When You're A Stranger

Lately I've been spending alot of time in Chicago.  In the last week, I made three visits to do some job training for a position I'm taking at a business called Music Industry Workshop.  

A quick rundown on the company:  Music Industry Workshop is a community resource and vocational school dedicated to building up the Chicago music scene.  They offer courses in Recording/Engineering, Music Business, Digital Music Production, Live Sound, DJ Mixology, and Music Video Production, as well as other specialized courses for advanced students.  On-site is a professional recording studio that's been used by artists like Kanye West, Britney Spears, Smashing Pumpkins, and many more big-label artists, and all the way down to the most amateur of musicians (I recorded here with my band before we broke up!)  Aside from offering courses and studio resources, MIW is a huge link in the chain of Chicago music networking.

Link here!

So anyhow, I've been into Chicago a lot lately, and I've learned some pretty interesting things.  I'm not just talking about having my first Chicago-style hot dog that actually came from Chicago...

or realizing that subway trains have, on average, many more attractive girls than the trains I ride to the city from my home in Northwest Indiana...

 A photo analogy:

I've actually had some pretty cool human experiences in the last three trips.

The first job-related trip I took, back in the beginning of July, was spent mostly trying to find my way to my destination and not get hit by a car or angry native.  But after awhile, I became a bit more comfortable in my environment and began to interact with the world I was in, no longer just passing through like a migrant bird. A humorous example of this happened on the subway.  The train was packed, and the only way I could stand and not crash into people every time the train slowed or sped was to stand directly in front of a seated businessman, with my arm reaching up to a rail to the left of him. 

Coulda been worse...

But the situation was a bit awkward because I was several inches from him (and everyone else around me), and my arm was raised so that my armpit was like a foot and a half away from his head.  I said to him, "Don't worry, I double-applied my deoderant this morning, so we should be good."  To which he replied, glumly, "Good thing."

A less humorous and more meaningful experience happened on the way back to my hometown one evening.  I was in the train, which was also packed so I was standing near the doors next to several other people.  One guy, named Mike, was standing in our cluster and began to talk to me about something, I can't quite remember what.  And at first I was a bit more interested in the conversation being over, so I could get back to my magazine.  Then I remembered back to my work training earlier in the day:  My boss was talking about how my job goes against what we were taught as kids, and that is "DON'T TALK TO STRANGERS!"  He then said, "You know, the grown-up world involves a lot of talking to strangers"  and as I reflected on this in author-mode and not worker-mode, I realized that the world is full of strangers and to not talk to them because we don't know them is a pretty thorough death sentence in terms of reaching your socializing potential.

So, back to Mike.  He said something about the train being packed, and I said "Yeah, I should have seen it coming with Lollapalooza and everything", and then we got into talking about music.  He shared a bit about his nephew who plays guitar, and I talked about disliking Nickelback for their lack of important things to say, except for the token "Peace, Man" song everyone writes, that one "If everyone cared, and nobody cried" song or whatever.

We chatted for a bit, and the lady across from me was uncomfortable with the conversation, because Mike was just a little different.  I think he may have had a social disorder or something, but I didn't see that as any reason to not continue talking to him.  Across the landing we were all grouped on, another lady watched the conversation and made coy faces that implied she had thoughts about Mike, and she occasionally turned and whispered things in her husband's ear.  I think overall, the whole group was confused by the thought of two perfect strangers meeting and talking like friends from the get-go.  I daresay that it is unusual, but so is winning the lottery, and no one has anything bad to say about that.

During the conversation with Mike, I talked about how the city was so full of people but might as well be empty because everyone keeps their eyes down and their mouths shut.  And I hope the people around me, who were so unsettled with talking to strangers, heard that thought clearer than our thoughts on Nickelback or PS3 vs. Xbox 360.  I have another scenario which illuminated more the isolation in the city, but I'll get to it in due time.

Towards the end of our conversation, which covered Shania Twain, The Beastie Boys, Metallica, Lollapalooza, Mike's nephew, my old band, my dreams, his career, and more I've forgotten, Mike was preparing to leave the train, and he said to me: Well, maybe I'll see ya on the train sometime?

I think Mike knows all too well the isolation of the city, though he lives in the 'burbs and commutes in.  Add in the blissful fact that he is unique, and he probably encounters the coldness of his surroundings more than a man in the Arctic. A few times throughout our conversation, Mike backpedaled when I would say something that disagreed with his statements.  He seemed to be very tense throughout our talk, and I think that this could be due to people not wanting to talk to him.

I really hope I do see Mike again on the train.  It was really cool meeting a guy 10 years my senior, but always my equal, and talking to him about things that mattered, things that didn't, and just getting to know someone in general.  I entered that train car a stranger among 150 strangers or so, and before Mike disembarked, I was a stranger among 149 strangers and 1 friend.

On that same train ride, I shook awake a drunk and passed-out man who had been asleep "for the last six stops or so" according to the teen couple sitting behind him.  The girl told me this as if it was funny.  'Six stops or so' could easily have put him 20 minutes past his home.  I kind of addressed the people gathered around me, and said "Well we've gotta wake him up, if he's passed out, he could get picked up by the cops at the end of the ride."  No one had anything to say about it, so I shook him out of his sleep, nervous he would be mad and punch me or something.  

He jolted awake, inhaled sharply, and sat up with bloodshot eyes, certainly taken aback at the handful of people gathered around him (we were waiting for the doors to open so we could leave).  He thanked me, and then the teen girl who told me how long he'd been out said in a sarcastic voice "How sweet of you", as if I should have just let him stay asleep and get arrested.  On my way out, I noticed another two people passed out on each other, and as I spoke to an older man that it was his duty to wake them up because I had to go, he didn't make eye contact or say a single thing.  I hope they got off the train alright despite the utter complacency of their fellow man.

 And on my most recent trip, yesterday, I met even more people!  Immediately after arriving, I met Luke from Greenpeace, who shared some very impossible-to-determine statistics about how plants burning coal for electricity directly lead to the death of 46 Chicagoans a year.  Not much to say there, but it was cool to be on first-name basis, and he seemed unprepared when I said "Nice to meet you Luke, I'm Evan."  He also seemed surprised when I said "Thanks Luke, have a nice day".

I also grabbed lunch at a local place on Fullerton Ave., called Branko's, right by DePaul University.  It was just me and the owner inside when I got there.  She was very kind and patient with me while I decided what to eat, because it all sounded so good.  I decided it was high time I had a Chicago dog that was actually from Chicago.  She was one of those ladies at restaurants that says "Hun" and "sweetie", and that tiny restaurant was very clearly where she felt at home.  I sat down at the counter-style seating along the wall, and staring me in the face was an article about the restaurant from the newspaper.  Her father started the restaurant after moving into the country, either in 1986 or 1976, though I can't remember which.  After he passed, the lady I met took over.  The store had even been recognized as an honorary partner of Vienna Beef products, and I read that they only choose one per year.

Towards the end of the evening, I was walking back to my train station and decided to take a crucial detour to get Dunkin' Donuts.  While in line, I met a man who played guitar professionally, and would be taking part in one of the only tango operas at The Cultural Center.  He seemed uncomfortable at first but soon warmed up to me, even though my inital question (What kind of guitar do you have in that case?) led to other questions that showed him I knew precious little about guitars.  We didn't get on first-name basis, but nonetheless it was nice to meet someone new and talk about something that is very real and near to their identity.

The detour to Dunkin Donuts was crucial because without it, I would not have walked the route I took to my next stranger, Alan.  I saw Alan sitting on the big road that runs right in front of The Bean...Lakeshore Drive or maybe Michigan Avenue.  He was shaking a cup, asking for change.  In a tragic juxtaposition, the change I was going to give him was trapped underneath my iPod and headphone wires, so I made a fuss about how hard it was to get my change out.  I told him that I only had a few minutes to spare, but would like him to give me a 2 or 3 minute rundown of his story.  A few sentences in, I realized he wasn't drunk and garbling every word, as I've experienced with several other homeless people.  I also realized there was no need to be standing in front of him, separate from him, and sat down next to him, on the one water main cap that he wasn't occupying.  We sat and he explained to me why he was where he was.

Funny...they almost look...human.

He told me he lost his job, and now tries to raise enough money to go to a shelter nearby, where you can bring 18 dollars to get 18 hours of shelter, a bath, and a warm bed.  His son is 12 and doesn't understand what it means to be homeless, so he has to recuringly explain to him that he is having a tough time, and is not (as his son thinks) spending time with another family, being someone else's dad.  Every so often, a homeless ministry group that he is involved with will have a special on baseball tickets, and he said he sometimes saves up enough to buy a few tickets at 2 dollars apiece, and with 25 dollars given to him by the ministry group, takes his son and some friends to a baseball game.

 

I had smelled a poor person before, someone who doesn't have access to bathwater or shelter, in the Dominican Republic.  Alan had a very faint smell, but it wasn't overwhelming.  Not far beyond a subtle version of an athlete post-practice.  Other than that, Alan was more normal than I am.  We talked for about 15 minutes, and sometimes he would stop mid-sentence to deliver his plea for assistance: "Spare some change for the homeless okay thank you, have a lovely evening."  He often moved seamlessly from the greeting to the farewell because people walked by at that speed and said nothing to him.  Sometimes he would toss in personalized statement, like "You ladies look beautiful this evening" or I think he said something about a little boy's cool shoes.  I told him that if he keeps up the compliments with the ladies, he might end up with a date.  He chuckled a bit and said "Man, I can't afford no date, women like to be wine and dined."  Too true, Alan, too true.

Midway through our conversation, I looked down into my hand and saw the last bite of a donut.  I realized I'd been eating a bowtie donut the whole time, not even thinking anything of it.  I apologized and said that if I'd have thought more about it, I'd have given it to him.  He said "nah, it's alright, you were hungry".  I was in awe of his understanding nature.  I thought aloud, "Well, yeah, but me hungry and you hungry are two completely different things."  I still can't believe the good fortune I have to know food and shelter so regularly that I can eat food in front of a homeless man who said "Naw, it's okay, I ate this morning."  This morning?!  If I hadn't eaten since that morning, I'd be walking right to a restaurant and buying myself some food with the disposable cash I have.  Alan isn't so lucky.

All throughout our talk, he kept saying, "But it's okay, I do a lot of praying, and I believe that God is good."  As I shook his hand before walking away, he took a few seconds to close his eyes and thank God for bringing me to him and helping him out.  That was kind of humbling.  And I hope the passers-by registered what they saw (as more than just a weird pair of guys): a 20 year old white kid, by most definitions rich, grasping the hand of a 40 year old black man, homeless, and by most definitions a disgrace, each of them with closed eyes and downcast faces.  I must say, the way we were standing, with eyes closed and faces down and hands held, made me feel as though something powerful was happening that moment.

Back to his statement that he believes God is good and such...I've met people before who have had it really rough, yet they praise God more than me, someone who has it quite well.  And I essentially realize now that it isn't some profound indicator of their personal strength, it's a profound indicator of the mysteriousness of God.  I feel somewhat as though it makes sense - me doubting God and Alan praising him unconditionally.  When have I ever been outside my sphere of control?  When have I ever had to rely on others to exist, when no other person on Earth wanted to help me?  Never.  And therefore, I have never been able to see God in my life devoid of the filter of a cushy life.  Maybe times that God did something for me, it just seemed natural...because things often work out for me because I have opportunities. Alan isn't afforded the kaleidoscope of generous extended family, secure shelter, and well-meaning parents through which to view the blessings that come to him.

All throughout our talk, people walked past and some double-took the situation, maybe wondering if I was a rich kid sitting with a poor guy, or if I too was a poor guy.  Probably 50 people walked by, and none of them gave him anything, no change, no nothing.  Only one responded to him like a human, a pretty girl who apologized for not having any change.

I parted ways with Alan, and stepped down the stairs to the train station smelling my hand.  My preconceptions about homeless people are so strong that I kept smelling my hand, expecting it to have some foul odor or be dirty, but it was neither of those things.  I'd shaken hands with a perfectly regular human being, just one that we like to typecast as a failure when we discuss them with friends, and maybe, a slim percentage of us, show compassion or feel compassion for when we see them.

I left the city with lots to think about.

My last few days to the city have taken me closer to humanity, the noun and the adjective, than I usually am.  Some people retract when you get closer to them, and some lean in.  I guess where I stand is here:  The world is made of strangers, several billion of them.  To spend our time leaning away from the strangers, and therefore world, is to isolate ourselves and limit our lessons learned to the people we are dealt in our immediate area.  The most I ever learn about life comes from people, and I feel confident as I say that you'll miss out on some crucial lessons if you just lean away from the Mikes, Lukes, Alans, Branko's ladies, Professional Guitarists, Drunk Passed Out Dudes, and Businessmen With Your Pit In Their Face.

It isn't a matter of being socially graceful or not, so don't give me the whole "I'm not a people person" thing. It's just a matter of wanting to commune with fellow man enough to ask to.