Would It Still Be HIS Kind Of Town?

Let me begin by saying: I am a Country Mouse at heart. You know Aesop's fable of the Country Mouse & the City Mouse? If not, allow me to refresh your memory: 

"A country mouse invited his cousin who lived in the city to come visit him. The city mouse was so disappointed with the sparse meal which was nothing more than a few kernels of corn and a couple of dried berries.

     "My poor cousin," said the city mouse, "you hardly have anything to eat! I do believe that an ant could eat better! Please do come to the city and visit me, and I will show you such rich feasts, readily available for the taking."

     So the country mouse left with his city cousin who brought him to a splendid feast in the city's alley. The country mouse could not believe his eyes. He had never seen so much food in one place. There was bread, cheese, fruit, cereals, and grains of all sorts scattered about in a warm cozy portion of the alley.

     The two mice settled down to eat their wonderful dinner, but before they barely took their first bites, a cat approached their dining area. The two mice scampered away and hid in a small uncomfortable hole until the cat left. Finally, it was quiet, and the unwelcome visitor went to prowl somewhere else. The two mice ventured out of the hole and resumed their abundant feast. Before they could get a proper taste in their mouth, another visitor intruded on their dinner, and the two little mice had to scuttle away quickly.

    "Goodbye," said the country mouse, "You do, indeed, live in a plentiful city, but I am going home where I can enjoy my dinner in peace." Moral: A modest life with peace and quiet is better than a richly one with danger and strife. (http://www.storyit.com/Classics/Stories/citycountrymouse.htm)

I recently embarked on a business trip to Chicago, Illinois. Summoning all my courage and deciding that I would begin to conquer my fear of flying, I signed up for two and a half crazy days in the Windy City. Boy, oh boy, am I ever the Country Mouse! 

We landed at O'Hare International Airport and hopped in a shuttle headed for the Crowne Plaza hotel in an eight passenger van filled to the brim with myself, my four co-workers (all from suspiciously sticking out due to their Southern accents), a confused-looking Asian lady, and a snooty blonde headed for the Hilton (who almost took my head off several times by swinging her Prada bag around the small confines of the vehicle). This was my first experience with Chicago traffic: apparently, traffic laws are "more like guidelines anyway" up north.

Chicago Traffic Tip #1: Stoplights don't mean what you think they mean. There were several stoplights our shuttle driver simply decided he did not want to stop for. Apparently, in Chicago, this is perfectly acceptable as long as you beep your horn in succession four times very loud and for very long increments. 

Chicago Traffic Tip #2: Read the fine print. Chicago is littered with "No Parking" signs. In the South, no parking means no parking. Sometimes even areas where you think you can park are just a decoy to make up for the police ticket quota for the month. But in Chicago, there are lots of "No Parking" signs and under this message (in very small, fine print) are the words, "Unless stopping for 15 minute intervals. Then use flashing lights." So the narrow streets and curbs of Chicago are littered with cars blinking their hazard lights into infinity while the owner runs into Dunkin' Donuts or Walgreens. 

Chicago Traffic Tip #3: Red doesn't always mean stop. In the South, you stop at a red light and go at a green light, and when that light turns green, you look cautiously from side to side to ensure that no more traffic is coming before proceeding to accelerate. In Chicago, your wheels better be starting to turn a few seconds BEFORE that light turns green because if your vehicle isn't moving forward when that light is green, a cacophony of honks will descend upon your mode of transportation like flies on a picnic. 

Lastly, Chicago Traffic Tip #4: There are two kinds of crosswalks - choose carefully. Apparently, there is the one where traffic yields to the pedestrian and another where traffic moves at breakneck pace & the pedestrian better be prepared to leap out of the way. (Our shuttle driver almost took out a poor Asian girl toting a 24 pack of water bottles). 

The second day of our trip, we decided to take a stroll down the Miracle Mile. Here is where I learned that Chicago foot traffic is slightly...cranky. Not quite malevolent, but the potential for it bubbles just beneath the surface. Everyone walks with cell phones to their ears or earphones in their ears, in their own world. No one makes eye contact. No one smiles. Everyone has a slight frown and seems to be dreading their next step. Someone walking past me sneezed, and I said, "Bless you." You would have thought I'd told them I was the Pope for the look I got. The cause of this was lost on me until I passed a certain building's lobby. The front of this lobby was made entirely of glass, and inside the lobby stood two maple trees under fluorescent lighting reaching desperately for a sky they could never see. People were standing in awe, staring up at these trees as if they'd never seen something so remarkable in all their lives. And that's when it hit me: Chicagoians are grumpy because they're oxygen deprived. Surrounded by buildings, there simply aren't enough trees to give everyone the oxygen they need so they're slowing going braindead. We need to import trees to Chicago...The first night in our hotel, I discovered another reason as to why Chicagoians are not all sunny dispositions: they can't sleep at night. Who could with traffic roaring and sirens wailing through the narrow streets and bouncing off the sides of the buildings so that it's magnified by a million? These people haven't slept in years!

We also need to teach them a bit about art. Sorry to break it to you, guys, but a gigantic Bean and fountains with video of peoples' faces that spit water at each other does not qualify. 


Lastly, our hotel was a memorable trip for the ages. Built in the 1920s, it was apparently a favorite of mobsters such as Al Capone and one of the top ten most haunted hotels in the United States. This hotel would have freaked out Stephen King himself. All it was missing was "Redrum" written in blood on the walls. 

Our last night in Chicago, we decided to explore the hotel for signs of haunting. We visited the supposedly most haunted room (441) and waited impatiently for a specter that never came. We even berated the ghost for being camera shy, but it didn't take the bait. We ended up in an employee staircase and wandered around for a bit, and then came back to see if the ghost was back from its lunch break. Nothing. So we headed to the elevator to try out a different floor. Now, bear in mind that we explored this huge hotel for the better part of an hour. Not once did we see another lodger on any floor that we explored. It was as if the entire hotel was deserted except for us. This helps add to a spooky atmosphere, no doubt. So I pushed the elevator button, and it lit. We heard the elevator rise, go past us to an upper floor, descend, and pass us again. We thought this strange, but hey, it's an old elevator. The elevator rose again, passed us, descended, and passed us again. This happened three times. Just as we decided we were going to take the stairs, my friend grabbed my arm and pointed at the elevator button I had pushed. As old elevator buttons will do, the light went out and then turned on again, almost as if it had been pushed a second time though neither one of us touched it. We took the stairs. This time, we ended up in a different employee passage that had not been used for ages. Dust & dirt everywhere and the sound of dripping water coming from somewhere ahead. So of course we had to investigate. (My friend grabbed a tarnished butter knife that had seen better days to fend off what I'm not sure. Ghosts? Al Capone?) We ended up in the room where the dripping water appeared to originate from. Yet here was the mystery: no puddle and no sign of water could be seen anywhere in the room. There were no water stains, no water marks, no water damage, nothing. I advanced further into the room and saw spray-painted graffiti on the wall. Remembering that I had read that gangsters who stayed in these hotels never used the front door but always used side entrances, and thinking we might be near one, I was about to try and find the door when I swear the sound of dripping water sounded directly next to my ear. But no splash. No water on the floor. Nothing. We hightailed it out of there. It wasn't until we made it back to our rooms that my friend realized our protective butter knife was still in his pocket.

Chicago wasn't half bad. It wasn't the Rat Pack experience I had hoped for, but I saw some sites, met some people, and got some fun stories. Oh, and if you hear rumors of ghosts at the Crowne Plaza leaving butter knives in states rooms, no worries. That was just us.