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Warning: Only those statements enclosed in quote marks represent exact quotations. Unless it’s in quote marks, I’m paraphrasing. However, all statements attributed to an individual below approximate Karen’s original statements, and insofar as I recollect, match the general spirit of the conversation.

I met Karen X on a crowded Metra train hurtling toward the Michigan/Randolph stop. She was sitting beside her brother, whom I’ll call Robert.

DC: Are you headed to work?
KX: Yes, sure am.
DC: Where do you work?
KX: I work for the greatest country in the world, and the greatest to have ever existed.

Disarmed, I couldn’t suppress a grin. This woman Karen exuded pride and confidence.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked. “Do you work for the US government?”

KX: I work for the Railroad Retirement Board. It’s the only federal agency in the country that’s headquartered outside of Washington, DC. Yes, I work for that idiot from Crawford, TX.

DC: Do you mean George Bush? Are you an anti-war demonstrator?
KX: I’ve been on demonstrations against the war for years now, all over Chicago.
DC: And you’re pretty comfortable sharing your feelings on George Bush?
KX: Someone needs to speak out.

Her voice boomed through the car. Perhaps Karen was exhibiting too much confidence. Others sitting nearby were beginning to stare. I spoke in an even lower tone of voice, hoping that Karen would catch on. Karen seemed oblivious.

DC: Is the Railroad Retirement Board separate from Social Security?
KX: Yes, the Retirement Board predates the Social Security Administration. But we’re very much like the Social Security that you’ll draw from when you’re the right age.
DC: I doubt I’ll have much returned to me by Social Security. I will receive far less, at least, than what I will be putting in.
KX: That’s because my generation has aborted and contracepted your inheritence away. Morals are a lot looser these days than they used to be.
DC: What do you mean?
KX: “There used to be 10 workers paying for every senior citizen retiree. Now it’s the exact opposite: there’s fewer workers than retirees.” That’s why your generation is in trouble.

By now, Karen’s voice had reached a decibal level usually reserved for rock concerts, so I thought it best to talk to her brother about the White Sox. Her brother is a lifelong White Sox fan, but it was impossible to communicate with him, for as I learned, he’s afflicted with autism.

Karen was also traveling with another friend whom we’ll call Chris. Chris worked for sixteen years at a plant based in Chicago. After sixteen years of service, Chris was earning roughly $14/hr. Then his company outsourced his department to the third-world. Chris’ income was cut by more than half after the reorganization, since the best job that Chris could find pays $6.75 with no benefits.

Karen stepped in to offer her own perspective: “If you were a business owner, would you pay $14/hr plus benefits to an American, or would you hire an illegal foreigner who will work twenty hours a day—only eight on the book—and is willing to accept whatever the employer wishes to pay?”

I parted ways with Karen, Robert and Chris shortly afterward. Karen moved Robert by the hand, steering him in the direction he needed to go. Chris plodded toward another day on the job. Karen, for her part, left with a broad smile.

[Picture of Karen and Robert embracing -- Coming soon]