You don't have to scrape the windows on the Metra

So, this morning while I was scraping my windshield, I found myself missing the Metra. I missed the hour long ride to work. I missed the loud lady that talked about Desparate Housewives every Monday morning and all the rest of the mornings about the dress code at work and how she had to buy such pretty, expensive clothing because of it. I missed the man who sat with three middle aged women and talked about how his wife had gained a little weight and was now a whopping size 2 after having 2 children. I missed the lady with the blackberry with the keys that were stuck and clicked every time she hit them. I missed the man that would elbow me in the shoulder because of his large newspaper. Come on, people, if you're going to read a paper on the train, make it the compact Sun-Times. I even missed the boy with the box the size of a small pony that decided to sit across from me one day and plop his belongings on my seat.

I think I need a better window scraper.