Misses Gump and the Train Car's Vicious Doors

While perusing a book by Hunter S. Thompson, I looked up, after the train stopped on the blue line stop at Grand, and watched as an elderly lady with a walker take her seat in close proximity to the train car's doors, next to a young lady in blue, texting away whatever important business that is of hers. The two had managed to talk for a bit, with some idle talk being exchanged to other passengers that were near them. Except me since my head was hunkered over the book nearly the whole time.
She seemed kind and meant well. There was an obvious issue with her back, which explains the involvement of the walker. And such a sweet and soft voice that it ringed like Misses Gump.
When her stop arrived, her slow venture from the seat to the metal doors was met with trouble: the train's operator was apparently blind to her condition (we were in the last train car) and continued to seal the doors off while she was in the middle of making her exit. She got caught in-between them. In the spurt of the moment, my instincts to help her were cut short when two men caught quick notice to Misses Gump and pulled the doors apart. It was a success. One of the Good People looked out from the car and toward the conductor with such contempt that a high school bully would have his dreams crushed if the attacked victim were to return the favor.
Misses Gump turned out to be okay in the end, seeing as it were a minor accident altogether. I watched her walk away before I returned to Thompson's world.
I named her Misses Gump because her voice emulated the softness that is Sally Field's.

Snow Wheels

In addition to witnessing those in trouble, despair, or angst, I once helped a woman with a walker through the tough sleet that crashed into Chicago not too long ago. The predominance of the accounts shown on this blog are merely journalistic entries set forth from a single individual seen in public, albeit most are drawn from experiences on the CTA. That being said, an occurrence sprung into play not on the CTA but on the street: a beggar who has lost the ability in his legs was strolling in his wheelchair up next to the vehicle lanes, parallel to the recently installed bicycle pathways along the municipal road. Hunkered down by heavy winter clothing and a small blanket on his lap, the failed human placed all of his strength into the wheels and with enough endurance to also smoke a cigarette while doing so. He soon stopped a few pedestrians here and there for possible inquiries on loose currency or any show of a Good Samaritan to walk into a sandwich shop and purchase a cold cut for Snow Wheels. While I didn't necessarily hear the conversations on the street, it felt justifiable to assume the mundane: "'scuse me, but would ya happen to have any spare change for the homeless?"
I named him Snow Wheels because fuck it, I don't know his name. Perhaps Bruce, another beggar I've acquainted myself with in the downtown area. But it probably wasn't Bruce. Bruce didn't have wheels.