Nuvem
25th August 2010, 22:29
This is a little late, but I've decided that I should tell you all the tale of my April 14. journey through Chicago to meet the Chicago branch of the SPUSA.
It was a fine Spring day, cool and pleasant. The sun was high in the sky and the birds were chirping. I arrived at the Clock Tower Resort in the city of Rockford, Illinois at approximately 10:30 AM, fashionably almost late. I scurried inside through the front door, past the infamous Tilted Kilt restaurant and into the ticket booth. I frantically dug $32 out of my wallet for a round-trip ticket from Rockford to Chicago and back, then dashed outside with great haste and leapt from the sidewalk into the entrance to the massive double-decker bus. I handed my ticket to the bus driver, an old man with massive Stalin moustache and shaggy white hair hidden under one those oddly military-like bus driver hats. I took my seat, put in my ear buds and blasted the Soviet national anthem into my eardrums. It was a good start to the day.
http://www.chitowndining.com/www.chitowndining.com/images/large/union-station-chicago-il-1-590x349.jpg
The bus arrived at Union Station in Chicago right on time, approximately noon. The station was full of hustle and bustle as always, the main artery of Chicago, that sprawling mass of dilapidated industry with its still-visible hints of 19th and early 20th century architecture. Families, businesspeople and foreigners chattering in languages unintelligible to me hustled by to reach their trains. I stood alongside the Adams Street bridge overlooking the Chicago river. The wind blew by refreshingly, cool and with the distinctive smell of Chicago's river. Ducks honked below at the miniscule tourist steamboat floating by. I fished my pocket watch from my front left pocket...12:14. The meeting wasn't until 4:00 PM, at a small restaurant called the Lincoln Restaurant, which was considerably further north than Union Station. I had several options; I could have taken a cab, which would be quick but expensive. I could have used the El lines, which would have been quick and cheap. I could have walked, which would have been free and very slow. But if I arrived too quickly, I would have had to wait at the restaurant for hours. My mind was made; I would walk so that I would not have to wait.
http://www.janisherbertforkids.com/assets/images/Lincoln_Restaurant__Medium_.jpg
[Look at that ugly mug.]
The journey began, and I was enjoying it thoroughly at first. Walking through the financial heart of Chicago with its towering skyscrapers and throngs of businessmen walking the streets, talking on their cell phones emphatically or precariously balancing their laptops on one arm and typing furiously, looking up from the monitor every now and then to check traffic when making crossings. Only the most distracted did not stop to observe me, fully out of place with my knee-high leather boots and tightly-clinging T-shirt with a bold, blazing "CCCP" across the chest.
...After three and a half hours, I was not enjoying myself so much anymore. The walking seemed endless, and I was constantly looking for maps at bus stops and worrying that I was becoming lost- especially when I left downtown and the bus stop maps vanished. My feet, legs and hips were beginning to become quite sore from the exodus, and I grew weary of my journey. I could tell without taking my boots off that I had blisters on both heels and I was in dire need of a good long sit.
But lo! Hope shined from a sign down the road of Lincoln's ugly mug flashing a disapproving sneer at me with a curling American flag behind him. At last, success! I snatched my watch from my pocket and looked at the time; 4:04 PM, fashionably late! Excited, I flung the front door open and strode in confidently.
...Disappointment. The restaurant was cramped and dark in the main room, and no servers were to be seen. No one could answer my question of where my comrades were. To my left, a table at which were seated four hipsters. "Oh god", I thought. "Are those my contacts from the SPUSA?" I looked distastefully at their ugly facial hair and goofy sweaters. I approached their table tentatively.
http://www.pittsburghcitypaper.ws/binary/3576/17_2film_russian_hipsters.jpg
["Please...PLEASE don't let these assholes be my contacts." ]
"Excuse me", I said cautiously to the closest man at the table, "is this the meeting for the SPUSA?" He looked at me, then his fellows.
"Uh, no, we're just here to eat, man."
I thanked him for the info and turned away. I looked in the larger dining room, much brighter and more colorful with fine wooden tables and chairs lined with soft red cushions. Not a soul. I looked to the far end of that room, towards the bar. A bartender, and one overweight old man drowning himself in alcohol. I looked at my watch again. It was only 4:05; they could be arriving a little late. So I went out back to the parking lot and stood....and waited...
For an entire hour. When 5:15 PM rolled around, I gave up. I was finally sick of waiting on the no-shows. I went inside to check again, but found only the same old drunkard and the hipsters had left. I approached the woman behind the bar and asked her about the party meeting and if it had a reservation; she said there was none listed, after I explained that it was a political party meeting, not a birthday party. This was frustrating, as her English was very poor. More frustrating was the fact that the meeting was to be so small that no reservation would have been needed. Spirit broken, I skulked outside and hailed a cab. My ride back to Union Station was nearly $50, but I didn't care. I was tired, I was angry, my feet hurt like all hell. I had walked from the Chicago Loop at Union Station all the way up to Ravenswood to be stood up. I was from out of town and I took a round trip bus ride and walked for four hours to reach this meeting. These people lived in Chicago, knew the El lines well and couldn't make a 4 o'clock for their own party, which I wasn't even affiliated with.
I arrived back at Union Station trolled, raged beyond what any internet flaming session could ever conjure. I got aboard the next bus back to Rockford, and made my sullen way home. And that's the day I condemned the Chicago branch of the SPUSA. The rest of the party is fine.
Oh, and they never returned my fist-shaking e-mail as to why they didn't make their own meeting.
WTF,SPUSA?
It was a fine Spring day, cool and pleasant. The sun was high in the sky and the birds were chirping. I arrived at the Clock Tower Resort in the city of Rockford, Illinois at approximately 10:30 AM, fashionably almost late. I scurried inside through the front door, past the infamous Tilted Kilt restaurant and into the ticket booth. I frantically dug $32 out of my wallet for a round-trip ticket from Rockford to Chicago and back, then dashed outside with great haste and leapt from the sidewalk into the entrance to the massive double-decker bus. I handed my ticket to the bus driver, an old man with massive Stalin moustache and shaggy white hair hidden under one those oddly military-like bus driver hats. I took my seat, put in my ear buds and blasted the Soviet national anthem into my eardrums. It was a good start to the day.
http://www.chitowndining.com/www.chitowndining.com/images/large/union-station-chicago-il-1-590x349.jpg
The bus arrived at Union Station in Chicago right on time, approximately noon. The station was full of hustle and bustle as always, the main artery of Chicago, that sprawling mass of dilapidated industry with its still-visible hints of 19th and early 20th century architecture. Families, businesspeople and foreigners chattering in languages unintelligible to me hustled by to reach their trains. I stood alongside the Adams Street bridge overlooking the Chicago river. The wind blew by refreshingly, cool and with the distinctive smell of Chicago's river. Ducks honked below at the miniscule tourist steamboat floating by. I fished my pocket watch from my front left pocket...12:14. The meeting wasn't until 4:00 PM, at a small restaurant called the Lincoln Restaurant, which was considerably further north than Union Station. I had several options; I could have taken a cab, which would be quick but expensive. I could have used the El lines, which would have been quick and cheap. I could have walked, which would have been free and very slow. But if I arrived too quickly, I would have had to wait at the restaurant for hours. My mind was made; I would walk so that I would not have to wait.
http://www.janisherbertforkids.com/assets/images/Lincoln_Restaurant__Medium_.jpg
[Look at that ugly mug.]
The journey began, and I was enjoying it thoroughly at first. Walking through the financial heart of Chicago with its towering skyscrapers and throngs of businessmen walking the streets, talking on their cell phones emphatically or precariously balancing their laptops on one arm and typing furiously, looking up from the monitor every now and then to check traffic when making crossings. Only the most distracted did not stop to observe me, fully out of place with my knee-high leather boots and tightly-clinging T-shirt with a bold, blazing "CCCP" across the chest.
...After three and a half hours, I was not enjoying myself so much anymore. The walking seemed endless, and I was constantly looking for maps at bus stops and worrying that I was becoming lost- especially when I left downtown and the bus stop maps vanished. My feet, legs and hips were beginning to become quite sore from the exodus, and I grew weary of my journey. I could tell without taking my boots off that I had blisters on both heels and I was in dire need of a good long sit.
But lo! Hope shined from a sign down the road of Lincoln's ugly mug flashing a disapproving sneer at me with a curling American flag behind him. At last, success! I snatched my watch from my pocket and looked at the time; 4:04 PM, fashionably late! Excited, I flung the front door open and strode in confidently.
...Disappointment. The restaurant was cramped and dark in the main room, and no servers were to be seen. No one could answer my question of where my comrades were. To my left, a table at which were seated four hipsters. "Oh god", I thought. "Are those my contacts from the SPUSA?" I looked distastefully at their ugly facial hair and goofy sweaters. I approached their table tentatively.
http://www.pittsburghcitypaper.ws/binary/3576/17_2film_russian_hipsters.jpg
["Please...PLEASE don't let these assholes be my contacts." ]
"Excuse me", I said cautiously to the closest man at the table, "is this the meeting for the SPUSA?" He looked at me, then his fellows.
"Uh, no, we're just here to eat, man."
I thanked him for the info and turned away. I looked in the larger dining room, much brighter and more colorful with fine wooden tables and chairs lined with soft red cushions. Not a soul. I looked to the far end of that room, towards the bar. A bartender, and one overweight old man drowning himself in alcohol. I looked at my watch again. It was only 4:05; they could be arriving a little late. So I went out back to the parking lot and stood....and waited...
For an entire hour. When 5:15 PM rolled around, I gave up. I was finally sick of waiting on the no-shows. I went inside to check again, but found only the same old drunkard and the hipsters had left. I approached the woman behind the bar and asked her about the party meeting and if it had a reservation; she said there was none listed, after I explained that it was a political party meeting, not a birthday party. This was frustrating, as her English was very poor. More frustrating was the fact that the meeting was to be so small that no reservation would have been needed. Spirit broken, I skulked outside and hailed a cab. My ride back to Union Station was nearly $50, but I didn't care. I was tired, I was angry, my feet hurt like all hell. I had walked from the Chicago Loop at Union Station all the way up to Ravenswood to be stood up. I was from out of town and I took a round trip bus ride and walked for four hours to reach this meeting. These people lived in Chicago, knew the El lines well and couldn't make a 4 o'clock for their own party, which I wasn't even affiliated with.
I arrived back at Union Station trolled, raged beyond what any internet flaming session could ever conjure. I got aboard the next bus back to Rockford, and made my sullen way home. And that's the day I condemned the Chicago branch of the SPUSA. The rest of the party is fine.
Oh, and they never returned my fist-shaking e-mail as to why they didn't make their own meeting.
WTF,SPUSA?