8/12/09 5 interactions

"That's quite a shirt there." African-American male, late 30's/early 40's Red Line, (pointing to 'sleeve')

Me: (smiling at misnomer) "Thank you."

"That must've taken a lot of time and patience."

"It did, but it was definitely a labor of love."

"Well, it's fantastic." (motions for me to exit train first)

"Thank you, sir. You have a great day."

"Hi there." African-American male, early 20's, biking past me on Wabash Ave.

"Hi."

"By the way, nice tattoos." (as I approached red light at end of block)

"Thanks."

(M. bikes away when light turns.)

"Sorry." Me to passenger on Red Line (African-American female, mid 20's) sitting down beside her and attempting to arrange my backpack, shoulder bag, and canvas grocery bag without hitting her.

F (smiling). "No problem. Do you have enough room?"

"Yeah, I'm good now, you?"

"Plenty. Are you a tattoo artist?"

"Nope, just a collector. Are you looking for one?"

"Yeah. It'll be my first tattoo and I don't want to go to just anyone. I haven't done much research."

"Well, definitely shop around and find and find an artist you're comfortable with whose work you like." 

"Can you recommend anyone? I just moved out here a couple of years ago for work and I'm only now starting to get out."

(laughing) "Sadly, I can't because I'm in the same situation. I moved out here last year for school, and I feel like I'm just starting to figure out Chicago. Where'd you move from?"

"New York. You?"

"San Francisco."

(This lead to a very nice discussion about the challenges adapting to Chicago from NYC & SF, our occupations and education. Honestly, she was really cool and I was sad when her stop arrived. 

"Hello." Caucasian male, early 20's, Red Line. Made eye contact when he sat beside me. I'd put in my earbuds after the passenger above departed...honestly, I wanted my evening to end pleasantly, and planned on just 'tuning out' the remainder of the ride home. 

"Hello." I nodded and resumed staring out window. His friend (African-American male, early 20's) sat in front of us. They began a very loud conversation about a girl the Caucasian had been flirting with, which led to discussing the merits of "chubby girls...skinny girls(in the reflection of the window, I saw my seatmate turn to me)...tanned girls...I turned my iPod up louder because I didn't want to hear their thoughts on tattooed girls. 

   A seat across the aisle opened up, and the young man in front of me moved to it. Another African-American male with them (late teens/early 20's) took his place. He waved his hand in front of my face and said "Hey." until I was forced to acknowledge him. I removed one earbud and arched an eyebrow.

"Yes?" (said wearily/annoyed)

"How much that cost?" (pointing to sleeve.)

"A friend did it, so it was pretty much free."

"How many you got?"

"Somewhere 'round 20."

"Damn. You do that yourself?" (pointing to scarifications)

 "No, they were done professionally." I look at him for a few more seconds to see if there's anything else he wanted to know, put my headphone in and resumed staring out window, keeping an eye on them in the reflection. The Caucasian moved across the aisle to join his friend. Occasionally he'd point to me. I heard him say:

"Damn, I really like that tattoo."

(his friend) "I don't think that's a tattoo."

"What else could it be?"

"I dunno. Ask her. Tell her you like it." Fortunately for all concerned, he did not heed his friend's advice.