the world we live in

Tuesday, October 07, 2003, at 10:31AM

By Eric Richardson

On Saturday night I went to celebrate a friend's birthday at the Saddle Ranch at Universal Citywalk. Now, I've ranted about Citywalk before, so you might know already that I think it's one of the biggest rip-offs in the LA area. Parking is $8, which even in LA is pricey. I was making the trip by myself, so I decided to go via a bus and the subway, something I hadn't done since my freshman year (when carlessness meant taking a lot of iffy transit). I like public transit, but I don't like buses, so I was a bit non-plussed about that leg of the trip. Committed as I was to not paying for parking, though, I went for it anyway, and ended up as entertained by my trip as I was by the rest of the night.

I caught the 204 up Vermont right near my apartment. It came pretty quickly, and things got started off well. The bus was crowded, and it made lots of stops, but oh well. It got up to Wilshire/Vermont soon enough, I took the long escalator ride, got to the platform, and waited. On every possible occasion, save that first 204 bus, I think I managed to wait the entire service interval. 10 - 15 minutes for the train each time, and it would have been a good 25 minutes for the 204 on the return trip (but instead I got picked up... After I had waited 10 minutes, Kathy drove from USC, picked me up, we filled her car with gas, and we still beat the bus back down Vermont). But none of that is exciting...


I love the subway because it seems to corral a good selection of LA's plentiful crazy people. Saturday night was no exception.


I would guess that 75% of the seats in my car were in use when I boarded the train. That's not that unusual, the Red Line is pretty well trafficed, and the North Hollywood train would be the one to be on at night. I boarded, opting to stand in the handicap cutout while I surveyed the car for a good seat. A few other people were standing, but none really caught my eye.


As soon as we started going, however, that changed. Holding on to the center aisle was a middle aged woman, probably in her late 40s or early 50s, though substances may have weathered her more than her years would merit. She started talking, to no one in particular. She wasn't yelling, just talking forcefully.


Her one-sided conversation began with how she couldn't find a seat, how she'd been standing up all day. Her lips moved silently as she'd formulate sentences, then they would be sprung on the car without all of the backdrop of context that must have been swirling around her mind. Her sentences began to wander...


You can't get out of Union Station after midnight.


Sometimes her thoughts would almost catch a rhythm. Her body would get worked up, her swaying would increase as the words started to flow.


Then she would be silent, the thoughts still seeming to race through her mind, but quietly enough that they did not get turned to sound.


There's nothing to do in the 18th century.


She would become most disturbed when others would try to talk back to her. Only a few did, and their retorts were largely along the lines of telling her to shut up. Sometimes she talked about God, sometimes Satan.


I couldn't help but think that if someone with a college degree in creative writing were to take the same words to the pen, and release their work to the world, people would buy it. I wondered for a second if it was all just an elaborate gag, if she was really just playing the bum in order to find a new creative space for her performance art.


No, she was definitely crazy. And on drugs. Her movements were very twitchy. Her hand would dart up to scratch a shoulder, and then dart back to its grip on the pole. She mentioned LSD once, I don't know whether it just fit the story or if it was most recent on her mind.


After a few stops some seats opened up, and I took one against the window facing away, but watching her still in a reflection. I was startled when she suddenly sat down next to me. I thought about how to react. I wondered if I could ask her questions and get understandable answers. I wondered if I should move. But instead I just sat, listened, and watched. Her outbursts seemed to slow, though not stop, now that she had found a seat. The next stop was mine, and as I stood up to move to the door she very civilly moved her legs in, making room for me to pass. I exited, and she continued on. There was only one more stop for that train. I don't know if it was hers, or if for her the subway was simply a moving place to sit.


On the way back my ride was quiet. It was more peaceful, but felt empty. Some people are afraid of the colorful characters that dot this urban landscape, but I'm not. To me they seem to be lost in their own world, with no intention of bringing others in. Just let them ride, and let them talk. Listen to them. Marvel at how little it really is that seperates our art from our insanity. Just hope you never end up on the wrong side ofthe line.