Cobra Lounge

Last night I went to the Cobra Lounge.* I know it sounds strange, mostly because it was. I actually planned to have some people over that evening, but it seems that most were busy, so only a few people stopped over. However, they ended up being the right people, because they offered to take me along to an indie rock concert at the Cobra Lounge. The band calls themselves the Sad Tropics, and while their name is cool, I wasn't particularly impressed with them.
I seem to be getting ahead of myself though. Before arriving at said Lounge, we had to take an hour and a half trip on the L into downtown Chicago. I've ridden the L plenty of times, and I enjoy it quite a bit, especially when I'm by myself. Everyone has an aura of mystery about them, because the only connection that you have to them, the only thing you know about them, is that you're heading in the same direction. This reality makes me intensely curious, and I find myself imitating the truly creepy by listening to cell phone conversations, scrutinizing clothing to determine class, and observing how each person passes the time. I didn't have the luxury of this kind of repose on this trip, however, because I was with two other people, and our space was most rudely invaded by another.
A homeless black man boarded our car at one of its early stops, and sat down directly across from us. He offered to sell us dish soap or laundry detergent for 5 bucks...or 3 bucks, or 2 bucks. According to his words, he needed the funds for bus fare. According to his breath, he needed the funds for drink. When all three of us subsequently refused to buy his wares, he looked at us and said, "All three of you ain't got anything? One of you is lyin'!" When he began to rant about something, I broke eye contact with him, hoping that he would move down the car. Instead, he looked at me and said, "Look at me when I'm talking to you, babycakes." I looked at him, feeling like I had no other option. "Now, listen to me. I'm white, and you black. I'm white, you black." This got the attention of the whole car, black and white alike. Uhhh... "I was born in New York City, you was born in Mississippi. No matter what color you is, your blood run red. If you was in a hospital, and I gave you blood, you would need it. It would look the same. The exact same."
Seeing that he had an audience, the man changed the subject and looked at my friend Roselyn. "OK, I got a question for you. You and I is married. We married, and we are handcuffed together. Now, I walk 950 yards with you up a mountain. How do I get down?"
People in the train started guessing, everything from sledding down to taking a zip-line (that was my guess). Each time he would say, "No, no...go back to school! Go back to school!" Once we had exhausted all options, he said, "Ok, I'm gonna teach you somethin'. I'm gonna teach you somethin'--I jumped down that mother-f---in' mountain!" Everyone started laughing, and he seemed mostly pleased. He turned to Roselyn again and said, "But you and I, we're still handcuffed together. And at the bottom of the mountain is a lake. We gotta swim across it. But there is a cobra there. A cobra with a big head. And he gonna eat yo' soul out!" Roselyn started laughing into her scarf. "Oooh, you laughin' now, but you ain't gon' be laughin' when he eat yo' soul out!"
He proceeded to ramble about several other things, and the three of us seemed to silently agree that we should simply listen to him. He was probably lonely and didn't have people to listen to him that often. Once, he talked about how he should have become the principal of a school. "If I was a principal, the first thing I would do is fire all the teachers. Then I would fire all of the students." Later on, he talked about how he went to jail for three years. "But whatever I did to get into prison for three years, I won't ever do it again. Nope. Never again."
Eventually he seemed to run out of material, so he offered to sell us the soap and detergent again. We said no, and as he moved down the car, he promised to come back.
Soon afterwards, we changed to the pink line and left our friend behind. We were that much closer to the Cobra Lounge.
After we arrived and showed our IDs to the bouncer at the door, we had to muscle our way through hundreds of slightly schnockered concert/bar-goers. We were able to get to the front of the crowd and enjoy (*cough* *cough*) Sad Tropics for their remaining five songs or so.
I took a look at the people in the crowd. Roselyn and I tenatively agreed that they were most hipster punk. There were lots of pretty girls with funny face piercings, and even a guy with curly brown locks in a Ramones t-shirt and bowler hat. No one was particularly rowdy, except a Puerto Rican at the bar. He kept yelling things at the band, and when I approached the bartender for a water, he half-pushed some guy towards me and said, "I love this guy." Cool. Real cool.
The next band came on, and they proved to be excessively foul-mouthed. We left soon afterwards.
Our train ride back wasn't quite as fun as the first, although it was still interesting. There were plenty of drunk future yuppies in our car that got off at the Loyola stop. But that story is for another time.




*That sounds conspicuously like the opening line of Rebecca: "Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again."