March 8 - No Sleep Til Westchester Or Til Ira Glass Shuts The Fuck Up

The alarm was set for 5am. I had agreed to do a van job that paid well but had to be at 311 S Wacker around 6am. I parked on Upper Wacker, put the hazards on, and got the 2-wheeler out to pick up nine boxes. A security guard approached.
"Do you like your car?"
Security guys like to speak in these riddles.
It makes them seem wise and full of humor.
I do love riddles and I do love humor, but I was in no mood to play.
"Where do you want me to park?" I exhaled.
"I'm just sayin', they'll tow you as fast as they can."
Clearly I understood what he meant the first time.
Unfortunately, there are no loading zones around 311 S Wacker. Essentially there is nowhere to park, unless the loading dock on Lower Wacker is open.
"Is the dock open?"
"The dock opens at 6am."
I thanked him because I am trying to be a better human. But couldn't he have just told me that in the first place? Fuck you, man.
Fuck you.
I took the boxes to beautiful Des Plaines, where they were joined by an additional 37. I drove around with 1300 pounds of...I don't know. Probably pamphlets. How To Ruin The World While Being Boring And Excel!
Meanwhile, Ira Glass yelled at his listeners on the radio. It's pledge drive week on WBEZ, and Ira Glass might be my least favorite pledge personality. All he does is berate the listener for not pledging. And then he will specify that he is berating you, yes you. His voice is irritating, which I suppose gives him indie cred. But it's 7am, Ira. Go back to New York and be organic and cage-free over there.
On a few hours of sleep and an empty stomach, I got lost in Northbrook looking for the big suburban man-made pond Bartleby corporation complex. I turned off the admonishing radio and eventually found it, delivering the load to a fluorescently lit mailroom of listless Harvey Pekars and Pekarettes.
Next stop was Westchester to pick up the mail for the Laborers Union.
They had three tubs, a weekend's worth of accumulation. I carried it to the third floor of the union office. I greeted the receptionist behind the glass.
"Good morning. Where would you like me to put this?"
"You need to sign in."
I was carrying 60 lbs of mail, which requires the use of two hands.
"I will, but where would you like me to put this?"
"Hold on," she said and got on the phone.
I put the fucking mail on the ground.
"There's a new mail guy," she said into the phone.
I'm not new. But usually someone else does this run.
Thank Fucking God.

It was a slow enough day to go home and take a nap between runs.

Then I taught my first improv class in the spring term at The Annoyance. Looks to be an interesting lot. Many folks from Boston, with a few people just doing it for fun. One student punched his scene partner in three consecutive scenes. I gave him the note that he tends to punch all of his scene partners.

When class ended the city had become The Exorcist. It was the foggiest I had seen Chicago. Foggy enough to wet my eyelashes on the bike ride home. There, I drank a beer and decided to sleep some more.

Can't say it was an amazing day.

Verdict: Loss

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