Working in the Big City – Pet Peeve #4

When crossing a street with the light - masses of people gather on the same corner just standing waiting for their light to change – thus impeding those who have the right-of-way from getting thru easily.

It shouldn’t be hard people – walking in crowded areas is just like driving a car – do not block the flow of traffic!

So here is my novel idea of the day – THINK outside of your selfish box and do not block the sidewalk for others while just standing there waiting for your light to change!

derange

P.S. - As a side note - I was not that angry this morning - until I read Hedyblog - so I blame her blog du jour for getting me into a tizzy.

feeling dizzy

T.M.A.

Traffic Management Authority replaced the Chicago Traffic Cop some years ago.

Instead of having trained police officers with police radio’s regulating traffic – it was turned over to lay people……

Regular Joe’s and Jane’s given bright yellowy-green vests, plastic light-up batons and the AUTHORITY to handle the Chicago traffic – both vehicles and pedestrians.

As you might be able to tell I am not fond of them.

So this morning when one of them stopped all of the pedestrians from crossing the street way before he needed to.....the man next to me said....

“Fuck This!” as he walked across anyway.

I must say – next time a TMA stops me from crossing an intersection for no good reason other than he or she can....

...I am taking my stand from that man.

it’s a plan

“P U!”

I thought to myself as I walked under the Civic Opera House portico this morning.

After years of walking this City, it is certainly not an unfamiliar odor. I have come to expect it when I use the underground exit at Union and come up the slightly-darken stairways onto Madison Street - sometimes gaggingly strong, but expected.

I also expect it when passing two protected-from-sight doorways on my way to Trader Joe’s on Ontario – that same stench.

But this was the first time I had smelled it and recognized the tell-tale stain on the limestone of the inside corner of the grand portico of the Opera House.

I feel pretty confident stating that most of the time this public peeing is done by men (remember I grew up with four brothers and I have a son, they all pretty much, like my male black Lab, peed/possibly still pee, on anything outside that didn’t/does not move and sometimes on things that did/do).

I can also tell you that I have witnessed, during broad daylight down here, many instances of men peeing in public, the two most memorable to date being:

A cabbie, while waiting in the cab lane in front of the Apparel Center, opened his door and stood within it, hoping, I guess, that it would shield his actual unit from view, as I approached him from the back, I saw the stream of urine coming out at his feet.....he shook and zipped as I walked past.

Secondly, and my most favorite seeing-peeing-in-public-moment, was while walking to get lunch at a salad bar kind of place on the corner of Wells and Lake under the El tracks many years ago....I crossed at the light and saw a bike messenger leaning into the I-beam that supports the overhead tracks....I first wondered what he was looking for in there....but as I got closer....I realized exactly what he had been doing upon seeing him reel it in and zip up.

I have several reasons for that sighting being a favorite, one of which is from that day forward I have been able to firmly say with no uncertainty - that what I had always heard about black guys.....at least in his case...was not wrong!

long dong

“He is adorable!”

I heard one of the women huddled around the still-clean-stroller in the middle of the hallway say this morning as I departed the elevator on my floor.

I recognized the new Mom as a woman from the office two doors down, whose midsection I have watched over these past months become increasingly larger....she obviously had a baby boy and her co-workers were oohing and ahhing over him.

I remember those times as if they were, well not quite yesterday, but I could say in all honesty – I remember them like they were just a few years ago.

That fabulous anticipation of the arrival of who had been growing inside of me for some 9 months. Wondering what those elbows or feet that kicked like crazy – making my already swollen belly even more misshapen as they would try to poke thru and then silently glide across the expanse of skin almost etch-a-sketch-like, just what would they look like? How tiny would they be and most importantly would they all be beautifully formed?

So when he arrived - all 9 pounds 10 ½ ounces of him – his head incredibly bruised and swollen from squeezing out of that small passageway – after peeing all over the delivery nurse, then being cleaned up and handed to me - I witnessed absolute perfection – I cried, no I sobbed – he was beautiful!!

Back then my plan was to permanently etch into my mind every everything about him. I tried to just be in those moments – I longingly wanted him to forever be at that stage of his life with me – completely dependent and unscarred.

But the new-baby-smell wore off as that first year flew by and the next thing I knew all of those “permanently” etched memories were faded, pushed to the way back of my mind and my baby, he is 20 now and by society standards he is a man.

so much for my plan

“Melt”

was the only identifier next to the whimsical face adhered with what appeared to be white paint, to a door on the side of Chipotle at Franklin and Wells some time ago.

“How cute!” was my first thought as I stopped to take a picture and wondered how I could get it off the door without ruining it –take it home and frame it to keep….forever and ever!!

Deciding it couldn't be removed intact – I headed to my office.

This past weekend when my artistic son stopped by, I showed him the photo of the “artwork” that I had stumbled upon.

He immediately recognized the artist’s work – it seems that Melt is a street artist – a graffiti tagger of sorts – except that Melt’s artwork is usually non-permanent. He further explained to me that what I thought was white “paint” is actually wheat paste – a sticky glue like substance made out of.....you guessed it – wheat.

When I told him that I had thought about taking it down – to keep for myself – he informed me that in the street art world that would be unacceptable. “Street art is to be left where the artist put it!” “That would be stupid to take it down and put it where only a few people could see it!” he firmly stated.

Okay, okay – I get it, I get it – but I still wouldn’t mind having a Melt street piece hanging on the spicy orange walls of my in-farmhouse gallery of art.

now-street-art-smart

"I want to go back to Italy....

I still have relatives there." the dark-haired woman said to her friend as I passed them while crossing LaSalle Street about 10 minutes ago during my lunchtime walk.

That snippet got me thinking about how I feel when I travel.

I have written earlier about my trip to France with my kids, and I have also traveled to Florida, Virginia, Washington, D.C., Kentucky, California, Oregon, Nevada and New York.

With each of those trips I have never felt, not sure what word to use to describe how I feel when I travel far from home, but I will say “centered” – I never feel centered. I spend my trips enjoying all that is involved with each one – but constantly having an unbalanced feeling.

Might there be another word for how I feel when I travel outside of my Midwestern Safety Zone?

I am open to your thoughts, suggestions and knowing my audience of three or so – some good wisecracks.

a bunch of whacks

“I know…

I heard you yelling.” was your response. I was the woman who ran to catch up with you last night after I witnessed you just narrowly missing being hit by a running-a-red-light-Chicago bus. I would like to think that your response was more from embarrassment rather than from you being flippant.

By the time I sat down on my train to head home I was physically shaking....after all these years of walking down here - that was the closest I have come to witnessing someone being hit.

For the record – I was not the only one who yelled – it was me and probably four others that were on that corner last night – we all shouted at you and quite possibly saved your life.

So, in the future - if you want to be stupid enough to dart across a Chicago street, just after a light turns green, during a heavy rain – with your umbrella blocking your view of possible-running-the-red-light-traffic – while your hood is up and you have headphones on – more power to you – just not while you are in my direct line of vision – I refuse to have that happen under my watch.

a splotch