CHICAGO Part II: Best Day Ever
Chicago… Concrete jungle where dreams are made of. There’s nothing you can’t do. And we did pretty much everything. Been about a couple months since I left the Windy City, and I still miss it. I miss the streets. I miss the food… and I miss my dear cousin, sweet-dimpled Darrell…
The following is what went down in the city I can call my birthplace. (technically I was born in Libertyville, which is about an hour away but fuck it. Butt fuck it.)
Our adventure continues…
Part II: The Best Day Ever
We woke up early and grabbed our public transit passes for the day’s endeavors. I stared out the windows of the train and admired the vibrant colors of the city. The first order of business was the food. We ate at this place called Lawry’s, famous for its prime rib. For only 14 bucks we enjoyed a tender prime rib sandwich, sides from the salad bar (my choice was anything potato of course), bread, salad, freshly baked potato chips, and a complimentary beverage. For a couple more bucks, you can get a fat plat of delicious creamed corn. We had a few laughs, indulged in shameless gluttony, and had a nice brunch. The meal was perfect to say the least, but even that was not the reason this was the best day ever.
Next we ventured off to Millenium Park, beloved for its modern architecture and lively activity. You are greeted by a massive metallic bean sitting against the Chicago skyline. In front of the bean, student filmmakers approached us and asked Darrell to define love. He said, “Love is family.” After leaving, he realized he had a more appropriate answer, and if asked again, he would instead say, “Love is Neil.”
A concert hall fit for a symphony faces an expansive field of green, where concert goers can enjoy music under the heat of the summer sun or under the cool breeze of twilight. Kids from one to ninety-two play in the community puddle, where everyone is free to splash and kick water around, or for the more daring, stand against one of the two tall rectangular towers that spill water all over you. Projected on the towers are giant faces of ordinary people, and every now and then the face blows, and water squirts out of the mouth in a heavy stream. As enjoyable as it was to experience once again the youthful pleasure of splashing, even that was not the reason this was the best day ever.
No. The best day ever came because of a flat tire.
Darrell, my Ate Tracy, Len, and I left the apartment to get alcohol. On the way, a police officer flashed us from behind with a halogen flashlight. We pulled over into a parking lot next to a grocery store. We had no idea what was going on, certain that Darrell abided by the rules of traffic just fine. The officer came out of the car smiling. He laughed and said, “Hey! You dropped your hub cap back there, yo!” At first we thought we were in trouble, but the police pulled us over just to laugh at us. And so begins the Best Day Ever.
We said thanks and the cop car sped off. Len and I found the hub cap a little ways back, and once we returned to the car, Darrell realized he had a flat tire. A stranger approached us and said, “Hey, there’s a tire repair shop over there!” Sure enough, about a block away, there was a sign for Hercules Tires. Best Day Ever.
Problem was, the guy at the tire shop needed us to bring the car over, so before repairing the flat, we needed to place the spare. We couldn’t find the jack so we called Triple A. The wait would take an hour and 45 minutes. We had no choice but to find a way to kill two hours. Low and behold, right across the street from the grocery store parking lot was a little bar called Logan’s Pub. Best Day Ever.
We ordered beers and ordered Buffalo Calamari Shrimp. Holy shit it was delicious. We laughed about the strange serendipity of it all. Only about twenty minutes later, we see the Triple A truck arrive. Darrell and I rushed across the street and talked to the guy. We asked why he got here so fast, and he told us he had another job, but the guy never answered the phone. After about ten minutes of waiting he said fuck it and rushed over to see us instead. Best Day Ever.
With a hydraulic jack and some fancy tools, a job that would’ve taken us forever took the man about five minutes. We thanked the guy and tipped him, and just like that we had our spare on. I thought of a new Triple A slogan that day: “You’re not a man until you get another man to change your tire.” Best Day Ever.
Darrell drove the car a block away to Hercules tires. The man spoke little English and communicated only with the motion of his hands. We watched the man work, a master at his craft, a modern day Michelangelo. With the cigarette bouncing on his lip, he took off the spare with ease, handling the drill with the quickness of Clint Eastwood in a spaghetti western. He took up the flat, bounced it around on the pavement, dipped it in a special liquid to find the source of the flat, and patched up the hole. Threw the tire back on, and simply said, “15 dollars.” We were stunned Best Day Ever.
A laughing police officer, a missing hub cap, a friendly stranger to point us in the right direction, the discovery of a lovely pub, buffalo calamari to die for, the Triple A customer who never showed, and the Michelangelo of tire repair.
BEST DAY EVER
That night we all checked into the hotel. The next day was the wedding.
To Be Continued…
