Chicago: Day 1

From where this picture was taken, you can see my hotel. Unfortunately, from where this picture was taken, you can't see the Sears Tower today, because it's cloudy, foggy, and cold. Not that cold has anything to do with picture taking, except perhaps the photographer's ability to point and click, fingers being frozen.

Other than the weather, though, Chicago is great! It's a really great city. Of course, I love most cities, but Chicago is definitely one of the most interesting I've visited. The people here are very friendly. They also walk the streets in large numbers very late at night. Seriously, eleven o'clock in the evening, the sidewalks still full of people. Maybe they were all out-of-towners?

My flight from SLC got canceled, supposedly due to mechanical problems. True answer? Delta Airlines is one giant corporate cheapskate. No joke. There were maybe fifteen people waiting for the 200-passenger plane. So what does Delta do? That's right.

However, waiting for the flight along with me was none other than Matt Neves--SUU Arts Admin MFA Director extraordinaire. Those of you who know Matt Neves probably know my opinions about him, and those of you who don't, don't need to. Suffice it to say--I was very grateful that he got me bumped up to first class on the next flight, very grateful that he got me a meal voucher so I didn't starve to death at the airport, and very grateful that he didn't talk to me the whole way there.

Speaking of the meal voucher--I was waiting in line at the Cinnabon (healthy, I know, but I simply could not resist the smell of cinnamon with seven dollars of Delta's money in my hand), I met this random old guy in line. I accidentally bumped into him, and he dripped Starbucks on his hand. I felt awful. Then a little further down the line, he laughed at me as I tried (rather unsuccessfully) to get napkins out of the absolutely retarded dispenser. Only a little further down than that, he started talking to me. (=Tweener) He asked me where I was heading, what I was doing. He has a niece in theatre, so he was enthusiastic in his questions. But then I asked him where he was going. He and his wife were going to Africa for two weeks to work at a medical clinic fighting AIDS, and to go hiking. Not safari-venturing, just hiking. He listed off about a dozen things they wanted to see, all of them humanitarian. I don't know how on earth they'll get everything done they want to do while they're there, but his enthusiasm was really catching. I ordered my Cinnabon and a large OJ, then wished him well. On the way out, I stopped to greet his wife, whom he had pointed out, waiting for him just beyond the cash register. I wished her good luck in Africa, then went on my way.

Once in Chicago, I grabbed my pink duffel and headed off, through the cavernous airport underground, past the music makers dancing in the corridors, to the L. The El? I haven't determined how people actually spell the colloquial reference to the CTA--the elevated train that runs through Chicago and its suburbs. Let me tell you, it took a lot longer to get downtown from the airport than I expected. The burbs go on forever. The L was fun, though. I saw a lot of interesting people, heard their voices and got into the rhythm. I like Chicago.

The hotel, Club Quarters is under construction. The doorman liked me. I sat in the lobby for nearly an hour, waiting for Nick while he finished an interview, and we got talking about the crap that's on TV. There was a lubricant commercial on, and he burst out, "That's just the next thing to porn! And my kid's watching that?" Things weren't like that in his day.

As it turns out, our interviews were all scheduled for Saturday, not Sunday. Nick and I still haven't figured out where we messed up. All the paperwork I've dredged up from the depths of my email say Saturday--though, never in a clearly distinguishable place. I got lucky--both of my interviewers let me reschedule with them. Still waiting to see on Nick's.

Walking back to our hotel from the Palmer House at eleven o'clock last night, a man stopped me on a street corner. I thought he was going to ask me for change, but rather, he asked me for directions. "Where's the Union Station?" he asked. I couldn't quite hear him, so he asked me again where he could find the Union station. I apologized and told him I wasn't from here, that I didn't know. He thanked me for helping. Some people passed by us, and he called out to them, but they just kept walking. "Can't get any help," he said sadly. They probably thought he was asking for change, too.