Dear Chicago Transit Authority,

When I moved to Chicago last August, I felt such affection for you. You showed me how to get around, you took me to places I had never been, and then ... the love was gone. Do you want to know where we went wrong? Do you really want to know? Okay, okay. I can tell you that it might have something to do with the frequent smell of urine, recurrent hostility, the plethora of delays, and again, the very frequent smell of urine.

You lied to me. It never used to be like this. In the beginning, everything felt so lively, and you intrigued me. Then, after only a handful of rides, the amusement faded, and I began to encounter more and more of your “CTA-tions” (painful situations on the CTA).

Here are a three (of many) notable “CTA-tions.”

1. On The Way To My First Open Mic.
Here I was, brand new to Chicago, ready to experience the public transit I had never experienced before. Brown Line, Harold Washington, you were my first. September was so very long ago, but I can still distinctly remember seeing that offensive puddle on the floor, the three scrunched up paper towels half-heartedly attempting to absorb it. I was disgusted with how you dealt with the situation, or rather, didn’t deal with it. And the smell didn't help either.

2. “I Know You’ve Got Money!”
There he was, a man wandering throughout the train and asking if anyone had anything to spare. For some strange reasoning when he got to me, and I muttered, “No, I’m sorry,” his face propelled itself significantly closer to mine. He did not blink as he uttered the words, “I know you’ve got money!” I really didn't have any money at the time. Absolutely out of dough! His eyes glared into mine for what felt longer than the ride itself, and then he moved on to find better luck, I hoped. A vulgar aroma begins to fill my nostrils again. Oh no.

3. One-Hour Blue Line Delay On The Way Home From Work.
Alright, so I had just left a very busy afternoon shift at Ramen Takeya (my sweet, new place of employment), and the only thing that really sounded appealing happened to be a nap in my new La-Z-Boy at home. I anticipated the train would be fifteen minutes, but when I finally stepped foot inside, I learned we would not be moving for the next hour. During that time I endured the loss of air conditioning as well as lighting and an older woman singing out the gospel and subsequently crying out the Book of Revelation. This was a delay, not the apocalypse. The light blinked on (not the one she was looking for), and everyone cheered, and a kid with a 24-pack of water bottles journeyed on a victory lap around the train. It was beautiful. This specific CTA-tion alone ended happily.

Those are only a few of the several CTA-tions I’ve experienced, but in the end, they were all learning experiences. Moving to a big city can prove to be quite challenging, but conquering the CTA is a major step in becoming a real Chicago person. Now, whether I am taking the Red Line, Brown Line, Orange Line, Pink Line, Blue Line, Green Line, Yellow Line, Indigo Line or Purple Line (only Chicagoans can spot the imposter), I always remember confidence and headphones. Your unreliability and poor attitude won’t be able to bother me anymore!

With Loathing,
Al