well join in on the fun. I slid my $5 bill into the slot and out came the fun pass.

I noticed the machine and ticket said CTA. It said nothing about Metra. There wasn't even an 'M' in the acronym. I still had 15 minutes to kill, so I waited in line to rid my bit of paranoia. Four windows were in use. I noticed a bit of an argument going on between one of the attendants and a customer. The customer was being rude as if the attendant was a self-service machine without feelings. The attendant seemed offended and bothered. I hoped he would not be the one to assist me, but he was. "Next." I stepped up, explaining I had just purchased the fun pass and was wondering where to go to catch the 2:30 Metra.

"Those passes aren't for these trains," he explained as if I was the biggest dumbass in the station.

I remained calm and played extra dumbass. "Oh, really, I didn't know that. Okay, I'd just like to exchange it for the Metra ticket then."

"We can't do that." I would have been more confident had he said, "I", but "we"? He was speaking on behalf of everyone in the building.

"Umm, okay, well could you direct me to someone who could?"

"No. That's just a machine. We have nothing to do with it."

"Well, obviously you have something to do with it since the machine is in your station."

"No."

"Okay, well this was my last $5 and I have to get on that train at 2:30."

Blank stare.

"Wait, I have a credit card."

"We don't accept credit cards."

Blank stares from both parties. I wanted him to say something like, "But today I’ll make an exception," or "I feel sorry for how stupid you are. Please let me assist you onto the train."

Still blank.

I walked away slowly and dramatically, wanting him to yell, "Wait! Don't go! Let's figure out how to make this work!!!"

Instead I heard, "Next."

I walked to the nearest cement pillar and banged my head against it three times. I actually thought I might cry. And it wouldn't have been a subtle cry like when I watch The Land Before Time. It would have been a frustrated one that included all kinds of strange moans and yells. But I think I was too pissed at myself and the world to react much after the self-inflicted beating against the concrete.

I didn't have much time to consider alternatives (although now that I've had 24 hours, I've realized there weren't any) when I heard, "Hey man."

I didn't know it at the time, but the patron saint of public transportation was standing beside me. He was young to be a patron saint, I thought, and he dressed like a businessman.

"I heard what happened," he said. "You handled it well. Do you need a few bucks?"

"Um, man, that is so nice of you. Uhh, well, I could give you this fun pass?"

He laughed. "Um, yeah, I really wouldn't have much use for that. Here, just take this." He slipped me a $5 bill.

"Wow. That is so generous. What's your name?"

"Larry."

"Larry, I'm Brian." We shook hands. "Can I write down your address so I can send you the money?"

"No way. Have a nice day." He walked off into the horizon (past the Burger King) and I knew I would never see him again.

***

I spent the next ten minutes waiting by the fun pass machine to pay it forward. No one seemed to want to have any fun that day, and I was risking missing my train. A couple potential customers seemed bothered by the kid trying to offer them something. "Nah, I don't need anything man," one guy said before even learning what I was offering. "But I'm actually just GIVING you a pass for free. I don't need it. I bought it on accident," I said. (On the inside I was saying, just take the fucking fun pass. Hey, goodwill comes in many forms.) "Oh, well, in that case, okay."

I spent the hour-long train ride thinking about Larry. His thoughtful act was a simple thing to do. $5 likely didn't break his bank (I'm boycotting Jamba Juice because you can't get anything on the menu for under $5). But the point is that it went such a long way. It got me all the way to the tuberculosis-testing center. And it's still traveling with me. My faith in people was restored and then some. I feel stupid for my few days of pessimism. People aren't bad until proven kind. They are good-hearted until proven selfish.

Thanks for the change Larry. I really needed it.