I'm Not From Around Here: A Variation

One fine day at the theater...

Caller: "I'd like to get some tickets."

Me: "For what day and time?"

Caller: "I'm from Canada."

Me: "....................."

Caller: "Is that a problem?"

Seen On The Street

Thursday, 25 May

Outside a Walgreen's, near 51st and Cottage Grove.

As I unlock my bike, elderly woman approaches and speaks:

"You! You! Young man! I know you know! I know! You know French and Greek and German and Spanish and all that! And you won't share it with me! You won't! C'mon seagulls!"

To Serve and Protect

So there I was one fine summer afternoon, sitting outside Moody's Pub (a North Side institution with great burgers, great onion rings, good sangria, and a great patio on which one can while away lazy summer evenings with great friends).

In the distance, I could hear the wail of the sirens on an approaching police car. Sure enough, a police car, lights flashing, came sailing up Broadway, zipping around cars.

Right in front of Moody's, the police car made a U-turn, coming to a stop right in front of Moody's! Naturally, I was a bit alarmed.

One of the officers got out of the car, and ambled... yes, ambled would be the word... into Moody's, cup in hand. He emerged a few minutes later with a cup full of something cool to drink, got back in the car, and off went the police officers, leisurely driving back in the direction they'd come.

Was It Something I Did?

A Tuesday afternoon, in a Taco Fresco restaurant near downtown Chicago. I was wearing an orange polo shirt with a little Mickey Mouse on the chest, a Mickey Mouse hat (by coincedence! I grabbed a hat as I left the house that morning) and jeans, and was carrying a small green man purse.

A young man in a sweathshirt and shorts looks at me, says "Hi."

I replied, "Hi."

He said, "Chess player?"

I replied, "Huh?"

He said, "Chess player?"

I said, "No."

(What I would like to know is, what, from my appearance, led him to the conclusion I was a chess player? Do chess players fancy Mickey Mouse? Do they wear orange shirts?)

First Day On The Job

Today was my first day on the job as a bicycle messenger. Being my first day, I had to go through orientation. (I was a little bemused by the notion of having to receive several hours of orientation. You get something from here, you take it there, you fill out the paperwork. How complicated is it?)

I was a little afraid. I was sure that I would be undergoing orientation at the hands of some shaved-head, multiply-pierced, repeatedly-tattooed youngster.

Nope. His name, Tom. He's 57. He's a very nice man, full of sage advice. Before we got started on our day in the Loop, he gave me some pointers. Always wear a helmet, always ride in the direction of traffic, never ride on the sidewalk. The bike cops, he said, were always eager to write tickets, even more so if they knew you were a bike messenger.

Having said that, he proceeded to not put on his helmet, and then we rode against traffic over to Canal Street, where we rode on the sidewalk up to Sears Tower.

Cher-ing is Caring

Many years ago, when I was in grade school, I had a friend who lived down the block in a stately brick home.

We were big fans of the Sonny and Cher Show, the popular variety show. One fine summer day, we decided we wanted to play Sonny and Cher Show, but quickly ran into a roadblock:

Neither of us wanted to be Sonny.

After a bit of discussion, we hit upon a satisfactory solution, and so whiled away part of the afternoon playing the Cher and Cher Alike Show.

Did I Ask?

Jewel, North Broadway, on Mother's Day.

Cashier has chosen to add a large note to her nametag:

"Please do not feel sorry for me that I do not celebrate Mother's Day. Because I don't."

Um... thanks for sharing....

Seen on the Street, in Leather

Seen recently, in Andersonville. Two leathermen. Muscular, confident, proud. These two fine specimens of the modern leatherman were out walking their dog.

Their dog is a petite poodle, on a pink leash, named Fifi.

Seen several years ago, Halsted Market Days. A different pair of muscular leathermen, walking down the street. One had a (leather) backpack. The other fellow turns to the backpack-toter and says, "I need to get my bottle of water out of the backpack."

What makes this story sad is that the voice that issued forth from that muscular leatherman was, well.... nelly. As in fey. As in by comparison, Paul Lynde was butch.

Are you a hot, muscular man thinking of going out and about clad in black leather? Please, take a moment to look around. Are any of your dog's accessories pink? Could you play Charles Nelson Reilly in a movie? Do you immediately know what I mean when I ask, "Does anyone still wear a hat?"

If you answer yes to any of these questions, please put the leather clothes back in the closet.

A Surprise At The Desk

I went to the doctor a few years back. Insurance red tape being what it is, I dutifully give my actual first name when making an appointment, rather than my middle name. (As a junior, I go by my middle name and let pops enjoy the first name.)

And so the receptionist called out, "Duane?"

I ambled up to the desk and said "hi." And the receptionist looked at me with a look of absolute amazement on her face.

"But... ah... "

"Yes?" I asked.

"Well... you're not black!"

I apologized. What else could I do?

Talk Sex With Sue

Do you have cable? Have you ever seen "Talk Sex With Sue?" It's on one of the women's channels, Oxygen, Lifetime, I don't know which. Sue's a lovely grandmotherly woman who talks about sex in a very direct way. Very direct.

While we were in Orlando we rode the safari attraction at Disney's Animal Kingdom: you ride in "trucks" through the attraction, driven by guides.

Our guide looked just like Sue from "Talk Sex." And guess what her name was?

I kept expecting her to pull a dildo out of her bag.

Third Time's The Charm

See, I didn't learn to drive until I was in my mid-twenties. (What finally cured me of my non-driving was a train ride to Philadelphia, PA. That is one long state to traverse by train.) Calling on various friends, I received a thorough course in driving.

The day came to go for my driving test. I was nervous. No, I was very nervous. I was, in fact, so nervous that the woman who gave the test had to do something she said she rarely got to do.

What I had to do, she said, was go practice driving faster.

Taking her words to heart, I exceeded the speed limit all the way home. (My dear friend Annie let me drive her car (with her in it, of course!) to the Secretary of State and back, not to mention the grocery store, out to eat, and anywhere else we were going.)

A few weeks later we returned to the SOS office. I went up to the counter and announced my arrival for my driving test. I was directed to the woman administering tests that day, who looked at me from across the counter and asked me how the hell was she supposed to know where my car was.

Impressed by her pleasant demeanor I spun on my heel and walked out to the car.

Some time later, when she found me in the parking lot (I helpfully pointed out that "This is where the hell the car is"), she gave me a series of directions, delivered in a foul tone which made me think even less of her.

I'll confess. By the time the car actually started moving, I was well over this woman. I'd had it. I seriously considered cutting the test off halfway through, returning to the parking lot, and going into the SOS office for a discussion with the office manager. Instead, I amused myself making sure that every left turn we made slammed into her into the door.

I didn't pass that test, either.

I did, however, pass the third time, with flying colors.

(Aside to Mark: as noted, this was in my early twenties. I've matured in the ten years since then.)

(Second aside to Mark: yeah, and the same to you.)

A Woman Goes 'Round The Block

I don't mean to turn this into a list of "those kooky folks that come to the theater," but I can't help mentioning a certain woman of a certain age...

She turned up at the box office window to announce that she was parked in the alley, and would she get towed? We inside the box office exchanged looks. The alley? Which alley, she was asked? Right over here, she said, gesturing in the general direction of the rear of the theater. Was there a sign, she was asked? There was, she said, it said, oh, something about the management of the building and towing but, did that mean her?

You can park in the parking lot, she was told.

Parking lot, she asked? There's a parking lot?

There's where I had to turn away. The street the alley comes off of is a one way street, with traffic going towards the theater. So the only way she could have gotten 'round behind the theater to get to the alley was to go around the block, either to the south or the north of the theater. Which means she had to have driven past the parking lot.

Which means she completely missed a big, flat stretch of pavement filled with cars, with a sign out front identifying it as theater parking, right next door to the theater... but immediately recognized the back of the building.

I'm Still Not From Around Here

The theater, Tuesday, May 2.

Man calls to inquire after seats. I explain that the floor slopes down towards the stage.

Man is confused.

I explain that the floor slopes down towards the stage, like in a movie theater.

Man asks if floor slopes down towards the stage.

I explain that the floor slopes down towards the stage, like in a movie theater.

Man says he is not from Chicago.

I suggest to the man that movie theaters, generally speaking, regardless of geographic location, will slope down towards the screen.

Man says, "Oh, okay."