Monday, December 12, 2016


Last week someone jumped in front of my train. I didn't see it. I wasn't even on it yet. It was the train that I take home after teaching children improv. I got to the train station but it didn't. The attendant told me, "No purple line." I watched literally hundreds of people walk briskly to the turnstyles (5 PM on Friday no less) and be brushed away. They were mad (I was before I knew what the hold up was).

I was in Evanston. No other lines nearby. No buses. We were told shuttles were on the way. They came, full, unable to fit a single person on. I waited for half an hour. I was supposed to have dinner with MB--visiting town--but she canceled on me just a few hours earlier. I had been sad, but weirdly it worked out because I wouldn't have made it. I was stuck.

A guy announced, "Anyone else want a lift to the Red Line?" I said, "Yes, I do!" Other people hesitated. He sort of sweetly pushed two older women to accept his offer. A Lyft came. Me and the grannies piled in the back. The guy wouldn't accept payment. He just didn't want the seats to go to waste.

One person displaced a thousand in a matter of an hour. Flood was texting me. Or was I texting him? We were trying to make plans for the next week, but I couldn't. I asked, ready to be denied, what he was doing right then. Nothing. He was even near my neighborhood. We went to Taco Bell, Marshalls, and Forever Yogurt. It was a great night. I had two auditions slated for the next day. One was cancelled. I wonder if the woman cancelling felt bad. I was happy. I already had a rehearsal and two shows to think about too. I got a headache during the first and dipped on the second. Something I've never done in my whole comedy career. I felt bad, but what do we know as to how things work out?

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