Children and Pigeons

While hanging out at one of my favorite restaurants, a waiter, remarking on some notably ill-behaved kids, said, "Ugh. Children and pigeons. Spreaders of disease."

I was reminded of that today while riding the Brown Line. A woman and her two kids were sitting behind me, and the kids were coughing and sneezing like crazy, dripping with mucous, with no attempt by their parent to cover their mouths or prevent the spread of their heinous germs in any way.

I was cheered by the fact that I was wearing a long-sleeved turtleneck, so I could option "sleeve-gloves" and a "shirt-mask" and hopefully prevent direct contact with the spawns' undoubtedly plague-infested germs. Hey, I know I look like a weirdo, but Kate Winslet's death scene in "Contagion" haunts me to this day. Shudder.

#66 or is it #666? The devil is in the details.

I am not a daily CTA user, but when I do use the Authority, I'm usually on the bus.  Usually, it's the (sometimes literal) shit show that is the #12 Roosevelt, but today found me on a midafternoon jaunt on the #66 Chicago.

 I made my way to the back of the bus.  I'm still looking into it, but it may be some sort of crime for an area to smell that much like a brewery and not actually serve beer.  After a few blocks, I realized I was sitting on the periphery of a half way house field trip.  Trust me, I work in social services and nothing brings together that particular confluence of race, age, and social strata like a current desire to stop using mind altering, life ruining chemicals and a previous inability to do so.

A young, chubby girl was showing a 40 something with pointy nubs where teeth had once been and another middle aged lady a tattoo design she was going to get.  A five pointed star inside a shining sun. It was heartbreaking in its mundanity.  Pointy Nubs was all for it.  The middle aged lady did not care for it.  No, she did not like that "devil sign" that what-do-you-call-it "hexagon."  Chubby girl insisted it was not a devil sign.  That was a six pointed star.  I restrained myself from screaming, "It's a pentagram, which has 5 fucking points.  It says so right in the name.  Pent = 5!"  Everyone decided the tattoo was fine.  Except me.

Meanwhile, a grandma in the most elaborate Bugs Bunny as Vice Lords symbol (1 ear up, 1 down; upside down pitchfork in hand) t-shirt I have ever seen gets on the bus.  WTF?