Overheard cell phone conversations on the subway

For the past several days, ever since the CTA announced that it has signed a multimillion dollar contract to bring cell phone service into the subway system, I've been trying to think of something funny to write about that decision. In my mind, the joke goes something like this: I'm on the Red Line heading south, having just left the Fullerton stop. As we descend into the tunnel, the guy sitting next to me continues his cell phone conversation. This person is super-pleased because now that there's service underground, the conversation can continue uninterrupted. However, here's where it's supposed to start getting funny: as soon as we go underground, he can't hear anything at all because the train is so damn loud. The planned punchline is this: What would this guy be shouting into the phone during the stretches between stops while the train is rumbling along?

I've posed this question to several people, but the results are never funny. (The best response came from H2O, who suggested the guy next to me says quite loudly and clearly into his phone: "Detonate.") Still, the set-up is pretty good, I think. It's a commentary on the absurdity of providing a service that isn't really necessary, that will only serve to annoy everyone involved, from the people trying to hold the conversation to all the passengers being forced to listen to some guy yelling into his phone.

I pondered this attempt at humor last night on the L, returning from the MCA where I had just seen a not-so-funny comedy event. Most of the jokes at the event, I felt, mirrored my own attempts at writing humor: Good situational set-up, but lame (or non-existent) punchline. As I pondered, I watched a couple in front of me. They were sitting in the face-to-face seats near the doors, across the aisle from each other. Instead of talking, or even communicating intelligently in some other manner, they spent the time making faces at each other: little smirks, rolls of the eyes, scrunching up of faces, that kind of stuff. I couldn't help but think: This is my least favorite part of a relationship ... when you are so bored and have so little to say to the other person that you end up saying nothing at all; instead, you while away the days pretending that you're sharing private little jokes. Then again, maybe they didn't feel comfortable speaking in public. Maybe they were just enjoying each other's company by trying to be goofy. Maybe they were deaf. I don't know about any of that, but these two spent a good 10 minutes facing each other without a single attempt at human communication.

Another possibility is that these two have figured out what the CTA hasn't: That talking on the L is impossible. Even if they had been sitting side-by-side, trying to whisper sweet nothings into each other's ears, they wouldn't be able to hear. Even as the train rose up out of the tunnel, the clanging and screeching and grinding would require shouted I love you's and You make the goofiest of faces, my love's. This, in turn, made me wonder about those old, old L cars that had no air conditioning, but rather windows that opened. My first memory of the L, in fact, is sitting near an open window, watching sparks flash in the darkness of the tunnel, feeling the wind rush past my face, smelling that underground smell, and covering my ears from all that racket.

Like so many other things in life, like so many forgotten or unheard conversations, those days are long gone.