Bright pink cleavage

It was inevitable that I would have this day. That one day in 42 when you think, sod this, I could almost go home right now. Yep, today was that day.

After a late night of beers and great pub food with T and T at the Local in downtown Toronto, I set my alarm for 5am. After all, I needed to be checking in at 6.30am at the airport. T was generous enough to offer to drive me and was going to set her alarm to 5am aswell, until I pointed out how ridiculous it was for her to get up so early when she really just needed to chug down some coffee and could drive me to the airport in pajamas if it got to that. T agreed and set her alarm to 5.30am.

I had a terrible night sleep. 2.15am – bolt upright, mad scramble for watch to check time, reassuring sigh – stacks of time, back to sleep. 3.25am repeat. 4.15am repeat. And then zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Until T gingerly opened my door at 5.35am to see me still asleep. The alarm hadn’t gone off. Darn. Instead of a leisurely breakfast, shower and final pack – it was again, a madwoman’s scramble.

I arrived at the airport still on time and just made it to the gate in time to board the short leap across the lakes from Toronto to USA. Incidentally, they process you for US immigration and customs in Canada and then you just swan off the plane at O’Hare. I was trying to think of how to exploit the loopholes as I pushed my suitcase along lengths and lengths of moving walkways. Cash stowed away in the body of the plane from a previous flight? Hmmm.

Despite the new luggage arrangements. Little Black Sam now lives with T and T – and that’s all I’m going to say about that – and I don’t want any correspondence on the subject, I caught the CAT into Division where the little Google map I had printed out showed the location of the B&B.

Somewhere between getting off the subway and getting above ground, I lost the map. I couldn’t even go back underground to look for it, because I couldn’t heft the suitcase back down the three flights of stairs to the subway.

I had remembered from the brief glance below ground that it was two blocks off the main arterial. But which one? The subway stop was essentially at a triangular intersection of three arterial roads.

Without a map, I just asked a lady waiting for the bus. She wasn’t really sure but thought it was right of where we were. So I walked about four blocks to the right with the luggage. Couldn’t see it. So I asked the local barber. He had no idea.

I realized I must have walked too far. It must be in the other direction. I called in at a cool record store that was just putting the finishing touches on being tragically hip for the day. They didn’t know either.
Helpful Chicago. Real helpful.

So I walked back to where I had started and two blocks in the other direction to the Bank of America. And I asked there. They consulted with eachother on the subject and said it was about three blocks further along in the same direction I was headed.

I walked about six blocks. Nothing. A service station. I hefted my bags across the road, now starting to suspect that maybe people were just being unhelpful on purpose. Is this was they do to strangers in Chicago? I was starting to getting really annoyed, not to mention hot and exhausted. In the service station I asked to see a map. She told me I needed to go in a different direction. To which I asked to see a map. I was now really sick of all of these local people giving me different directions to a street I knew was within a four block radius of my starting point.

I looked at the map. Greenview appeared to be two blocks North of my starting point and so far I’d just run up East and West. Darnit.

So I walked back to where I’d started from again and soon found the place. The mildly eccentric innkeeper opened the door and explained that my room wasn’t ready yet but took me across the road and five houses down to another house where my room would be. And we climbed a really steep narrow flight of stairs to get there. After pulling and pushing my suitcases around the neighbourhood for the last hour – that’s really just the kind of fun I was looking for.

I pulled out the parcel gear I was posting back to OZ and headed back to the post office (I knew where that was after my morning of orienteering), almost snarling at the locals as I passed my 'friends at the Bank of America' etc, and then headed downtown to go see about an architectural boat tour.

I waited and waited and waited at the sketchy polish triangle bus stop. A small triangular roundabout with a small fountain and a permanent residential population of about seven. Great.

Finally I jumped aboard the bus, stuck my 3-day transport card the wrong way in the reader and it got chewed up. The helpful driver explained that he could give me a form to fill out and they’d send me a new card in about 5 days. Pity that would be two days longer than I was spending in Chicago.

I rode into town and organised tickets for the boat cruise, which was great. Really up my alley and a great way for me to orient myself in the city. Except that it was warm and sunny and I was so tired from barely sleeping last night that I kept almost dozing off in my seat. Darnit.

After the boat ride I thought a little walking and some shopping might cheer me up. So I popped into Nordstroms. After much swanning around in the shoe salon I found a bunch of fabulous frocks and started hefting them into a changeroom.

I pulled off my top and recoiled at the sight of a fluorescent pink cleavage. Huh? What the? In all of my exertions this morning hefting the luggage, the cheap and cheerful pink Indian scarf had stained all of the skin around my neck and décolletage. Perfect. Just wonderful. I could have cried.

I didn’t. Instead I explained to the helpful sales lady why I wouldn’t be trying on the clothes and left. In search of exfoliating scrub.

I trudged back to the sketchy Polish triangle and settled into my little room to have a shower and scrub off all the pink. Despite much scrubbing it hasn’t come off. And so I plan to cut my losses and have an early night and a dinner of peanut m&ms and museli bars. Tomorrow I am determined to resume this trip with a renewed spring in my step. If it wasn’t almost a bit x-rated, I would have taken a photograph of the fluorescent pink cleavage. That’ll teach me for wearing bright colours. Scarf has been unceremoniously dumped in bin.