Pick-up

Chicago's transit system (CTA) is shit at the moment. Today commuting is taking on a whole new meaning of hell.

I momentarily forgot that they were taking a track out for linework and got off at Fullerton to transfer to the redline. Oops. No northbound redlines. I haphazardly looked around in the pelting rain then I thought 'Fuckit, I'll get a cab.' Just this once, mind.

I stopped and got groceries then hailed the first cab I saw. He splashed up to the curb and I quickly opened the door, threw my bags onto the seat and told the cabbie my address. He looked back at me and said in an indeterminate African accent, “What time did the beauty pageant let out?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You just got out of a beauty pageant, right? That’s where you’re coming from.”

I looked at myself in the plastic reflection separating me and the driver with unkempt fly-away hair and 4 bags in disarray; I was a far cry from beauty queen status.

“Um, no.” I chuckled nervously and looked out the window.

“You’re very pretty, you should be in one.” Nutter.

“Thanks.”

I looked out the window, thankful the cabbie stopped talking and that I was about to get home. Lake Shore Drive was looking particularly lovely. Lake Michigan’s waves were lapping up steadily onto beach. The sky was tinged with pink streaks as sun forced itself through the dark, heavy clouds.

The cab turned off onto Sheridan and drove the few blocks to my building. As I gave him the money he said, “Girl, you’re gonna get there. Stay pretty.” By far the best pick-up line I’ve heard in ages.

But it didn’t work, obviously.