Ah, spring! When the youth of Chicagoland get drunk and act horny and stupid in public!
Four girls in khaki bad-grrlz get-tough gear (including backwards ball caps) got on the 5:10 pm South Shore train at Randolph Street station (Now "Millennium Station"), with their camera and little brown bags that might have contained bottles of Pepsi but didn't. I mean, Pepsi doesn't smell like beer, ya know? It was sort of a guessing game if any of these chickies was old enough to drive, much less purchase and consume fermented barley juice. Anyhow...
As the ride wore on past university stops and Hyde Park and historic Pullman the girls got progressively more extroverted, loud, and foul-mouthed. LOTS of "fuck this" and "fuck that", which progressed from complaints to long, loud, monologues about sex, specifically what they were and weren't getting. All of which much have given them ideas, because a discussion of kissing soon progressed to demonstration of same, with tongue action.
Then one of 'em straddled another and crotch rubbing ensued.
(Among other useless trivia I've learned in life is the technical term for this activity: tribadism. A more general term for rubbing body bits together is frottage, of which tribadism is a subset referring explicitly to rubbing female genitals together. These gals were definitely engaging in trabadistic frottage, that is, rubbing genitals together while fully clothed. Yeah, probably more than you really needed to know. You, over there in the corner - stop drooling! It wasn't as sexy as you think.)
Now, I've done my share of stupid, drunk, teen aged stuff in public, but it didn't extend to that. Mostly, I'm just LOUD when inebriated and I tell bad jokes badly. I never fornicated, pseudo-fornicated, or simulated fornication in full view of the commuting public.
While all this was going on, several riders of the same train car had told the girls, repeatedly, to cool it, settle down, behave, and so on, but the crotch-rubbing-with-tongue-action-kissing thing was the last straw for one woman, who stood up and, after her last verbal warning was ignored, stomped off in search of a conductor.
Said conductor came down the length of the car a short time later with a What stupid shit is the public doing now?" look on his face. He told the girls to gather up their stuff and come with him.
At this point it finally penetrated the fog of stupidity and alcohol that maybe someone is actually upset at the little darlings - although they can't imagine why. That was one of the astonishing things about this little circus - the horny, drunk, wannabe sluts seemed to genuinely be mystified as to what, if anything, they had done wrong. All those puzzled exclamations of "What? You're kidding!" and "What for?" seemed the most sincere part of the whole act.
As they were being led away, one of them attempted to loom over the Official Reporting Bitch (difficult to do, when one is drunk and the train car is swaying) and kept saying 'You have NO IDEA what you've done. NO IDEA. When I get to South Bend --- you have NO idea." As to what this extremely vague threat would entail she never elaborated. Perhaps the Drunken Lurching Idiot had "no idea" either. I was amused at the idea she still thought she was going to ride the train to South Bend. Hell, I'm not too sure that, when she sobered up, she'd be able to remember this little episode, much less identify anyone. Around this little drama other passengers (including me) were openly speculating whether they'd be handed over the Chicago cops at Hegewisch or the Indiana cops at Hammond. I do not gamble, but it would not have surprised me if money was wagered on the outcome by some of the other passengers.
It was the Indiana cops at Hammond
Several commuters filled out the Official Pink Incident Report. Normally folks are less than enthused at such exercise, but these gals had pissed off enough people that there was an air of eagerness in the scribbling of pens and pencils on NCR paper. We now had a train car with four seats no one wanted to sit in due to the spilled beer (I hope it was spilled beer, although it could have been spilled body fluids the way these gals had been drooling over each other). We pulled into Hammond and sure enough, there was a big burly cop by a squad car waiting for the train.
As the other commuters clued into the fact the conductor and the cop were having a conversation, and we're all going to be just a little bit delayed getting home to dinner which is NOT making the commuters happy, the slutty little bitches are STILL going on and on - LOUDLY - about how they didn't do anything wrong, that one lady was a bitch, blah, blah, blah. As I passed through the car (I usually headed forward for a more advantageous exit at my stop, which came after Hammond) I clarified - LOUDLY - that it wasn't just one person offended - by the way, thank you for spilling beer all over the seats - and, oh yes, you are all unbelievably disgusting. You want to do that, get a hotel room and screw each other there.
Hmm... maybe I'd been a bit loud. The car suddenly seemed rather quiet. Even the Stupid Horny Teenaged Lesbian Sluts didn't say anything. Well, anyhow, I kept on moving up into the next car, before I said something to escalate the situation. I hadn't realized just how annoyed I was until then.
Well, Mr. Big Burly Cop and Mr. Conductor herded the Stupid Horny Teenaged Lesbian Sluts out onto the platform, where Big Burly Cop started the You Are in Trouble lecture. At this point, the Stupid Horny Teenaged Lesbian Sluts all seemed to shrink about 6 inches, lose about 5 years of age, and clue into the fact that maybe, just maybe, they had perhaps somehow, some way, done something wrong.
I dunno - when your daddy has to drive from South Bend to Hammond, Indiana to bail your drunk, horny ass out of jail just what the hell do you say? "Gee, dad, I didn't know fucking my chick-friend in public was unacceptable behavior" ?
Of course, one aspect of this farce the little Stupid Horny Teenaged Lesbian Sluts didn't clue into was the male attention they were getting. Well, maybe they wanted attention, and maybe even male attention, but they were completely oblivious to the fact that a certain percentage of males, upon watching Stupid-Horny-Teenaged-Lesbian-Sluts-gone-wild action, would not only get ideas but take it as an invitation to join the party - whether the girls would want them to or not. Maybe not on the train - but Bad Things can happen at train stations and in parking lots.
And, to be honest, the idea that these girls might, in their state of intoxication, get into a car and try to drive themselves home from the South Bend station was not making any of the rest of us happy.
To think that I had assumed I'd been missing out on the Big City antics since I moved to the industrial armpit of America known as northwest Indiana....
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