On the Metra ride home today, I moved to the vestibule as the train approached Ravenswood. The conductor was recounting the details of an (apparently drunk) guy who passed out and hit his head in that very vestibule yesterday, causing a 30 minute delay while the police and ambulance came to haul him off. The husky passenger next to me told us how the delay made him miss his connecting train and he didn't get home until 8pm.

He said, “I wasn't in this car yesterday. But if I was, I would've kicked his ass right ff the train and said 'Let's Go.'”

“No, he was out. His head went Bam, Bam. Like that. You couldn't move his neck. Not even I would. He just moaned on the floor and flopped over. Once the cops are here, we don't go until they say,” replied the conductor.

“No, I would've kicked his ass right off the train. I didn't get home until 8pm.”

“Well at least he didn't stand in front of the train. We would've been stuck for over an hour.”