top 3 reasons why i need to ride the late night transit more often

In Atlanta, we have this train system. It’s called MARTA (‘cause it’s smarta) (seriously, that’s their website address: Ride MARTA, itsmarta (.com)). I love MARTA because it makes me miss living in the city—people in the suburbs just aren’t as interesting. In the suburbs, you don’t have grocery stores with nicknames like “Disco Kroger” or “Murder Kroger.” You don’t have smelly souls who walk right up to you asking for booze money. You don’t see people bathing in McDonald’s bathrooms. People in the suburbs usually drive environmentally unfriendly SUVs and vote Republican; they shop at stores with names like “Sweet Pea Boutique (Exclusive Children’s Clothing)” or “Ambercrombie & Fitch.” Housing is cheaper, but you sort of sell your soul in the deal.

So the other night my husband and I had to take a MARTA train. The WHY is less important than the WHAT, because WHAT I discovered (once again) is that I wish we could afford to live in town. Here are 3 reasons why:

3. The man who rode quietly for about 10 stops, then loudly announced to everybody that Jesus loved us…especially if we gave Jesus some money for some food, a bath, and lodging. Jesus needed about $60 for all of this, he figured.

2. The lady who talked to herself for a really long time, about things she was super passionate about…but when she got off the train, I saw she had that Bluetooth thing in her ear. I was really sad then, because I thought I’d been totally watching a crazy person. ……But then again, maybe I WAS watching a crazy woman. Maybe the Bluetooth thing was just a cover so she could be crazy but not LOOK crazy!

1. Jerry Harris, sculptor.

Jerry Harris (sculptor) got on and immediately struck up a super loud, over-opinionated, argumentative racial-political-economic debate with the 2 idiots sitting near him. I call them idiots because they did not know what every late night mass transit train rider ought to know: if someone hops on a train and sits next to you, and then that someone starts speaking REALLY LOUD LIKE THIS SO THE WHOLE TRAIN CAR AND MAYBE EVEN THE NEXT TRAIN CAR CAN HEAR HIM, it is your civic, social duty to yourself and your fellow citizens on the train with you not to engage said someone.

If he speaks to you, you can give him a small, pained, leave-me-alone-please smile…but you do not look at him nor do you make eye contact of any kind. You do not nod your head, you do not tell him you agree or disagree with what he just said to you, you do not give any indication that you are a person who cares about his opinions one way or another. You look out your window, or stick your nose in some reading material, or stare intently at the floor, or at your feet.

But that is not what these 2 dudes did.

No. What these 2 dudes did, for the next 30 minutes, was not follow the Late Night Mass Transit Rule. So everyone on Car H (H, for Hell) got to hear Jerry’s opinions on Obama vs. Clinton vs. McCain vs. Bush, racial (e)quality in America, and how young people (young people = anyone under 60) today know nothing (nothing!) about economics.

We all learned that Jerry went to Stanford, and is some kind of economic genius who happens to sculpt crap out of metal for a living. And also there was something about architecture and designing buildings, but mostly it’s scrap metal art. We all found out that Jerry’s son loves hip hop, which amuses Jerry to no end, because Jerry’s son does not know what hip hop really is—but Jerry does. Jerry’s son likes the Meranimals, and Jerry found this hilariously silly because: “The Meranimals?? The MERANIMALS??? Sheeyah. Now, what does THAT boy know about The Meranimals??” (But really, does anyone know anything about these Meranimals? I googled them and came up with nothing hip hoppish at all.)

Further into the ride, we all learned that, while Jerry might look like a black guy, he’s actually got 2 Irish-Scottish grandmothers, Cherokee Indian blood, and a whole slew of other stuff going on in his DNA. And Jerry made sure everyone knows this is ditto for every American who was sitting on that train car, because America is just one big mish mash of melting pot happiness. But then, after Jerry talked about his ancestry, everyone on Car H(ell) got to be uncomfortable for about 10 seconds because he (quite suddenly, and with very little warning) got argumentative with one of the engaging guys—a white man pushing 80. Jerry flat asked him (loudly, in an accusing tone) if the 80 year old white guy considered himself a racial purist. “Oh, I don’t have time for that stuff,” laughed the 80 year old white dude, and we all relaxed, breathed a sigh of relief, and returned to our magazines, our windows, and examining our feet. There would be no KKK/Black Panther riots on a late-night Southern train that night.

All of us—that is, all of us except the 2 guys who didn’t know not to engage Jerry—for 30 excruciating minutes desperately willed ourselves not to start laughing at Jerry’s loud exclamations (i.e., ME), or periodically glanced up from our newspaper to look over at Jerry with a WHY THE HELL DOES THIS FOOL KEEP TALKING?? look on our faces (i.e., my husband and the guy with dreadlocks sitting behind him).

Right before Jerry got off at the Arts Center stop, he told everybody in the car to google or yahoo him: Jerry Harris, sculptor. He’s a famous superstar, and he’s all over the internets. We all were relieved when Jerry exited the car, but also kind of sad-nostalgic because the night’s headline entertainment was officially over then. And then we all promised ourselves to google or yahoo Jerry the next day, to see if he was for real or not, because we just weren’t sure if he really was who he said he was…or if he was somehow in cahoots with the dude who blessed everyone if they gave him money so Jesus Christ could take a bath.

And guess what, everybody! Jerry Harris, sculptor, is not, in fact, a homeless dude who rides trains and argues with fellow riders to pass time. Jerry Harris is for REAL. Go visit his website: Jerry Harris, sculptor. He can also be found in Wikipedia, and I think that's just awesome. You go, Jerry Harris (sculptor)!

But whatever you do, do NOT engage him. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.