The dying alcoholic on the #22 bus

Two Sunday mornings ago, I stepped onto the #22 Clark bus. It was about 6:30, a hint of daylight in the sky. There he was, sitting where I've always seen him sit, one aisle back from the handicapped seats on the driver's side.

Drunks have ridden Chicago's mass transit system since the very beginning; I wouldn't be surprised if the very first rider was blasted. Drunks and the Chicago Transit Authority go together like rum and coke. But the gentleman I walked past for the third Sunday morning in five weeks was the saddest-looking drunk I've ever seen.

It wasn't difficult to assess his condition: his grayish-brown skin almost matched his hat; his eyes bulged slightly, as if he was in the middle of a caffeine binge; his entire body from the waist up vibrated and shook; he occasionally made incomprehensible, mewling noises that turned a few heads on the bus but nothing more than a second or two of apathy before returning to their various activities. His face looked as if he could go postal any second, but that would be impossible; there was simply no life in him, no misdirected passions or anger to provide fuel for such an act of insanity. Simply put, he was too sick to be a psychopath.

It was also not difficult to guess his intoxicant of choice: one can smell it throughout the bus. When he wasn't taking a swig, it sat on his lap, uncapped, clasped by one jittery hand, half-hidden in a paper bag. It wasn't cheap gin, or a 40-ounce bottle of malt liquor. It was mouthwash - mint-flavored mouthwash. We're not talking about Listerine, either: he obviously shells a couple bucks on this jug at a dollar store. This alcoholic is killing himself on a neverending mouthwash binge.

When I described him to my wife a few days later, she immediately knew who I was talking about. She had seen him on the Clark bus recently, the first time in nearly a year. She takes the Clark bus around the same time in the morning I do, but she takes it south, while I ride north. Yet not only do we see the same alcoholic gentleman, he's been a common sight on the Clark bus for some time. Bus drivers tote him back and forth endlessly, and hundreds - perhaps thousands - of riders pass by his seat, listening to his mewling, smelling the cheap minty mouthwash. Why doesn't anyone do something about this drunk, so poor and desperate, he feeds his addiction on the cheapest of alcohol?

Probably because there's no real way to decide what action would be considered most merciful. He's obviously homeless - he carries a few bags with him along with his mouthwash. What would be the point of curing him of his mouthwash habit? To cure him of his alcoholism seems like the most traumatic action to someone in his condition; the DTs alone would probably kill him. Giving him a place to live out the rest of his days? What good would that do, given he probably can't take care of himself? Hire a live-in nurse for him? Nobody would take the job. Shoot him in the head and get it over with? It's still illegal to shoot a semi-comatose drunk in this state, even one who might welcome it.

Liberal I may be, but the most merciful act I can think of is what the rest of the #22 Clark bus already do: look away. Allowing someone to euthanize himself with hundreds of bottles of two-dollar mouthwash may seem cruel at first glance, but the act of ignoring the man's slow suicide comes as close to death with dignity the CTA and its riders can legally offer. Besides, what's there to complain about? Other than the mewling, he makes no sound. He doesn't attack passengers or scream at the driver. And he smells minty fresh. He's practically a model drunken bum. We should train other drunken bums to imitate his behavior.

Crazy? Sure the idea is crazy. Crazy as the drunken bum dropping his drawers and taking a dump on the floor. Crazy as the drunken bum screaming that the Chinese took away his tax refund. Crazy as a mouthwash-drinking alcoholic riding up and down the Clark bus.