One of these days I'll start posting with a little more regularity.  And, as luck would have it, that day is today!  I'm trying something new - 5 blog posts a week.  Tuesday through Thursday they will be themed around the (attempted) marketing of my book, and Monday's will be devoted to the crazy things I witness here in Chicago, which are abundant.

One would think this sounds pretty organized - and it is.  But, my fear is that I'll end up like this fine establishment - a place I found somewhere in Wisconsin that, from the looks of it, missed the corporate seminar on finding a clear brand offering and thus decided to offer a little bit of everything:

I don't think I'd buy cheese from an antique store, and I'm not sure if I'd trust an antique sold at an espresso bar.  From the looks of their sign, they also offer ice cream and some type of falafel sandwich, neither of which I'd associate with collectables.  

Today's Manic Monday doesn't necessarily focus on anything crazy I've witnessed (besides inadvertently stepping in a homeless mans puke today and falling, thus ripping off half a toenail in a most sanitary fashion).  Instead it focuses on the fine people of my city, and the horrible front they put forth this weekend.

I had family in town from Central Wisconsin - where people are known for being incredibly nice and going out of their way for their neighbor.  I was hoping Chicago would put forth enough of that "Midwest Nice" to compete - and was expecting that it would, as it has always seemed to me that people in Chicago are, overall, friendly people.

I was almost immediately proved wrong.  My cousins wanted to see a musical, so we got tickets for Billy Elliot.  After a wonderful dinner at the Atwood Cafe, we made our way to the Oriental Theater, where we found our seats and waited for the play to begin.  While we were waiting, we had our cameras out and took a picture of my aunts together.  The flash had barely gone off before one of the ushers, who looked like a much older, much less attractive Jane Lynch, was descending upon us in such an extreme fashion that you'd think we'd all walked in naked, drunk, smoking weed, and talking loudly about throwing tomatoes or hand grenades at the performers as soon as the curtain opened.

I honestly don't remember the usher's exact soliloquy, but was rude enough for several of us to comment to her that she needn't be so rude.  I think it went something like this:

"There is absolutely NO flash photography in the theater - it's listed right on the back of your programs.  If I see your camera out again I WILL confiscate it - all pictures you've just taken need to be IMMEDIATELY deleted...etc. etc."  Judging strictly from her tone, it sounded more like:

"There is absolutely NO flash photography in the theater - How DARE you not have read page 23 of your playbill yet and looked for that small paragraph in size 6 font halfway down the page?  If I see that camera again it will be thrown onto Michigan Avenue where it WILL be run over by one of our city busses, driven by my husband, who will then back over it repeatedly until there is nothing left of your camera but a few measly glass shards, which will then be given back to you, at  which point you will be forced to sit on them for the duration of this three hour musical."

Strike one, citizens of Chicago.  A very kind, very simple "I'm sorry, we don't allow flash photography in the theater, would you mind putting your camera away?" would have sufficed.  Walking over to tell us that would have sufficed as well, instead of sprinting up the aisle and then vaulting over rows L - S to deliver the news.

The next day we were met with another kind Chicagoan, this time one who worked for one of the architecture tours.  We bought tickets for the architecture tour put on by the Chicago Architecture Foundation (which was wonderful!)  When we left the Shedd aquarium, we were told that since we already had our tickets, we could get a free water-taxi ride back to Michigan Avenue.  After having spent $30 on admission to an aquarium we stayed at for all of 50 minutes and saw little we couldn't have seen on a trip to the beach, we all jumped on that, and so we headed to the water taxi stand.

I arrived first, along with one of my cousins, and showed them my ticket.  The exchange went a little like this:

Me: "We have tickets for the 3:00 architecture tour, and were told inside that if we showed you our tickets, we could get a ride back to Michigan Avenue?"

Disgruntled Water Taxi Driver: "Fuck off."

Ok, so that's not exactly how it went, but he may as well have said that.  Here's how it really went:

Me: "We have tickets for the 3:00 architecture tour, and were told inside that if we showed you our tickets, we could get a ride back to Michigan Avenue?"

Disgruntled Water Taxi Driver: "Maybe if the water taxi was driven by the CAF, that would work out really well for you."

Me: "Oh, is this not the same architecture tour?"

DWTD: "Do you think there's only one architecture tour in the city of Chicago?"

Me: "Sir no sir.  I did, however, think that this was an equal opportunity water taxi.  Are you saying that we'd need to buy a ticket for your particular architecture tour in order to take a water taxi ride to Michigan Avenue?"

DWTD: "It would be preferable."

Me: "Ok, well thanks anyways."

Next the disgruntled water taxi driver yelled, as we were walking away, "What you want to do, ladies, is jump on the bus."

My sister just called "we'll walk" over her shoulder, and thank goodness she did, otherwise I would have responded with: "What we want to do is push your crappy water taxi stand into the lake, commandeer your vessel, and run your business in a more polite and professional manner."

Again, we found ourselves in a situation where a very simple "Oh, I'm sorry - we can only offer that deal to ticket holders for our particular tour - can I help you find a different mode of transportation?" would have been nice.  Strike 2, Chicago citizens.  

Strike three was the puke I slipped in today.  Chicago, you're out.  Contemplating a move - any suggestions?  Maybe I'll move to the Chippewa Valley and commandeer the local Cheese-antiques-collectables-espresso-ice cream-falafel shop.  They seem like they could use a little help...