Chicago Hates Me. The Finale


Friends, Romans, Bloggy friends, lend me your eyes…

I know it’s been a while since I was due to post this final installment, but let’s just say that this last week turned into a lot more shenanigans, just not to the extent of my recent ones in Chicago. If you need to catch up, here’s part 1 and part 2. With that, I bring you part 3.

We left off where I was tired, lost, and hungry in downtown Chicago, my phone had just died, and I was running out of patience to deal with all that life was smacking at me. In the middle of Union Station, the obvious was evident: I needed to recharge. I wanted to be adventurous, but let’s be for real, how many of you would have the energy to go somewhere you’ve never gone in a city you’ve had (very) limited interactions in?

Armed with a latte from Dunkin’ (and I don’t even drink coffee like that), I ventured inside of a Potbelly. They had all I needed at that point: food, outlets, and a place to sit my rump while I reconfigured my game plan. After my phone had a sufficient charge to tweet, of course I did:

  • ChicagoHatesMe.Org.Gov/StoopidEl/EffDowntown.img
  • (–_–)
  • Thugs don’t cry in public. I’m a thug. I can’t cry in public.
  • I passed the whatchutalmbowt Willis Tower, yet now, I can’t even tell you where the heck that is.
  • Navigation don’t work when your mind can’t process it. Learned that from experience today.

After hearing from enough people that the bus station was “not too far” from my current location, I bravely ventured the downtown area, thinking I could possibly find it. After a conversation with my BFF Smithers’s mom, she, sensing the anxiety in my tone, instructed me to go back to the train station and wait. I picked up some essentials at a local drugstore: ibuprofen and hand sanitizer. I should’ve gotten a magazine, too!

I wandered around the station for a bit. Things were starting to slow down, so I decided to go back and wait in the Grand Hall section, where all the fun goes down, apparently. Armed with free city newspapers, I diverted my glance from strangers as much as I could, and of course, Twitter kept me company:

  • Is it bad when so many things happen in the course of a day, that instead of crying, you think “what else?” I kinda wanna be there
  • Someone just sat on the opposite end of the bench I’m on, and just farted. I freaking quit, Chicago.
  • A homeless man just asked me if I was married. I nodded yes, and he says, “I don’t want yo’ husband. You want yo’ husband?” I nod yes.
  • <<——– Married to Jesus
  • All hand sanitizer everything. Don’t trust nothing. Don’t touch nothing. You’ll get something.
  • Goodness, I’m tired, y’all. Emotionally, mentally, spiritually, the whole thing. I forget basic needs when I’m high on angst.
  • Thank you anyway, but when I’m this annoyed, I prefer to conserve my words. Don’t make me Katie Ka-boom the frick outta here.

  • Today would have been a great day to begin and end a smoking habit.

Eventually, Smithers got the APB on me, got me from the station, and assessed that I, indeed was a mess. Because I had only one change of clothes and that wasn’t working well anymore, our first stop was to a Wal-Mart, so I could get something to change into after a hearty shower. That and dinner. After recapping my day, Smithers agreed that this is the kind of thing that could only happen to me… as if I didn’t already know that.

One shower, one glass of wine, and one nacho plate down, I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow on that futon. Once I get up the next morning, we get ready, and head towards downtown, and after traffic and whatever else goes on, I miss the morning train. I then begin to realize just how much Chicago hates me: it wants to keep me here, miserable. I trade my ticket (again) for the next one out, and head back to Smithers, prepared to spend a day at school.

  • Ev’reh bod-eh hay-aytes Beeeeeeeeeeez. :-/

Smithers works at an elementary school, and since I was the “special guest” speaker for the day, he ended up giving me a few pointers: don’t look them directly in the eyes, don’t talk to them in baby speak, and don’t try to smuggle any kids home in your bag. What can I say? He knows me. Here’s a quick overview of my day with the youngins:

  • Sebbumf grehd. 😐
  • 4th graders now. How did I end up speaking to these kids, too?
  • That was a sassy, surly buncha 4th graders. They wanted to ask me stuff, though. And, apparently, I was born in 1969. It rhymes.
  • These preschoolers make my heart melt. It’s gonna take a lot for me to not smuggle one of these little precious puffs home.

The school day ends, we book it downtown, and I actually get ON the train this time, with time to spare. We won’t even bring up that the guy who exchanged my ticket did it for the following afternoon, which we didn’t notice ’til checking in. Either way, I made it home, and just in time for So You Think You Can Dance. Ultimately, the universe loves me. Except Chicago.

  • FINALLY on something smoking towards home. Finally. *chokes back tears*
  • OMG I made it home in time for #SYTYCD!!! *Adam Shankman strut*

Have you all ever had any kind of super random experience, where you were just CERTAIN the fates, the gods, or Mother Nature had pulled your number, and put a gloomy cloud only on your head?

*insert gloomy cloud here* 
picture found here

Love and Sprinkles,

PS- Oh, wait! I forgot the most important part! I did end up talking to the person I needed to speak with, and long story short, I was supposed to get a call this week if they were going to start a new round of interviews this week. It’s almost Friday, and I can safely assume, well, you know… No harm to the company, though. I still think they’re awesome. They just would have been more awesome with me.

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