Chicago Hates Me. Part One.

Clearly, I missed the “No Beez Allowed” sign.

Afternoon, friends. By reading the title, you may have figured out that I believe, with no doubt in my mind, that the city of Chicago hates my stinking guts. Not just an area or a neighborhood, but the whole cotdang city. The skyline, Mayor Daley, the (whatchutalmbout) Willis Tower, Lake Michigan, deep dish pizza, the guy selling pickles and watches on the south side, Wrigleyville– the whole thing.

The last few days have been such a smörgåsbord of adventure, I’m not sure if I can even reveal it without posting more than one part. I wouldn’t want to scare you all away from me. I’ll try my best to fully immerse you in what it has been like to be me for the past few days.

One week ago, I applied for a job in Chicago, with a company I know quite a bit about. The job is something that I, along with others, felt was a good match for the skills I currently possess. I was excited for the opportunity, and just hoped that I would get a chance to shine and show them my awesomeness! I saw myself at the place, thriving and surviving. Fingers crossed and prayers sent up, I waited for news, hopefully of the good variety.

Mondays are the days that I run the food pantry, so things were kind of hectic for me. There’s always a lot to do, and because I like to check and double check things over and over again, I hardly sit down. I left my phone around in various places when things were particularly hectic, and hadn’t realized I missed a call from the place until later that evening. Around midnight, I find a contact that lets me know that interviews were being conducted on the following day, which is likely what the call was for.

In an enthusiastic round of “jump the gun,” I begin packing, showering, and preparing myself for an impromptu day trip to the big city. Mind you, I get no sleep in the hours leading up to this. My immediate thought process was to take the first thing that could get me there, call first thing in the morning to find out when interviews were, and by that time, I should already be there. I had a friend at the ready to pick me up from the train station, and although very sleepy, I was optimistic. I didn’t sleep much, due to excitement, nervousness, and everything else. I felt with a latte about half an hour before the (yet to be determined) event, I’d be okay.

I get there, catch up with my friend, and the waiting game begins. I called, and he couldn’t reach me until later that day. As the day turned to dawn, though, some of the enthusiasm wore off, as I tried to stay a bit optimistic. I wanted to just turn around and go home, but something (and a few someones) prompted me to hold on for just another day. Hope intact, I changed my return ticket to the following afternoon, bit the bullet, and stayed another night…

Part 2 up next.

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