Ann Schue used to cherish the time she spent alone in her 2003 Ford Expedition during her 90-minute morning commute to her job at the University of Chicago. Nestled in heated leather seats, she planned her day while listening to the news.Choking up? Ninety-minute commute? Ford Expedition? Never been on a train at the age of 42?
Not anymore. Massive construction work on one of Chicago's main highways has forced her to trade the peace of her sport-utility vehicle for the clatter and crowds of a double-decker commuter train.
"This was a very, very big step for me," says Ms. Schue, 42 years old, who had never been on a train in her life before she recently started taking the Metra rail service. "I'm still very...," she says, choking up, then pausing to compose herself. "I miss my car."
American adulthood has become the most infantile form of human life on the planet.
You may be wondering, what is Ann Schue's hard-driving profession that she so desperately needs her heated leather seats for three hours a day?
"Animal-health technician." That's right — she cleans up poop. So riding on a train is "very, very big step" for her.
Pity her. Feel her pain. Wish her the best. Then cry for America.