Since my arrival on Tuesday, I have increasingly been made aware of the significance of St. Patrick’s Day in Chicago. While I am not much of a drinker, I do admit that back home a pitcher of cheap, dyed green beer has always excited me. Green beer just seems tastier than it really is. Unfortunately this rule only applies to beer. Have you ever had green eggs? I have. And I will never forget it.
My point is: this weekend is so much more than simple green beer. This holiday will be filled with thousands of wandering alcohol enthusiasts. Faithful to my new blog, I will have no choice but to observe and record all events that transpire. Wish me luck.
On a side note, my friend took me to a bar Wednesday night, Dylan’s Tavern and Grill, that was already in preparation for St. Patty’s Day. Walking in, the hostess checked my friend’s ID and exclaimed that they shared a birthday. Then she looked at my ID and exclaimed that I shared a birthday with her best friend. She was either very friendly or a compulsive liar.
The energy of the building was great. It was busy, but mellow at the same time. I’m quickly learning that people in Chicago really enjoy drinking. The place was set up full of St. Patty’s day decorations. We sat over at the bar since we had both already stuffed our faces earlier that day, and the bartender was very attentive. We each ordered a beer, relaxed, chatted and called it a night.
Upon walking into the lobby of MY building (I like having a building), I immediately felt welcomed. The process of moving in seemed very simple; I was only required to fill out a few forms. I was handed my laundry card, elevator swiper, and room keys — one for the front door and one for my room (they were identical). I was also given the password for the wifi, the network name being my room number. I retrieved a luggage cart from the front deskman and made my way into the elevator. I was excited that all of the wheels worked on this one. Anxious to use my new swiper, I did so and hit floor 8. The button glowed red for a second and then stopped. I thought I must not have swiped it right and tried again. It glowed and stopped again. I looked at it in disbelief. How dare this button defy me! I seethed. Due to my stubborn nature and my unwillingness to allow myself to be the annoyingly needy newcomer, I attempted to work the elevator for two more minutes. Realizing that the doorman must have found it strange that I entered the elevator two minutes ago and was still standing in there alone, I decided to surrender to the button and ask for my card to be fixed. I was told that it was fixed.
It was not.
Back at the elevator, a very friendly asian boy went out of his way to not only push my cart into the elevator, but take it off of the elevator for me when I reached my floor. I could infer that he was not a native of Chicago. Ignoring my urge to tip him for his kindness, I exited and found my room: 812. Half expecting either an awkward first moment with my three new roommates, or a surprise party on my behalf as soon as I opened the door, I took a deep breath and pushed the unlocked door open. My intrusion was met with –nothing. ‘How strange for the front door to be unlocked’ I thought, as there did not seem to be a single person in the apartment. Not having been greeted with a party, I disappointedly made my way to my room. Unfortunately, the bedroom doors did not have numbers on them, and I spent much too long trying to get into a room that wasn’t even mine. At this point I was grateful that seemingly no one was home. I found my room and was instantly excited. I took some photos, made some phone calls and decided to bring the cart back down so that I could unpack.
Back in my room, I decided to play some music from my favorite music app — Spotify (check it out). I looked for my room number among the many others in the wifi network drop down, however i could not find it. In fact, I found just about every possible room number but mine… along with the networks”teddybear” and “Granny Porn”. I hoped to God that my roommates had not made our network Granny Porn. I began searching for different variations of “Room 812”, continually typing in the extensive password given to me for each one, however I could not connect to any of them. With a last hope, I attempted to connect to “teddybear” without success. All that was left was “Granny Porn”. Oh how I wished it wouldn’t be granny porn.
At least now I could begin unpacking and start my new life in Chicago.
Check soon for another update on my first day in Chicago!
After an hour layover in Detroit, I arrived in Chicago at 11 yesterday morning. With just four pieces of luggage and a heart full of dreams, I made my way to the nearest taxi. I quickly learned that my 50 foot walk outside would be no easy task. After struggling to carry all four pieces of luggage, an employee finally offered me a cart. I graciously accepted, and began my journey yet again…until I realized one of the cart’s wheels was extremely uncoordinated and I could not get the darn thing to go straight no matter how much I tried. After spinning in half circles several times and running into three walls, I made it to the sidewalk! The taxi drivers and female security officer, who looked very much like a Rhonda, all eyed me in utter contempt. I thought to myself, ‘well better to make a bad impression than to not make an impression at all, and hopped into a cab. My taxi driver was from Panama. We spoke a lot about Panama and alcohol and hookers. Well he did anyway. I just listened on, like a young boy listening to his grandfather’s war stories. He was actually an engineer, and I also picked up a lot of useful knowledge concerning the reason the Titanic sank and how a building is built so it can float on water. I now understand that it all lies in the layering of the structure. With this new intellect, I was helped into my apartment building and began the next portion of my first day in Chicago.
Check back soon to Read More!