Cutting a Swath through the Heartland

Here's a little experience the Dear Hubby (DH) and I had while together in Chicago last month:

Most of DH's experience with the United States (he's Peruvian) has been out east, in New Jersey and the Washington, D.C. area, so as we ran around northern Indiana together he would often come out with a comment beginning, "When I lived in New Jersey …." Since we were on our way to Chicago, I kept reminding him that We Were in the Midwest Now -- otherwise known as the "Heartland" -- and the Midwest is way different from the whole Jersey-New York area; people are nicer in the Midwest, friendlier and much less weird. Being in Chicago was going to be nothing like being in bizarre, scary, cold, self-consciously sophisticated New York City.

This claim of mine kept getting harder and harder to substantiate as we actually experienced Chicagoland, though. So many of the people we saw were incredibly strange! There was this one guy we saw on the subway. I know you are going to think I made this all up, but it really happened -- ask the DH if you don't believe me. This guy stepped right out of an old B movie stereotype and into our mostly empty train car. Chainsaw Man was an older fellow, wiry, with grizzled hair and stubbled face, halfway toothless, wearing very wrinkled, caked-with-dirt overalls. He was grinning and talking to himself, and he wasn't too steady on his feet even before the train started moving. He was carrying a rather large, bright orange, dirty electric chainsaw in his left hand. It was not in a case or in any way covered, and the cord was not even wound up into a little compact bundle, but almost trailed along the floor.

My first impusle was to check the chain part of the saw for blood. I saw none, but was frightened anyway. DH had rented The Texas Chainsaw Massacre on dvd only a few months before, and while I had done my best not to see that movie (knowing it would give me nightmares), I had been unavoidably subjected to snippets of it when I walked through the living room that day doing chores. What if this guy revved up his machine and started hacking away at us? The rational part of me sneered, "Where would he plug it in?" but the right side of my brain was genuinely scared. Well, half my right brain was. The other half was wanting to laugh out loud, wondering if this were a show and where the hidden cameras were. And yearning to take a photograph of this guy, achingly wishing I could dare to do so. Here was folk art, pop culture, and surrealism converging before my very eyes!

Chainsaw Man got on and stumbled over to a seat near us. The train started up and he wasn't ready and he nearly fell over. The chainsaw swung semi-wildly. My heart started thumping uncomfortably inside me. The teenaged girl seated across the aisle moved her bare leg just in time and just enough to avoid being grazed by the business end of the saw. She had a little look of alarm in her eyes, too. Ah, so it wasn't just me! Chainsaw Man didn't notice he was being a bit reckless; he was mumbling under his breath. Must have been upbeat mumbling, though, since he looked cheerful enough, and even cackled to himself a time or two.

I was relieved when he finally sat down and I could convince myself that DH and I would be getting out of the subway alive enough to ride another day. Our stop was the next station, and we got off as quickly as we could. Only then did I allow myself to shake my head and laugh in amazement at the things that happen in real life -- even in the Midwest. I take it back about people being less weird there.