This is how I know I'm a Chicagoan:
I sat down on the L and this guy made some sort of mild movement toward my pocket. He clearly didn't take anything and it was close quarters, so I figured it was an unintentional thing. Two or three stops went by and he spoke up.
Him: Whatcha reading?
Me: A textbook for class. [directed at woman behind him] What?
Him to her: Why you touching me?
Her: I'm NOT touching you, I'm just trying to get her attention.
Me: What?
Her (over my head): CLARK AND DIVISION. You want to get off here. You gonna miss your stop.
Him: Whatcha reading?
Me: A marketing research book.
Him: Where you from?
Me (holding up book): See, I'm trying to READ my book. Not to be offensive or anything, but I don't feel like chatting right now.
Him: No, where you from? I'm just trying to Serve and Protect. Because you don't look like you from around here.
Me: I told you, I'm trying to read. I don't mean to be rude, but I don't want to talk with you.
Him: I mean, are you from the Earth? Because you look different somehow.
At this point I got up and moved to the front of the car. When I got to my stop, I glanced back at him in case the cops asked for a description and he sort of waggled his fingers at me, like he couldn't quite get them all together for an actual bye-bye. Meanwhile, if anyone asks me for a description, all I got was that he was gross-looking.
I do remember looking at myself in the mirror at school an hour earlier and thinking, "Damn, I look like a freak. I really need to stop going out in public like this." When I left the house, I was running late and threw on the following: A red-and-mustard-striped T-shirt that I bought one time just because it was $8 and the shirt I was wearing was so goddamned ugly I didn't want to wear it for a minute longer; jeans that are too big and too long, and are shredding at the bottom because they get caught under my shoes; big black hippie sandals; and a formal but balding black velvet blazer (which I think he was touching because of the velvet). And my hair is a halo of frizz because I didn't have time to use conditioner.
It later occurred to me that a year ago, I probably would've played along with the guy for the entertainment value, but by now that kind of thing falls into the category of Somebody's Bullshit which, as we all know, I Don't Have to Put Up With.
