Katherine is MY middle name... WHOA!

A few friends and I were out to dinner (celebrating my birthday) and our waitress may or may not have been as high as a kite.

She comes to our table, and is rocking a bit, not to the music, but to her own crazy tune in her head.' She greets us with a "heyyyyyy" and then disappears for like 25 minutes.

When she comes back she asks if we want to order... well, yeah. Thats why we asked you for menus, a half an hour ago. One of my friends asks a few questions about the menu and the waitress just stares at her (for what felt like forever) and she then goes "I love BW3 Wings..". Okay, well, we aren't at BW3! She tells her the wings are good and then some how she found out we were out for my birthday - "NO WAY! Tomorrow - OCTOBER TWENTY-FIFTH IS MY DADS BIRTHDAY". Whoa - the world might have stopped turning.

Food comes out... we eat, then order shots. She comes back with three shots, but my roommate doesn't drink so we were a bit confused. We tell her, we only ordered two shots and she said, I know, this one is for me. Is my boss looking? We ask "whose your boss"? She turns around with the shot in her hand like she is about to take it and she's responds, "shit! She's looking... hold on". She walks in the bathroom, takes the shot, walks back out to our table and slams it on the table (which I am sure her boss saw her do all of these things).

Then she brings us our bill and when I hand her my credit card she SCREAMS - "Ohhh myyyy goddd! My MIDDLE name is Katherine and your first name is KATHERINE!!". Hot Damn.

She then goes on to show how the world is a crazy place - her dad and I have the same birthday, we share the most original name in the entire world, she basically had to sit down to process this new found information.

Before we were ready to leave a new waitress came to our table and introduced herself and told us our other waitress had to go home....

Who Are YOU

My building doesn’t have available parking right now. Therefore, I park around the street in another building. The parking spot I am renting is a complete joke. First of all, it breaks my heart to know how many Kate Spade purses I could have purchased with the money I put towards parking in Chicago. It’s unreal.
Second, the parking spot is positioned in a way that I cant pull in to it. I drive up a narrow ramp and then around the corner to a spot sandwiched between a pole and a car that does not move. Cars are parked on the wall across from my spot so I cant just pull into my spot, I have to go back and forth turning my steering wheel back and forth to get into the spot. My Beetle could get in to this spot after a few tries but my new car (a VW Eos) is more difficult and a little scary.

But that isn’t the best part about this parking garage. I don’t have keys to get into the building so I have to carry the garage door opener around so I can open it. I get the funniest looks from people when I am walking near a building and instead of using the door next to the garage I open the garage door with this old school garage door opener. This really throws off the front desk attendants because they think I am a terrorist trying to break in to their luxurious Lake Shore Drive apartment building.

In fact, this one man that works for the building likes to stop me EVERY time I go to get my car. I pull in to the building and he runs out and yells “WHO ARE YOU”. I begin to roll my eyes and explain to him that I live around the corner but I am renting a parking spot in this building (like I do every day). He responds “What unit do you live in here?” Clearly, what I JUST SAID didn’t go through (or the last 20 times I said it). I repeat that I don’t live here and I am renting. We go back and forth for a five or ten minutes and he lets me go. I attempt to park and exit out the front of the building. He stops me and asks, “who are YOU”. Not this again...

The next day I pull in the garage and I notice him sticking his head out the door staring me and my car down. I speed forward so he doesn’t stop me and proceed to my spot. As I get out of my car I see him running up the ramp towards me. Seriously. He runs to my car and says “WHO ARE YOU”. Same story, different day.

This goes on every day for like a week. “Who are YOU” ... crazy man.

Then, I go out and get a new car. Oh man, if this man wasn’t confused before he was sure going to be now. I park my new car and go downstairs. I stop at the front desk and say “Just wanted to let you know that I got a new car and so if you see a new car it is me”. He asks “WHO ARE YOU?”. Really, sir? Really.

I explain that I use to drive a Beetle and now I drive a white Eos and I don’t live in the building but I park there. Same story I have been telling him for over 2 weeks. He goes “OH, Right! You’re my baby!” Excuse me. I went from a stranger to his “baby”. This man needs meds.

My apartment building is suppose to have parking opening in June, and you can bet your bottom dollar I am going to jump at a spot to move out of crazyville and into a new spot.

Crazy Door Security

I sleep very sound in my apartment, every night. Why, you might ask? Because the out of control door staff hardly lets me in the building to get to my apartment, let alone someone who does not belong in our building.

It all started when Megan and I were looking at apartments. We arrived at the apartment building and our realtor introduces himself to the front desk attendant as he did in the other 5 buildings we had visited. When entering the other 5 apartment buildings we were welcomed and asked to sign in, then the door was personally opened for us and we headed up to the apartment for rent. This was not the case at the apartment building we live in now. Our building door staff (all women, I might add) is an intense group of security officers in training. They almost didn’t let us in the apartment when we wanted to view our apartment and they have sent away multiple people since then.

A few weeks ago I had made an appointment for the cable man to install our cable. I let the front desk know that we had the appointment and to call Megan. They were suppose to arrive between 11:00 – 3:00. At 3:30 I called Megan to see how the cable was working and she said they never arrived. I called the cable company and they said the door staff turned them down. They just said “nope” and didn’t let them in. Strike 1.

The next day I had a couch being delivered to the building. I called the front desk and let them know. I told them I had a couch being delivered, reserved the elevator for the couch and had Megan waiting for it to arrive. Again, called Megan and asked how the new couch looked. She said they never came. I called the furniture store and asked them why they didn’t deliver the couch. They said the door staff would not let them up. Strike 2. They then went on to say I would have to pay for delivery a second time since they weren’t able to deliver it today. Strike 2.5. I paid the delivery fee, again, and scheduled the couch for two days later. I told EVERYONE that the couch was coming between 1 and 5, and that they needed to call Megan. The couch arrived at 10:30 and they wouldn’t let them up because Megan wasn’t answering her phone (she was in the shower, she didn’t expect them to get there until 1:00). This time, they called me to tell me they were sending away the couch company, again. I was outraged. I told them “absolutely not” and they said, “Megan’s not here, you’re not here, the couch is not going to be here”. I begged the door woman to send the delivery man up to our apartment to knock. After 10 minutes of “pleaseeeeeee” and minor threats she agreed to send him up. THANK GOD. (they can take back their .5 of a strike).

They delivered the couch but they were so mad it had turned into a two day, three hour production they literally dropped the boxes in the apartment and peace’d out.

Then we had friends visit. I think they had an easier time getting through airport security then our building.

Then my cousin visited. I think he felt verbally violated by the front desk yelling at him to write down his EXACT time on the piece of paper of when he arrived.

So note to visitors, when you want to visit please plan to bring three forms of identification and a sleeping bag, there is no guarantee you will get passed the watch dogs to actually visit our apartment.

Byeee Byeee Beetleeee!

Well, it was a good run...

Or, maybe I should replace "good" with "interesting".

We all know my car has had its fair share of stories, but after the last month of a million problems it is time to put the beetle to bed.

It started a few weeks ago. My car was making some awkward noises, but I thought if I turned my radio up and ignored the rattling from under the hood everything would be fine. Turns out I should not consider being a mechanic anytime in the near future...

Then, I thought it was my oil, so I went and got an oil change, and still, something didn’t feel right.

My air conditioning never worked in my car, but the heat would work regardless if it was on or not. In the last month I realized it was getting VERY hot in the car, to the point that I couldn’t cool it down. I would find out later that this was the root to a lot of my problems... (i.e. the engine light being on, the fact I could only drive in 3rd gear, the rattling in the transmission, etc.).

The next episode occurred when I was driving home late from work one night, and I was on my cell phone. I was leaving a message and as I drove through a bad part of town. As I pushed down on my accelerator my car was going down too, in speed that is. I was not moving.. at all. I pulled over to the side of the road (the best I could) and started banging on the dash, something I had gotten quite use to doing. Bang, Bang, Shit.

I get out my phone (which was 5 minutes from being completely dead) and called my parents. All I remember is screaming "MY Piece of $&!^ Car just BROKE DOWN". In a very calm voice, both my parents talked to me. Calm wasn't really working for me at this point so I hung up and called triple A. This time, I was more sarcastic then frantic. The voice on the other line picked up "Road side assistance, how may we help you" I answer, "A new car?". They didn’t laugh at my bitter humor; so I went on to explain my situation. I told them that my car wasn’t moving, that I was in a bad part of town, that there was a car 200 feet in front of me with people in it, that it was 10:30 at night and that my cell phone was dying, that I couldn’t hear every 10th word they were saying because my parents were calling me on repeat while I was on the phone with them. Etc. Etc. Etc. They basically said what all triple A assistances do, stay in your car, someone will be there within the next 3 hours. Well, I didn’t have 3 hours, as I hung up the phone on them I answered my parents asking the status of my location. "Still stuck in my broken down beetle" I replied. Just then, my phone dies. A few seconds after that, two thug like men get out of the car in front of me and start walking to my car, each one headed to a different door.

These men could have been wonderful gentleman, but, at 10:30 in a bad side of town, with a broken down car, a dead cell phone and two cans of mace, I didn’t want to know what they wanted, I just wanted to get the hell out of there. I turn the key, nothing. I bang on the dash, nothing. I press on the break, back light turns red, but other than that, nothing. Say a little prayer, try the key again, nothing. Scream a little prayer (and a few other words I don't need to mention) turn the key, BINGO! I get out of there as the men had just about approached my car and race home.

After I got home I had my car towed to a service station, they charged me a few hundred dollars and yet my car was still hot and still turning off. On my way to work this week I was stopped at a light and when I went to drive, nothing.

I drove my car to a Car Max and sold it that night. It was an experience.

Note: It took me a long time to find story with the broken down car and crazy thugs story funny. therefore, I am just posting this now.

Meat Market-ing!

I don't think I can express how interesting my internship experience was in 2008. For those of you who are not familiar, let me paint a picture for you...
170 College students, living on three floors together, each one a little crazier then the next. The program was called University of Dreams, and therefore, we were "Dreamers". We were placed in positions across the board, from marketing, to music, wedding planning to finance, and we were all free interns. We worked hard, we played hard, and it was 8 crazy weeks! : )

Three of my friends worked for this music company and we were invited to all kinds of really awesome (or so we thought) events. At the age of 21 and new to Chicago, we were unstoppable.

Our second weekend in Chicago our friend’s boss (we will call him DB) invited his fabulous interns to a fashion show at a "chic" club called Moda. He basically said: Don’t show up until midnight, dress up and have fun. DB knew just about everyone, or so he lead us to believe. He was really just this really crazy man with long hair and multiple girlfriends and a very liberal look at life. Regardless, we were ecstatic. This is what being in Chicago was all about! We spent the day strutting up and down the mile, looking for the perfect outfit and getting ready for our big night out.

This club (which is now closed… it was hot for a hot second) was like something I had never experienced (probably because most of what I had experienced were little hole in the walls in Alliance, Ohio). You walked in to this smokey night club and all of these people were sitting at really expensive booth sipping on their bottle service. I didn’t understand this idea that you would pay to have a seat in a bar with a bottle at your table so I continuously sat down at booths and the bouncer kept coming over and telling me I had to get up. It wasn’t like I was rude, but it was midnight when we got there, and I was wearing 4 inch heels. After my first week in the city wearing heels all the time I couldn’t stand flat foot, let alone in heels. I literally could not stand up. My friends kept looking for me and I would be in the bathroom standing in a stall without my shoes on so I could relax my caves. It was TERRIBLE! It was like chic meets train wreck. I was either struggling to walk or struggling to stand or just plain struggling. I think this is the last time I ever wore those shoes out. In fact, for a while I thought I left them in the cab that night, but found them months later.

Anyways, the point of this story… The companies at the fashion show used female bodies to advertise their company (as a gender studies minor, you can imagine my rage). They used naked women as their canvases and spray painted their bodies with logos (they wore nothing but paint). This was the fashion show.. people painted up walking up and down the runway. I understand that people will do just about anything to get their name out there, and this is definitely unconventional (and before Lady Gaga was even on the map) but come on... I named this kind of marketing “meat market-ing” and its totally true.. I just hope that when I have some amazing company I can find other ways to get my companies name out there then to exploit women or men to do it!

Cash or Charge for "Charity"?

So a few weeks back I was walking home with some friends from a nice Thursday night out. This woman starts following us on the way home.. and we hear "excuse me! excuse me!" we stop and turn around to see who she was speaking to and it turns out, it was us. She is a scraggly older woman and she starts telling us how she is collecting donations for a charity. As someone who works for a 5013c I wanted to start asking her about her development plan and mission statement, but I am pretty sure she was her own nonprofit organization, funding the smell of alcohol on her breathe, but hey, I don’t judge.

So the woman goes on to tell us more about her charity, and how she is collecting donations and would like us to make a donation. Her “charity” aka herself would like a donation. When we told her we didn’t have cash, she responded  "I take charge!"" Her response was so quick I burst out laughing. Now this was original. Next thing I expected was for her to hand out her personal donation envelope.

OMG.. that is a new one. I take charge. Looks like you cant just say “I don’t have cash anymore”…

“I swallowed the leprechaun! I killed him!”

Yesterday was St. Patrick's Day in Chicago... and I was sick. Drunk people screaming for 20 hours, while sick, not entertaining. I live on a block with a dozen Irish pubs and sports bars, you can draw your own conclusions.

This city loves St. Patty's Day. It's like Christmas, New Years, and Fourth of July all rolled into one. They dye the river green, roll in the green kegs of beer, and dress from head to toe in every shade of tacky green fabric imaginable. I love this holiday, I have fond college memories of green mugs of beer and early morning shenanigans. However, I have seen a new side of this holiday as a Chicago citizen.

The morning began early. Day 4 of being sick is not fun, but when you are awakening to violent shrills from drunken men fourteen floors below its a little disturbing. As noted above, I live at an absurd street corner of tacky Irish pubs and sports bars. Its where the graduated fraternity men and retired athletes retreat to. I use to think this was the place to live. It seemed so glamorous to live within walking distance to these bars. I was mistaken. They are overpriced and overrated. Not to mention, I thought when I graduated Beer Pong and Stripper Poles would have been a thing of the past. Call me naïve, but when I imagined my grown up life I expected chic martini lounges, not the ESPN fanatic sports bars.

These bars located steps away from my apartment have 5AM closings. As a hard working city girl, this isn’t ideal. Every Friday and Saturday I fall asleep to the soundtrack of crying girls, police sirens and fighting men. I have grown accustom to sleeping through this noise, but St. Patty’s Day was completely out of control. It was raining, every bar had a line out front, and people had been drinking for hours. It was basically an all day riot. If you were partaking in this holiday, it may have been a great time, but I was not. I stopped counting at 26 different police sirens, 14 screaming men, and 9 cat fights. My favorite quote of the day was a man screaming “I swallowed the leprechaun! I killed him!” I can only imagine how the retired man living on the floor above me feels about this crazy chaos every year.

As a sober bystander, this was ridiculous. No wonder everyone in Chicago celebrates St. Patty’s Day, to be sober is too irritating. I plan to take my Vitamin C next year so I don’t have to suffer through another Saturday St. Patty’s Day next year stuck in my apartment listening to the chaos below.

Jammmming

One of the best things about living in this town is you never know just what you will find. A few weeks back, my future roommate, Megan, and I were sitting in a Starbucks off of Belmont. This Starbucks was very busy, almost impossible to find a seat. We see a woman sitting at a table and finishing her Grande latte. We start to hover a bit (hoping she will get the message) and she says "I will be up in a second you can have this table" BINGO. (Your own table in a Starbucks on a Saturday is not an easy find!) The woman takes her good old time getting up, and her conversation topics were a bit bizarre, but that’s awesome. She sat there talking about puppies and all kinds of crazy things and it was just funny.

So, she leaves. We are sitting enjoying our hot beverages and this man sitting behind Megan is ROCKING OUT… like not a little bit, but a lot. He is a grungy old man with long grey hair all knotted together pulled into a ponytail. If I had to guess his age, I would assume he’s about 55 or so. Let me remind you, he is ROCKING OUT, sitting on a bar stool looking out onto Belmont Street. His heads is banging, his feet are a tapping and he is lost in the jams coming out of his headphones. At one point he was thrusting his body so violently in his seat his Starbucks card falls out of his pocket and onto the floor. He was starting to cause a bit of a scene with his head banging and hip thrusting in the window of the Starbucks.

…Just then, a girl about our age walks up to him and starts a completely serious conversation. She asks him what he is listening to and when he says “The Killers” I almost spit my drink out, this was not a “Killers” kind of jam, but whatever, I don’t judge. She starts talking to him about MGMT and gets her iPod out for him to listen, they start a legit conversation and swap phone numbers to meet up later that night. This girl was super cute, like short blonde hair, cute outfit, designer bag, and he, well.. you can read his description above.

Like I stated earlier, you will never know what you find in this city, its awkward and amazing all at once.

SSSSketchy Skkkateboarder

In a city with almost any mode of transportation, you might question why someone would choose a skateboard, in February, during a snow storm, on a busy street, without a jacket. Yes, this man may have been a little off his rocker, literally.

But let’s start at the beginning… So two friends and I were out to dinner in Lakeview on a Sunday night. We were at this great Thai restaurant, totally delish. After dinner, we head out to the car. We weren't happy to see this snow/rain substance falling from the sky, but who are we kidding, we live in Chicago.

As we ran to our car we started to cross the street. No cars, left, right, and left again. We begin to cross Broadway and see a skateboarder building up speed, coming right at Megan. The crazy thing is, he continued to push himself down the street, building momentum. I continue to run across the street, I’m the pedestrian, he can slow down! When I realize that I was the only one to cross I turn around to see this awkward dance between Megan and the skate boarder.

Megan moved left, he moved left, Megan moved right, he leaned right, it looked like two seventh graders dancing at a canteen to an NSYNC song. All of a sudden this man grabs onto Megan’s shoulders wips around her body and the skateboard goes flying! I can’t even remember what people were saying or who was yelling what, it was so crazy. I just picture the slow motion fall in my mind of this overgrown man falling off his skateboard and choosing Megan as his airbag. This is quite a sight to see. First off, Megan is little, like 5’2”. Second, this many is huge, like 6’5”. He totally pulls Megan down, and he isn’t even that embarrassed, he’s just like “you cool, you cool?” and ran off with his skateboard! Crazy!

The rest of the night Megan and I would just burst out in laughter and we would know the other was laughing about the crazy skateboarder man flying into her on the crosswalk. Lunatic.

Like anyone actually believed I would blog for 30 days straight... : )

So, turns out, I lied. 30 days straight lasted for like 5 days. Oh well, I had good intentions. Hey! I'm a busy lady! Someday, some publisher will stumble across this hot mess of a blog and offer me a book deal for my stories and I will make millions of dollars and live in a pent house on Oak Street. OR maybe I will just have to work my way to the top and break that damn glass ceiling. That's what I have been doing instead of writing on this blog, I have been "paying my dues" as my dad puts it, working, working, and a little more working. : )

I apologize for breaking my promise, but some good stories are to come.. I promise! : )

Mexico, anyone?

I started my life in Chicago during an eight week internship two years ago. My first weekend in Chicago some friends and I were searching for a Mexican restaurant. We lived in the south loop (where there is nothing, besides a roof top restaurant and a Bar Louie). So we started walking, looking for the some lunch. After about 10 minutes we were starving and couldn’t find anything but a few expensive chain restaurants (we had gone out the night before and were in despite need for some greasy food and a diet coke, or twelve). We stop a couple walking down the street and ask them if they knew of any great Mexican restaurants in the area. They look at each other, and the slightest smirk came over the man’s face (we wouldn’t realize why until much later). He turns to us and says "no Mexican restaurants here but get on the pink line and take it to a 18th. You'll find a great Mexican restaurant there". Naïve little interns, we hop right on the pink line like we were Chicago natives and not temporary implants.

As we rode the pink line west more people exited the train. I remember turning to one of my friends and saying, “I don’t think this is right… we are really far out from the city”, and we were. By the time we got to the stop, the city was a skyline and we were very much in Mexico. The stop was painted like Cancun, Spanish, everywhere. In fact, you couldn’t find English anywhere. We tried stopping a few people on the street asking for a good restaurant, they didn’t speak English… We stepped off the train and into a third world country (or so it felt like)!

No one spoke English, there were no usual Chicago stores (7 Eleven, McDonalds, Corner Bakery) Just a few local stores and a street fair/ parade. We walked around for what felt like forever, looking for somewhere we could sit down and have lunch. Looking back, we were probably in a pretty bad area of Chicago, in fact, I know we were. It was pretty sketchy, and we couldn’t even find a restaurant that was open and looked clean enough to serve food. We finally chose somewhere to eat at, and as were eating I almost spit out my soda in mid air, we didn’t even look if the restaurant took credit card! That’s all we had. Thankfully, they took VISA… and no one got sick after our lunch. We hurried back to the train and headed towards the city.

That next Monday I told my boss that we went that West on the pink line to a Mexican Restaurant and her eyes bugged out at me.. “YOU went WHERE!?” She asked. She immediately called her fiancé and said, “You’ll never believe where Kate went this weekend, all the way…”, this confirmed the smirk on that man’s face, he sent us into trouble, and we, ate pretty decent Mexican food.

Freakin' Fish

When I'm bored, I shop. When I'm having a bad day, I shop. When I need something fresh, I shop. Before I had a job, I shopped A LOT (which doesn’t make sense because I didn’t have the money, but I made it work : ).

Well one day, I was bored, so I went shopping! I walked by an aquarium in Old Town and was intrigued by the colorful fish. Twenty minutes later, I was the proud owner of a beta fish (I wanted a Greek one! : ). Well, I probably should have thought this through before I bought a fish....

One, I don't like fish.

Two, I don't like to change the water (I think its gross and I dont want to touch the fish or drop it).

Three, I travel a lot so the fish goes hungry.

Four, I don’t think I was ready for this kind of responsibility.

So here I am, with this fish, that I don’t like (its name is fish) and it tricks me all the time. This fish literally dies, and comes back to life. I will be gone for a long weekend, and I come home and, Shit. The freakin fish died. So I am creeped out (because I don’t like to touch the water) and I don’t know what to do, so I put a bag over the bowl. I leave my apartment to ask someone downstairs to help me dispose of my poor fish (I felt bad for it) but couldn’t find anyone. I go back to my apartment and lift the bag, ITS A MIRACLE! The fish is alive!

This has happened multiple times.

The last time it was on its back flipped over and it still came back to life.

So now my fish and I have a better understanding. I purchased a fish feeder when I am out of town and it hasn’t fainted lately. I still won’t change the water, so if you visit, that is what I expect from my guests : )

Point of the story, think before you shop : )

Ghettobug

Okay, so... I don't know how to pop the hood of my car. I know, I know, I should know how to do it, but I can't figure it out. Anyways. My black car looks white (because of all the salt on the road) and I'm out of wind shield wiper fluid. So here I am, driving in the city trying to see out of my window and its getting harder to see by the minute. I have my wipers going but it's not helping enough.I try to jump out of my car during a red light (to brush off some salt) but as I slide out I rip my nylons on my torn leather seat and burst out in anger. Damn it. (I must do this once a week). The light turns green and now I am just angry. It occurs to me that I could get a ticket for my windshield. What's a girl to do?! I reach into my back seat, pull out a bottle of evian and open my sun roof. I begin pouring the water down my windshield and let my windshield wipers go full force. As I am doing this I'm laughing because I think this is pretty cleaver (and kind of sad that I am wasting my evian on this). As my window clears up I see a "thug-like" man standing at the crosswalk in front of me (He has a comb in his hair, large boots without laces and a neon jacket) and this man has the nerve to scream at me "That's GHETTO, girl!".

Okay, so maybe it's a little ghetto, but I'm improvising! The sad thing is, this man has no idea. My windshield wipers are the least ghetto thing about my little car. My seats are ripped, my heat doesn’t work unless I bang on the dashboard, and sometimes the car just doesn’t turn on. Truth be told, it may be a little Ghetto, but it’s a cute car and its better than my old commute. : ) Now I just have to make sure I always have a bottle of water available for long drives in the ghettobug!

Dodging Pedestrians

I hate when I’m driving and pedestrians start walking in front of my car. Its one thing if they don’t see me, but they literally walk IN FRONT of me like I’m not there. Sometimes I think they are trying to get hit for insurances purposes. I use to be afraid of deer in the suburbs, and now its crazy citizens of Chicago. Just last week this man literally made me swerve into another lane because I thought I was going to run over his feet. SO, look out pedestrians, because the beetle is outttt!

Oh, Mr. Cab Driver..

 With this cold weather I have gotten a little too comfortable hailing a cab, and I have met a wide variety of crazy cab drivers too. Lets see..

There was the cab driver who yelled at me for the ENTIRE ride because I mentioned I would have to pay with my credit card. First, I get in his cab and when I tell him my address he says "I didn't want to go south!". Then, he SCREAMED at me that I was selfish, inconsiderate, and rude for not having cash. You would have thought that I was a little child being yelled at by her father. He was cursing and I was annoyed. Here I am, a paying customer, and I am getting yelled at by someone I have hired to take me from point A to point B. This would never happen in any other business situation. I would never yell at a client like this (I would get fired). I begin talking back to him, but realize he was in control of the situation. I would either have to get out of the cab on the middle of Lake Shore Drive or listen to him yell.

Then, there is the cab driver who was very, very religious. He was preaching his views to me as he dropped me off at a bar. Telling me God doesn’t exist in Wrigleyville and I need to make sure I get up for church tomorrow morning because I needed to ask for forgiveness. Then he told me about his seven children, all named after people in the Bible. Good Lord.

I have only had one woman cab driver, and I am pretty sure she stole the cab from her ex-boyfriend. She wasn't very sly, she was on her cell phone telling people she "took his car" and she was going to "make the money back she wasted on him". Next phone call I was pretty sure she was prostituting herself for later that night.

I also have had a handful of noisy drivers. Awkward conversation at its finest, let me tell you... You’re in this little vehicle, and some strange man is striking up a conversation with you about something you absolutely have no interest in. or even worse, he’s hitting on you. Sometimes they start asking me how much I pay for my apartment and what I do for a living. Things I don’t want to talk about with them, so sometimes I make up really interesting stories to make the time go quicker and more fun.

Two summers ago we were leaving Wrigley one night and got in a cab. It was Steph, Steph, Michelle and I. I will never forget this driver, he was rocking out to awful 80’s pop, so loud you couldn’t think straight, sucking on a lollypop. We asked him repeatedly to turn it down, and he wouldn’t. He loved life and was very entertaining. He took us totally out of the way and we ended up having to pay double. That’s the worse part about cab drivers, if you don’t act like you know where you’re going, they totally take you the wrong way and charge you more. If you call them out on it they get even more rude and uptight. Point of the story, there is always an adventure with cab drivers! : )

Posting Next 30 Days

I am making a commitment to post on my blog about Chicago for the next 30 days straight--

Get excited : )

love.love.love.
Kate

Revolving Door Etiquette

I thought there were unspoken rules about revolving doors, like most social norms. It turns out that people are unaware of revolving door etiquette.

First, you have the people who move too fast in the revolving door, like its funny. Just the other day I watched these punk high school children pushing the doors so quick an older woman heals hit the back of the door and basically pushed her through the circle. Rude.

Rule number 1: Move at a steady, normal pace. Do not push faster in the attempt of embarrassing someone, that's uncalled for.

Second, one person per door. PEOPLE! It is not okay to get in the same compartment as a stranger for a revolving door ride. I don't understand why this isn't understood. Wait your turn, do not try to invade my personal space. Thank you.

Rule number 2: One person per door.

Third, Do not stop revolving doors while in motion. Nothing catches someone off guard more than hitting the front of their face in the door they are walking through. It's not like you need to stop for a break, you're going in a small circle.

Rule number 3: Do not stop a door in motion.

Fourth, parents, watch your children. You see this all the time, parents on their cell phone, children running through the revolving door like they are at Disney World. Come on. We have places to go and we cant get there because your 12 children are running through the revolving doors and not getting out. Get off your cell phone and be a parent. Thank you!

Rule number 4: Just watch your children.

Lastly, give yourself enough time to get in the door and out of the door. We aren't trying to trick you, when the door passes you, step in, when the door passes the next opening, step out. It's like people think they are in a fun house. They are so unsure to step in and step out. I didn't think we needed to spell this out, but apparently we do. Also, don't pause long enough that you miss the door and jump in at the last second, that's just foolish.

Rule number 5: Give yourself plenty of time to get in and out of the revolving door.

For all of you who were unaware of revolving door etiquette, here you go, I have now helped you out.

Fly Away With Me...

When I am not working, I feel like I spend half my time traveling. From Trains, Planes and Automobiles, its always an adventure. Last week I traveled to Florida for the weekend, and the trip was great, but the trip down and back didn't disappoint either...

So here's my deal with airports, they are ALWAYS on Orange alert. We get it, and they announce it, every 10 minutes (I am all about airport security, but the Orange alert seems to be a bit pointless). Between Caution, we are currently experiencing an orange level to the H1N1 alerts, its amazing people aren't going into panic attacks while waiting to board the plane. For someone who doesn't travel much they must be terrified. Think about it, TERROR! ORANGE ALERT! BE CAREFUL! to: Please be careful, the flu is spreading. To reduce your risk of the flu wash your hands (no shit, Sherlock) and don't sit next to someone with flu like symptoms (which is basically impossible on any airline besides Southwest).

After passing TSA I venture to my gate, and stop at a Starbucks for a water and sandwich... at the register, the sales associate says $15.95... excuse me? $15.95? I ask ,"Sir, are you sure this pre-wrapped sandwich (4 days ago) and this bottle of water is $15.95?" He nods. "Seriously?" (I think he's gotten this before. I start to go off about how ridiculous the cost is, but then stop because I know he didn't set the price, put my sandwich back and sit down at my gate.

As we wait to board a TSA agent is at our gate, they make an announcement that they will be doing random searches before boarding the plane. As a woman gets pulled to the side I watch the agent. She walks up to him and places her bag on the table, and he looks her up and down, up and down. Ew. This is hardly a professional, if anything, someone should be protecting her from him. He then proceeds to say "As much as I would like to inspect you, and I would, its against company policy. I will have to watch as she examineees you." This poor woman. She's being sexually assaulted by a TSA agent.

Once we board the plane I find my seat, next to this delightful British man. We chat it up about the weather (an obvious topic of conversation) and his 5 homes. The OVERLY happy airplane staff interrupts, 3 times. Can I get you anything, anything at all? He must be VIP because I have never witnessed such a happy and overly helpful person. He orders two glasses of wine, one for him, and one for me. Which we continued to do the entire 2 hr and 55 min plane ride. This old man was trying to out drink me! It was hilarious (and riding on an airplane had never been so fun!). By the time I landed in Florida I was ready for a relaxing vacation, and that poor old man was ready for a nap!