Chicago: It Doesn't Smell Like Urine

I just got back from a short trip to the Windy City. It was my first time visiting the midwest. Although I've been to both coasts, and Canada and Mexico, I've somehow never felt a need to stop off in the middle.

I was excited about visiting Chicago. TGLETSITCAFM, who no longer sits across from me and can now just be referred to by his new, secret agent name, "Jamie", loves it there, and kept telling me how nice everyone was.

Well, nice is nice.

Unfortunately, I had a raging cold the first day, and went through twelve meetings with a balled-up tissue in my hand, and alternated between sneezing my head off, and running off to wash my hands to avoid spreading my plague further. The headquarters of my new job are modern (especially in comparision to the airport, where office furniture went to die). The atmosphere is incredibly laid-back, and the talent seems to be more focused on production than keeping up professional appearances. There were a lot of people in flip flops. Except for my team, as we're sort of the "sales" aspect of the supply side, so I was business-y, with my new "take me seriously and be a little frightened of me" heels. One person from revenue management that I met with actually apologized for not wearing a jacket to our meeting. I had an inclination to say "hey, it's just me", but I didn't.

I'm happy to be taken seriously again, even if it's just via a message from my wardrobe.

After my first workday, I went back to the hotel, ordered up room service, and after a fantastic Cobb salad, knocked myself out with a few shots of Nyquil. I figured that sleep would be the best thing for my cold. It was.

I woke up at 5am without a sniffle, and walked/ran/shuffled down to Millenium Park.

Chicago is CLEAN. New York smells like pee, everywhere. I always took it for granted that this was just a part of life in the city, but apparently, it isn't. Don't tell the New Yorkers.

By the time I got down to the park (cup of coffee in hand), I had to pee like a pregnant woman awaiting an ultrasound. I saw a restroom sign leading to an underground bathroom. Of course, I kept sipping my coffee.

Underground bathroom.... bladder exploding... it was a tough choice. In New York, you just don't go into public bathrooms. More than likely, it's someone's home. And they're not happy about it. But it was 6am and the park was empty (also not good), so I decided to go. I made eye contact with a passing park worker, and sent him desperate telepathic messages to call 911 if I wasn't out in 20 minutes.

I walked downstairs - into a maze. Christ. Bad, bad, bad. I will undoubtedly interrupt someone's covert drug deal, and die.

I turned a corner. I turned another corner. The instincts in my body that are telling me to run are floating in a sea of pee, and I can't hear them screaming.

I see a sign for the ladies' room, and I walk into......

The cleanest public bathroom I have ever seen in my life.

I would have cheerfully given birth in there.

I bet this is where Oprah goes to pee.

I then walked around downtown Chicago for another hour or so. At 6am, I passed six Starbucks that were not yet open for business. Don't you need coffee most at 6am? There weren't that many people walking around. I stopped to watch the ABC news broadcast, as did a few construction workers. I tried not to wonder how much weight was hanging off of the cranes behind me as they tried to get glimpses of the newscasters.

Satisfied that I had ventured past the two-block radius between my hotel, and my job, I headed back for a shower.

Thankfully, Leann drove in that night, and we went out for beers & dinner and then spent approximately 12 hours looking for the Sears tower.

"What?!" you wonder to yourself. "Downtown Chicago is not that big. And the Sears Tower is one of the tallest buildings in the United States!" Well, shut up, asshole. You could also add that it has the words "Sears Tower" in giant letters across the side, but you're not being particularly helpful, and the point of the story is, we couldn't find it.

Granted, Leann just buried her fiance over the weekend and therefore wasn't really able to put together a whirlwind sightseeing tour, but her new situation as a widow is surprisingly hysterical. She practically has a whole new repetoire of dead boyfriend knock-knock jokes.

Knock knock.

No, I can't do it. I'll totally wet my pants.

Home again. :)