« It's just a little crush | Main | On location »
November 13, 2003
"Worst day, ever"
That hypothetical quote from Comic Book Guy pretty much sums up my yesterday.
But first, this interlude:
You know, everybody seems to have one of these blogs nowadays. I suspect that a few of time, mine included, are probably a lot of junk. But that's the beauty of the disposable and gigantic amount of information and storage space we have on our computers.
Now, a lot of people seem to take this whole thing a little more seriously than I do, such as this guy. His lovely wife was giving birth to their child, and he brought along his laptop so that he could do continuous updates during the procedure. A few thoughts on this: Kudos that he would actually remember to bring along the laptop. If my wife was giving birth, I would be so frazzled that I would probably put my shoes on the wrong feet. (My dad, on the other hand, left the room after my birth, went to his department down the hallway, and started doing barium enemas on patients.) Also, the hospital has a wireless internet connection? Did they somehow anticipate that people in the maternity ward would need to update their blogs while giving birth?
Perhaps a woman giving birth would type something like this:
8:28 am This really fucking hurts! Give me some more drugs, damn you! Okay Bob [bumbling husband] you try giving birth, you asshole!
8:44 am Whaddya mean, its closign time? I wann some more of that morphine. What's my name again? Who are you? Why is that man looking at my uterus?
9:03 amI am never doing this again!!
Well... maybe not quite like that.
Anyhow, back to the issue at hand. Wednesday morning, I was standing on my porch, getting my newspaper, when I saw a piece of paper stuck in my car window. I figured it was some stupid advertisement for a dirty club on Division Street, but instead, it was a crash report. About this time, I noticed that my car, Yoshi, was sticking six feet into the driveway that was in front of my parking spot on the street. Upon closer inspection, I discovered that Yoshi had a gaping, terrible wound. The rear of the passenger side was crunched in, all the way up to the door. My mirror was hanging from the door like some broken, limp bone. I felt that terrible sinking - poor little Yoshi had been struck down in his prime. After several angry phone calls, I tried to drive the car, but it made this terrible grinding noise, and then I couldn't get it to drive in reverse, since something had been pushed up onto my rear wheel. All in all, it was a grisly sight.
About this time, a girl came out of the building next to mine, and explained that her boyfriend had borne witness to the accident. He had seen the woman, who might have been intoxicated, strike my car, then attempt to drive off. He caught her, and called the police. I have to go over and thank him, and find out if the little bitch got arrested. Plus, in a delightful bit of potential revenge, I have a piece of the offending automobile (which was a minivan) which I think I am going to mail back to her with some sort of snide comment. She wasn't even 21 yet - her birthday is tomorrow, and I hope she is going to spend it learning exactly why you can't go about driving your parents' minivan while drunk. In jail!
Finally I was able to get it back into a parking spot, and then my odyssey truly began.
The City of Chicago likes to pride itself on its mass transit system. I decided I would have to use it in order to get to work. I boarded the #74 bus at about 9 am. 50 minutes later, I was dropped off at Grand and Harlem, which is the city limit and the farthest the bus would go. I was still about four miles from work, a manageable distance if I was planning to run. So I then waited 45 minutes for the PACE, which is the suburban bus line. I don't know what PACE stands for. Finally, I arrived at my office at 11:15, fully two hours after I had left.
When I got off the bus, I looked like Ethan Hawke in Training Day when he got off the bus. I think his circumstances were a little tougher, though, having been abandoned by Denzel at a gang member's house, assualted by these same gang members, nearly murdered in a bathtub, and generally demeaned. But at least Ethan Hawke didn't have to ride the bus every day. I had decided that this route was not feasible.
On my way home, I once again hopped on the PACE, except this time it took me to O'Hare airport. I then hauled myself over to the Blue Line train, and finally to another bus. Trip home: 1 hour, 25 minutes. Not AS bad, but still foul when you consider I can normally drive home in less than an hour.
I won't bore you with all my extensive route details, but I must point out a few observations about the bus types. I never really rode the bus before, so I noticed that there are a lot of peculiar things to be found on the bus.
For example, some of these bus riders are incredibly lazy. I saw a few people get on the bus, then get off three blocks later. Without any groceries! I saw this yesterday morning, when it was a crisp 65 degrees outside - so I don't think we can blame it on the weather.
The CTA busses, at least in my area of town, are used by most every type of person - so it is not necessarily all that rough. You don't really feel unsafe on the bus, especially when you have the strong busdriver as protection. (My bus drivers: a middle-aged overweight lady, a gruff ex-WW2 veteran, and a Sammy Davis JR look-a-like. Take your pick.)
On the Blue Line, on the other hand, you have all sort of characters. Mostly travelers, including the ones who sit in the handicapped seats even though there are other ones available. One lady, talking on her cellphone, told her kids she was in Chicago and "riding on the T." This drew some scowls who scoff at comparisons to Chicago's El and Boston's T. (The T, by the way - that was just creepy. Oh, and speaking of subways, check out this fascinating page about the subway in North Korea's capital, Pyongyang.)
As for the PACE, it seems to be the haven of the downtrodden. A lot of old ladies and poor people ride it. One passenger tried to talk to the driver in Spanish, even though he obviously did not speak the language. As she got off the bus, the driver snitted: "You're in America, speak English!" Holla!
The PACE comes every half hour. It's dirty, it's creepy, it sucks. But it gets you where you need to go if you can't drive, which is currently how you would classify poor old me. But, it looks like this will be my lot for awhile, until Yoshi can get fixed. (If he can get fixed - I don't even know at this point.)
--------
Posted by oz115 at November 13, 2003 03:07 PM