Ah, spring! When the youth of Chicagoland get drunk and act horny and stupid in public!
These four girls in their khaki bad-grzlz get-tough gear (including backwards ball caps) got on the 5:10 pm South Shore train at Randolph Street station, with their camera and little brown bags that might contain bottles of Pepsi but don’t. I mean, Pepsi doesn’t smell like beer, ya know? It was sort of a guessing game if any of these chickies was old enough to drive, much less purchase and consume fermented barley juice. Anyhow…
As the ride wore on past university stops and Hyde Park and historic Pullman the girls got progressingly more extroverted, loud, and foul-mouthed. LOTS of “fuck this” and “fuck that”, which progressed from complaints to long, loud, monologues about sex, specifically what they were and weren’t getting. All of which much have given them ideas, because a discussion of kissing soon progressed to demonstration of same, with tongue action.
Then one of 'em straddled another and crotch rubbing ensued.
Now, I’ve done my share of stupid drunk teen aged stuff in public, but it didn’t extend to that. Mostly, I’m just LOUD when inebriated and I tell bad jokes badly. I never fornicated in full view of the commuting public.
While all this was going on, several riders of the same train car had told the girls, repeatedly, to cool it, settle down, behave, and so on, but this crotch-rubbing-with-tongue-action-kissing thing was the last straw for one woman, who stood up and, after her last verbal warning was ignored, got a conductor.
Said conductor came down the length of the car a short time later with a “What stupid shit is the public doing now?” look on his face. He told the girls to gather up their stuff and come with him.
At this point it finally penetrates the fog of stupidity and alcohol that maybe someone is actually upset at the little darlings - although they can’t imagine why. That was one of the astonishing things about this little circus - the horny drunk sluts seemed to genuinely be mystified as to what, if anything, they had done wrong. All those puzled exclamations of “What? You’re kidding!” and “What for?” seemed the most sincere part of the whole act.
As they were being led away, one of them attempted to loom over the Official Reporting Bitch (difficult to do, when one is drunk and the train car is swaying) and kept saying 'You have NO IDEA what you’ve done. NO IDEA. When I get to South Bend — you have NO idea." As to what this extremely vague threat would entail she never elaborated. I was amused at the idea she still thought she was going to ride the train to South Bend. Hell, I’m not too sure that, when she sobered up, she’d be able to identify anyone. Around this little drama, other passengers (including me) were openly speculating whether they’d be handed over the Chicago cops at Hegewisch or the Indiana cops at Hammond
It was the Indiana cops at Hammond
Anyhow, as several commuters were filling out the Official Pink Inciident Reports in a train car with four seats no one wanted to sit in, due to the spilled beer (I hope it was spilled beer, although it could have been spilled body fluids the way these gals had been drooling over each other), we pulled into Hammond and sure enough, big burly cop by a squad car waiting for the train.
As the other commuters are clueing into the fact the conductor and the cop are having a conversation, and we’re all going to be just a little bit delayed getting home to dinner, the slutty little bitches are STILL going on and on - LOUDLY - about how they didn’t do anything wrong, that one lady was a bitch, blah, blah, blah. As I was passing through the car (I head forward for a more advantageous exit at my stop, which comes after Hammond) I clarified - LOUDLY - that it wasn’t just one person offended, by the way - thank you for spilling beer all over the seats - and, oh yes, you are all unbelievably disgusting. You want to do that, get a hotel room and screw each other there.
Hmm… maybe I’d been a bit loud. The car suddenly seemed rather quiet. Even the stupid horny teenaged lesbian sluts didn’t say anything. Well, anyhow, I kept on moving up into the next car, before I said something to escalate the situation. I hadn’t realized just how annoyed I was until then.
Well, Mr. Big Burly Cop and Mr. Conductor herded the Stupid Horny Teenaged Lesbian Sluts out onto the platform, where Big Burly Cop started the You Are in Trouble lecture. At this point, the SHTLS all seemed to shrink about 6 inches, lose about 5 years of age, and clue into the fact that maybe, just maybe, they had perhaps somehow someway done something wrong.
I dunno - when your daddy has to drive from South Bend to Hammond, Indiana to bail your drunk, horny ass out of jail just what the hell do you say? “Gee, dad, I didn’t know fucking my chick-friend in public was unacceptable behavior.”?
Of course, one aspect of this farce the little SHTLS didn’t clue into was the male attention they were getting. Well, maybe they wanted attention, and maybe even male attention, but they were completely oblivious to the fact that a certain percentage of males, upon watching SHTLS-gone-wild action, would not only get ideas but take it as an invitation to join the party - whether the girls would want them to or not. Maybe not on the train - but Bad Things can happen at stations and in parking lots.
And, to be honest, the idea that these girls might, in their state of intoxication, get into a car and try to drive themselves home from the South Bend station was not making any of the rest of us happy.
To think that I had assumed I’d been missing out on the Big City antics since I moved to the industrial armpit of America known as north west Indiana…
:rolleyes:
