shell games and pissed pants on the L, on top of that the mayor rapes my wife

I'm working at a temp job down town. I'm a receptionist at a company that owns mobile home parks around the country. So my day consists of sitting around playing spider solitare and answer calls that start like "my neighbor's a registered sex offender and he's renting rooms out to vagrants..." or "Yeah, the garage on my double wide's leakin!..."

The nice thing about it is that i can walk around downtown on my lunch hour. I love the activity and the architecture, plus the view on the river is great. there is this one guy at case plaza who has been standing outside each day for at least a month. He looks respectable, wears a full suit, has a briefcase. and a large well typed and designed sign, that reads "Mayor Daley, Stop Raping My Wife!" I want to ask him about it, but i'm worried he'll tell me and that it wont live up to what i think it is.

The job might last up to 8 more weeks so its given me a lot of time to look for other jobs, apply, get calls back, get my hopes up, and then not get called back after the interviews.

As for the subject line, the train ride home is pretty entertaining sometimes. Yesterday a guy squeezed past me to take the seat next to mine. Looks at me, then looks at his pants. laughs. "Stores don't let you use the bathrooms no more" smiles. I take my book and decide my legs aren't that tired afterall, and stand against the door rather than sit next to old Mr. Pee-pants, he doesn't seem hurt by this, though.

Then this guy sitting down near me starts talking loudly, some spiel he's proclaiming to the cubs fans around him (they're headed up to Wrigley). I don't hear what he's saying, gotten good at tuning them out, showing not even the least bit of acknowledgement of their existence. People either want money or to tell you about their god, or both.

So now I look down and he's got this shell game on his lamp, they're not shells though, they're pepsi caps with a pea under one. Know how this works? he spins them around, you guess which one, some how he cheats and you lose money. So he's asking (more demanding that someone tells him what cap its under. after some time the guy across from him picks and the shell game guy gives him a 100 from this wad he's got. The guy who guessed is terrified of the money and what it means he's gotten himself into.

Now shell guy is shouting "Okay buddy! put up 100, match it match it. its that easy" it being clear this guy wants him to put up a hundred of his own dollars on the game, the cubs fan shoves back the money with embarrassment. Now this couple, dress in cubs jerseys, they say "oh yeah man, i want some of the action" they actually say that. conveniently the already have a wad of their own cash out. and they start playing, but they lose. the guy with the game takes their money, gives them a dirty look and moves on. meanwhile they dont seem to mind loosing the cash.

so the cubbies get off at the ballpark, no one having bet, all get off but the couple. I'm still reading and now these too, this shell guy and another guy i didn't even see are yelling. He's saying "what the fuck! you shit for brains" yelling at them for not picking right, this being their part, in getting the naive cubs-tourist to play. They push and shout all, right under me, but i dont exist because i've got a book.

finally they move to the next car, i sit down and of course this guy who's been quiet until now, patiently waiting for his turn to sell crazy, tells the car how hot hells gonna be. I think, save it for winter, buddy, then i'll be interested.