Disclaimer: This entry is merely a written compilation of second-sized scenes that triggered agitation or aggravation whilst riding the CTA. It doesn't follow the usual format of the blog you see before you.
I've developed an addiction to a certain seat on the CTA: the driver's cockpit. This seating is made available only if it is unoccupied by any CTA employee, or if it is in the middle of the train in whole. It adds a little bit extra space, and it also adds the grand portal for transfers during an emergency. Yet instead it acts as an optional doorway for passengers to proceed onto the next car, without having to exit the current one at a station. It may be a test of irritableness since all sorts of strange beings seem to do this: pairs of paper-wielding seekers of funds for fictional basketball teams with forged scribbles, raggedy loners begging for that extra silver coin, and callous fuckfaces thirsty for the dark side of this world. The majority of these scenes take place when I'm at that special seat, for its privacy and space spread this comfort of mental relaxation - probably due to the fact that everyone else is behind me and not in my eyesight. I either read something or I play a game on my phone, all before reaching my destination, but the serenity of the atmosphere is immediately demolished by the intrusion of these freaks, who half the time will ask for extra fares or despicably pull on the emergency handle to transfer over to the next car. Why not wait for the next station to transfer cars? What's so special in the next car for you that you gotta impatiently transfer over instead of awaiting for the next stop? No doubt this is pure agitation, and no doubt that this borderline phenomenon will halt anytime in the future.
I can still hear that echo from the emergency handle, still haunting me after some dirty geek eyes me and proceeds with his worthless little trip.
