Quick note: my journey to the bar was not without event, seeing as a guy came up to me and began speaking to me in Spanish while I was waiting on the street for a friend. Awesome.
I was having after-work drinks at Hubbard Inn at Hubbard and Clark. This could be one of my new favorite bars. It is pricey, just like every bar in that neighborhood, but it was actually super fun. Anyway, we basically closed the bar down, leaving at around 1:45. My very gentlemanly friend Big Sean walked me to the Red Line stop at Grand and State.
When the train arrived, I grabbed an available seat and soon found out that we were riding express that night. We skipped about 4 stops on my way home, so I'm not complaining about that.
Then, I coughed.
The guy next to me said "Bless you." And then after a brief pause, he said "I couldn't tell if that was a cough or a sneeze."
After I informed him that it was indeed a cough, but thanks for blessing me, we engaged in a very enjoyable exchange about how it is a strange custom that people will acknowledge sneezes, but not other bodily functions, like farts for instance. He asked me, in the least sketchy way, where I was going. I said I live between the Addison and Belmont stops, but that I would be getting off at Addison that night because it is better lit and feels a lot more safe walking from the L.
After we had been enjoying each other's company for a good few minutes, he mentioned that we would never remember each other, pretty much ensuring that I would remember him. I told him that when I get famous, he should remember me. I suppose that was a kind of strange thing to say, given I had not explained my grand aspirations to him. He told me that I should just remember the logo and pointed to his polo.
"You're just trying to brag that you're a Marine!" I responded when I saw the logo. He admitted that yes, he was bragging a little bit. We continued to discuss Marines, what it's like, and whether they're actually as mean as their reputation suggest, and then my stop came. I guess that doesn't count as him picking me up, since he didn't get my name or number or anything, but perhaps it counts as him chatting me up, and I don't really mind.
Upon exiting the train, I saw a lot of guys in football jerseys. All different NFL jerseys. I decided to ask one of them what it was about, and it turns out there was a big Fantasy Football draft that night, or something. I began to think about how jocks can be nerds too. Anybody who cares that much about anything, especially something with the word "Fantasy" in the title, is clearly a nerd. The idea that through the ages jocks and nerds have not been categorized together seems contradictory to the fact that sports enthusiasts devote hours to Fantasy Leagues...
I began walking South on Clark away from Wrigley Field, and within the two blocks it took me to get to my apartment, I got the opportunity to observe a young lady in a mini dress and heels engaging in some public urination while congenially chatting with some cops, who were presumably trying to get her to stop peeing/move. She didn't seem stressed at all about the cops catching her, and she insisted that she would be done in a minute. I assume the cops felt at a bit of a loss, since they are probably much more used to keeping guys from peeing on the street than girls. I didn't stare for long, but they really didn't seem to be doing much other than talking with her.
After some dude passing me on the street decided to tell me to "smile," I made it home to my bed, my head packed with memories of the last 25 minutes and the type of people you meet on the street at 2am.
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