I call my friendly CTA personnel and they give me step-by-step directions on how to get to the place. Rock on CTA! Woo!

I get up fairly early, port my BQ articles, and head out the door.

Red line to green line. Green line to the ghetto.

Oh my goodness.

I�ve lived in the ghetto before � multiple types of ghettos at that � but this still took me off-guard. I clutched my Liz Claiborne purse against my lap, trying to not look for �business casual brought to you by Banana Republic�.

There was a truly amazingly disgusting woman sitting across from me who I couldn�t help but stare at. Ignore the black strappy sandals with white gym socks for a minute, because it was her actions that really set her apart. These actions can be broken into three divisions.

For the first part, she chewed her nails and the skin around them. This is a fairly common (albeit dirty) habit, but I can thank my baby sister for putting it on my list of pet peeves.

[Other ways to make me crazy would be to slurp the milk from your breakfast spoon before taking the g-damn bite. Sitting incorrectly on my couch also irks me. Oh yeah. You could also be a mumbler. Thank you very much for that too little brother.]

For the second part, you might need to hold onto your stomach. I didn�t notice the kitchen towel she had in her hand until she used it and her pinky to dig into her nose. This wasn�t a quick swipe either, but a full-out, no-denying-it pick.

After excavating her prize, she would state at it, seemingly amazed at its size, color, or consistency. Other minings garnered looks of confusion. I would have hated to see what that tunneling pulled out.

Apparently burrowing knuckle-deep with a kitchen towel wasn�t enough to get the nose gremlins. She used her bare hand with no reservations, trying to scoop her nasal contents. When she finally netted her prize, she gave a content look, almost proud of her mined nose booty.

She wasn�t the only one awestruck: I�ll admit to picking my nose on occasion (only because one of you smart asses would sign the guestbook with a note otherwise), but I�ve never gotten my finger that far up there. I�m pretty sure she was poking the part of her brain responsible for social etiquette�

After the success of plowing her final snot globular, she took out a safety pin and started poking herself. I didn�t want the crazy botch to bleed on me, so I kept an especially careful eye on her. After dismissing the notion of any serious self-mutilation resulting in an ebola-like bleed-out, I saw her start to etch into her fingernail.

I couldn�t read exactly what she scratched into her spit on and boogered up nail, but I�m pretty sure it had something to so with disliking those who wear GAP sweaters and tights under their dress slacks. I think I also saw, �Westside rules, Gold Coast drools,� but I could be wrong.

She got off at Laramie, and two stops later I got off.

Part Three �