Rambling Lemurian

I watched someone die today and I did nothing to stop it.

I started my current job in the fall of 2022. After two and a half years of remote work in response to the Pandemic and being a new dad, I was ready for the commute. I hadn’t regularly ridden the train since I was in college. I rode the CTA occasionally while living in Sheridan Park for a few years after college, but I missed the unstated comradery of train commuters. I started off by taking the runt of the CTA litter, the Yellow Line, to Howard, transferring to the Purple Line to the Loop. My new commute allowed me to steep in my nostalgia for all the city sights, sounds, and smells. I missed the views of the lake and skyline, the local taquerias and playgrounds, and even the horde of rats rummaging through alley dumpsters. While I upgraded my ride from the CTA to the Metra, the feeling of city train commuting didn’t change. I felt at home.

I’d wanted to work in the Loop since I was in college. Something about the everyday bustle and noise of the city appealed to me. Now I was finally there. The more regimented Metra gave more structure to my commute, ensuring I stick to a set schedule. I knew when I had to leave the house, when I had to be on the platform, when I’d get to the office, and when I had to leave to make sure I got back home at my normal time. And yet, despite that structure, I felt freedom. I was out of the house, doing my thing. Sure, I was doing so to commute to a typical boring job for a conglomerate. But I could feel the sun, the cold, the wind, the rain. I can be around people again. I didn’t have a toddler hanging on me or had to worry about where to put a stroller. I can go to lunch without researching the menus to see just how kid-friendly there are. I can sit at Ogilvie station and have a secret pre-dinner and read a chapter of a book. Most people would say commuting is stressful, but it was the opposite for me. It was freeing.

But then that was taken away, again. My office in Chicago’s Loop was permanently closed in May. Some people were told to look for other jobs, but my job was safe. It would just be 100% remote. Many people somewhat celebrated the change to remote work. They can save money on train fares, gas, parking, and no longer buying $18 sandwiches for lunch. They can save time. They can be with their families more. They can drop off their kids at school now. They can work in their pajamas! Sure, that’s all good I guess. But I don’t think that’s what I wanted. I hung on to that office as long as I could. It wasn’t even a great office either. It was dim, empty, I didn’t really interact with many people there even on the busy days. Some days I was basically sitting in the dark for 7 hours. But it at least felt like it was my choice to be there.

Since then I’ve been stuck at home again. It’s far more convenient. I can walk my daughter to school and pick her up every day. I can run errands during the day instead of at night or waiting until the weekend. But still being confined to one space is really dragging. I often find myself staring out my window, watching the birds and squirrels in the yard, finding their getting lunch and their friends. I had to get out again and just do something for me. So today I filled a couple cravings.

I recently returned to Reddit. I wanted to leave Twitter/X behind after the absolute cesspool it’s been turning into since even before Elon Musk took it over and ruined it. Reddit let me to the Chicago-based subreddits, which constantly talk about italian beefs, in various contexts. So I’ve been craving a visit to Johnnie’s for a while for arguably the best Italian Beef in the Chicago area. I don’t live near Elmwood Park, and pretty much have had no reason to go there and stop at Johnnie’s, so I haven’t had a Johnnie’s Beef in several years. Today I finally decided to just do it. Yeah, I know I wrote about how bad beef is for the planet. What do you want from me? I’m not a monk.

I got to Johnnie’s before the lunch rush, which still meant I had to wait in line for 15 minutes, which extended into the parking lot. I tried to take in the experience as much as I can. The familiar picnic tables brought back the memories of coming here with my friends on a Friday or Saturday night. The smoke pouring through the exhaust vents on the roof and blowing into the street as if the kitchen was announcing to the world that a New Beef has been chosen to be eaten. The bad parking jobs of people driving oversized vehicles into a small parking lot. The man in front of me calling a restaurant asking if they had his sunglasses which he may have left there yesterday. I wondered if they were the same sunglasses sitting on his head.

The line inched forward and I was now just outside the door. The man in search of eye protection was just inside the door. I looked down and saw a wasp. Wasps are a common sight at Johnnie’s Beef. They hang around the outside tables, desperate for a bite of the salty beef and the sweet lemon ices. But this wasp was trapped. It just wanted to go outside. It was stuck in a building, looking out the glass door just trying to get out and feel the wind and sunshine again. It’s late October in the Midwest, who knows how much longer this wasp will be able to enjoy the outdoors. I can open the door though. I can grant this wasp the freedom it so desperately wants, away from the unnatural confines of a building.

But I hesitated. I don’t know why I didn’t just open the door, but I didn’t. I chose not to, maybe to avoid being noticed or questioned. The wasp made one more desperate attack on the door. The door unsurprisingly didn’t budge and the wasp landed on the floor for a quick rest and regroup. I’ll be going through that door in about 20 seconds, maybe that will be the wasp’s best chance for escape. But 20 seconds was too long. The man in search of his sunglasses was moving around slightly as he awaited his turn to order his beef. As the wasp landed on the floor, the man’s foot came down just behind the wasp. I silently screamed for the wasp to move. It was so close to the man’s shoe. I thought I saw a flinch from the wasp as it recognized the danger it was in, and suddenly it was too late. The toe of the man’s shoe rolled ever so slightly as he stared absent-mindedly at the ceiling of the old restaurant, and he rolled onto the wasp.

I thought for a second that the wasp would be ok. It wasn’t a strong enough roll to completely smash it. The man moved up in line, and there was the wasp. Still, lifeless, alone. As I opened the door and stepped into the restaurant, I couldn’t help but feel guilt and remorse for this poor wasp. I swept it aside with my own foot, to avoid it being disrespectfully trampled on by the other ignorant patrons. But I had to move on.

I ordered a “beef, hot” and an italian ice, pictured above. I sat at the picnic table in front of the restaurant, watching and listening to the traffic whiz by. As I unwrapped my sandwich, a wasp appeared, flying around my table, attracted to the scents of my food. But I got the sudden subconscious feeling that this wasp wasn’t interested in my food. It felt like it knew what happened a couple minutes earlier. Maybe they were the sibling of the deceased, or mate, or friend. Or simply a witness with a conscience, appalled at my inaction. I deserved the annoyance of this wasp, so I did not attempt to swat it away. I took the imagined verbal lashing this wasp was giving me, careful not to accidently swallow it as I tucked into my sandwich. It didn’t take long for this wasp to give up. Maybe it forgave me. Maybe it went to go grieve in solitude. Or maybe it was just a wasp. Either way, I finished my food and walked back to my car.

I started the car and heading back towards home, driving on streets I haven’t seen in years. The road near my uncle’s business where we’d drive back and forth on the weekends I worked for him. The building where we’d always wave to an old lady on the balcony as we drove the company truck towards the highway. The house where a cousin used to live, across from a church and Filipino bar or weird outdoor bowling thing. The forest preserve where I once saw 50 deer on a small batch of meadow. As I returned to more familiar territory, I still kept thinking about that wasp.

It’s probably just a wasp. Wasps die. It shouldn’t have gotten inside in the first place. It was dumb to land next to a person. It’s not some type of grand sign, right? It’s not the universe exposing my selfishness and self-centeredness, is it? It must just be a coincidence that as I go in search of my own freedom and I deny freedom to a fellow lifeform, causing its demise. It meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. Right? Or is it a message I need to reflect on more deeply?

It was a good beef though.