Chicago on $3.45 A Day

I was running late. As the crossing gates came down, I sprinted through Elmhurst's pedestrian underpass and up the stairs to the Metra train platform. Still panting, I lined up at the back of the mass of passengers surrounding the rail car doors. As usual, everyone crowds around where they think the train car doors will be opening on the platform.

After I climb the stairs and file through the vestibule of the Metra train car, I notice something missing. The Metra train doors slam shut.

"My purse is missing," I say. "It's in the front seat of my car."

A man in a suit and trench coat looks up from his copy of the Wall Street Journal and glares at me for disturbing the quiet on the 6:42 Union Pacific West Line inbound train to Chicago. "When we get downtown, ride back out to your car and get it," he says. He stares at his newspaper again, a deliberate attempt to ignore me.

That is not a realistic option if I don't want to be late for work.

I take an inventory of the contents of my pockets and my environmentally correct, reusable grocery bag. I have about 50 cents in change, my lunch, two newspapers, and car keys. Since I don't have my monthly pass, Metra will be expecting a little over $5.00 from me for the train fare. I would be well short of that.

Just as I am trying to figure out what to tell the conductor, a woman sitting two rows behind me hands me a 10-ride ticket with two un-punched fares on it. I can't think how to thank her adequately. She's bailing me out with a ride back and forth to work. I no longer need to beg the train conductor for mercy. And since I have my lunch, I don't need to buy anything, really, for the rest of the day. I decide to try to make it through the day on the 50 cents, plus whatever change I find in my office at work.

I open the Wall Street Journal. There's the usual news about the previous day's market crash, Bernie Maddoff, and the crisis in the auto industry. I look for the comics' page in the Chicago Tribune.

I walk to work and face the next challenge, getting into my office. Fortunately the guard on duty recognizes me, laughs, and gives me a temporary badge. When I get to my office, I find another $2.95 in change. I have enough to buy breakfast at the cafeteria.

At lunchtime, the bar code on my keychain lets me into my gym, Crunch Fitness, for yoga class. The people at the reception desk smile and greet me by name before I hand them my keys. Brent the yoga instructor tells everyone, as usual, not to worry about falling. Later, he has everyone try headstands, and I try to balance upside down, falling but not really caring.

On the way back to the train, I enjoy the sunshine on the first warm day in months. People are smiling, and a coat is optional. I enjoy walking along Upper Wacker Drive, staring at the buildings and not having to carry anything.

In the parking lot of the Elmhurst Metra Station, my purse is waiting for me in the front seat of my car, right where I left it.

A week later, I find the used 10-ride in my pocket and think of a stranger's kindness.