The nice thing about living in the city is that I get to take the el to and from work every day.

The el , if you really think about it, is an amazing and interesting environment. The oddest thing is that much of the time you are riding with the same group of people but you never say a word to them.

Most people who ride the train get into a routine when it comes to their commute, standing in the exact same spot on the platform everyday, at the same time, getting on just about the same car, and sometimes entering in the same door each and every time. The rider usually has a preference as to where the best seats or standing spots are as well.

Because I am guilty of this pattern, there are a handful of people who I see a few times throughout the week, both to and from work. We make eye contact – a little acknowledgement of one another – and we are on the way. But there is a huge catch: I never, ever speak to these people because they are, in fact, strangers.

The messed up part is that we already have some elements of our lives in common. Generally, we reside in the same neighborhood, commuting to and from work in the same fashion each day, and we probably work within a few blocks of one another. Yet we are total strangers with the exception of the eye-contact-hello.

Sometimes, one of the regulars doesn't appear for a while. Maybe they moved to a new apartment, got a shift change or even found a new job. Normally, this missing person goes unnoticed, until one day a few weeks later, they hop on at their regular stop at the regular time like nothing happened; it is then that you realize, “Hey … I haven't seen her or him in a while.” There's the eye contact, and then an almost a sigh of relief. I think about asking them where they've been, but I can't. I don't know this person.

This entire phenomenon is like riding in a carpool , but never speaking with any of the other passengers. That's unheard of, and yet the same practice is totally acceptable on the el.

The worst is when an attractive somebody of the opposite sex jumps into the routine. I see this person more times in a week than I see some of my friends, and yet I don't know their name, what they'd order at a bar or anything else. Hell, I spend more time with this stranger than my parents. And I can't talk to them, because a) I don't know them and b) there is definitely no hitting on people on the el.

I have been in awkward situations three times because of all this.

First, there was the time I was walking down a very busy Michigan Avenue during the holiday shopping season. There were about a million people there, all hurrying from one store to another while I, cursing the suburbanites for invading my Michigan Avenue, yet thanking them in the same breath for helping stimulate the Chicago economy, was just trying not to hit anyone with my bags. I saw a break in the pedestrian traffic and skittered to the left side of the sidewalk.

I looked up and there she was: one of my el friends. Only I was so preoccupied with where I was going next that I thought she was someone I was supposed to know. I slowed down and stared at her, probably looking like a creep from her perspective, but then she stared right back at me. I don't think who I was registered with her either. Five steps later we were past one another, and I was asking myself, “Who the hell was that?” I thought maybe I should be polite and go back to say hello and then it clicked: she rides home from work with me a few times a week. It would've been nice to say hello to my el friend, but we can't talk on the el, so why would we talk in any other public setting?

There was the time when some friends and I were out at tavern having a few beers. The place was packed, and the wait to get served by the bartender seemed like an eternity. It was my turn to buy a round, so I made my way up to the bar and stood there. I have enough trouble getting women to notice me, and now I have to do this with a bartender? Life is not fair. As I waited, I was glancing around the bar to see if I knew anyone in the joint. Nope. I looked straight ahead and saw this girl, standing directly across from me on the other side of the bar, staring in my direction, dumbfounded. Another co-rider. I peered back and we gave the eye-contact-acknowledgement that substitutes a hello on the el. I found myself confused. Can I go talk to her? Is that against the rules? What if she has no idea what I'm talking about? Yes, she will definitely think I am crazy. No way am I going to talk to her. She doesn't even recognize me.

I walked back over to my friends and forgot about what had just happened. It was probably better that I didn't talk to her; it would have taken away the mystery that is our “relationship” on the el, if you can even call it that. And like I've already said, you can't talk to people you know from the el.

The last incident was the granddaddy of them all. I went to a party at my friend's girlfriend's house, and guess who her roommate was? Yes, the theme here is recurring. She was one of the riders on my el. Holy shit. When we were introduced, she recognized me too, and she was the one who asked if we ride the el together and if I recognized her. We jabbered back and forth for a bit about funny things that have happened during our commutes – yes, that is kind of a lame topic of conversation – and the whole time I was trying to play it cool because I knew I'd probably see her again on the el and I don't want that to be weird. We wrapped up the discussion and went our separate ways to mingle with others at the party. That was painless, right?

Well, the next day my friend who had invited me to the party gave me the impression that the girl thought I was a weirdo. She's probably right, but I swear I didn't say anything too crazy. I was trying to play it cool, man … but come to think of it, I did have about nine cocktails before we were introduced. Oops.

The next time I saw her on the train, we were across the car from one another and there was the eye contact and the recognition. Then came a weird look from her before she glanced down and never looked back for the remainder of the ride. It felt kind of awkward.

This was the defining moment when I finally understood why the rule is that strangers who ride the el together, even every day, just don't talk. While it would be fun and interesting and friends would be made and the commute would be livelier, there is an odd sense of camaraderie and uncertainty that comes along with those other familiar riders. The strangers are silently recognized as friends and acquaintances, yet the fact that they, as people, are totally unknown makes the prospect of a verbal friendship almost undesirable, as the mystery of who this person actually is would disappear. You are friends because you ride together so often and yet there are the unknowns that should never and will never be explained.

It's the el, and there's no talking allowed.