It was bound to happen.
I had a pick to up a signal radio part for a communications company from the folks at Metra. I parked in a loading zone marked METRA LOADING DOCK DELIVERIES ONLY. I asked the woman at the dock if it was okay to park there.
"Yes."
I rang a bell that would allow security to grant me access to the lobby. I put my hand on the doorknob to anticipate the click that would open it. I waited with my hand on the doorknob for 30 seconds. I looked at the security camera above me and took my hand off of the doorknob. It immediately clicked, granting me access to the lobby.
In the lobby, the security guard wouldn't let me up to the 11th floor without a contact name. A twenty minute ordeal of making calls, getting transferred, grating hold music, and waiting for a call back ensued. The person who placed the order at the COMMUNICATIONS COMPANY had left and did not leave any information about it. Eventually, someone called me back from the COMMUNICATIONS COMPANY to give me a random Metra employee name.
Meanwhile a changing of guards had occurred. The new security guard said, "They usually just let you up. I don't know why he wanted you to get a contact name."
On the 11th floor, the woman in the mailroom had no idea what I was supposed to be picking up. After five minutes and a phone call to the contact, I was told to walk over to the random Metra employee's office.
The random Metra employee seemed annoyed.
"Can I help you?" she asked as me, the complete idiot.
I gave her all the information, the contract number, a piece of paper certifying a transaction.
She had no idea what I was supposed to be picking up.
"I don't use messengers."
She said it like I was fresh, wet cat shit.
One more set of phone calls and I left Metra empty handed.
When I returned to the loading zone, the van was gone.
Wow.
So it's going to be like this today.
I went to see the woman at the dock, the woman who told me I could park in the loading zone. She seemed surprised and gave me her information. Then I went back to lobby security. Mike the maintenance guy happened to be strolling by and very matter of factly said, "You can't park on the west side of Canal on Fridays," offering a lowercase "sorry."
Sure enough, there was one single sign fifteen feet behind where the van had been.
STREET CLEANING
NO PARKING FRIDAYS 9AM-1PM
APR 1 - NOV 15
TOW ZONE
Because I had backed into the spot, I hadn't seen it.
So now I had to walk to the auto pound over at 400 E Lower Lower Lower Wacker.
It was a nice walk actually.
On the way there I saw seven city tow truck operators being beaten to death with homemade hammers by heroic citizens. The tow truck operators' lifeless corpses were thrown into a vat labeled CHARITY, where they will provide nourishment to needy, hungry AIDS dogs from impoverished countries.
Then at The Daley Center, 329 obese, entitled, all-knowing, never-working city workers all had one large simultaneous fatal heart attack. It was like Jonestown, only nicer. One dum-dum meter maid accidentally slapped the bodies with parking tickets, mistaking their hideous, bloated remains for SUVs. It was a riot. But in actuality, I heard that the blubber from the city workers would be rendered down into oil this winter and used to warm the city's top homeless shelters. I also read that the city workers' brains would be used as practice pucks at Chicago Blackhawks tryouts.
Finally, by Chicago's essential Bean I saw our one and only mayor, King Richard Daley II. It was strange. He was being brutally and anally raped with a serrated, rolled up TOW ZONE sign by several valiant townsfolk. Oddly, his blood was liquid black and when it hit the earth it burst into flames of shit. I waved "hi" but he couldn't see me. Maybe it was the weird funhouse reflection of The Bean or maybe it was because his eyes were yellow, pink, and pusy, and when he opened his mouth a bunch of black bile spilled out, followed by his sickly grey internal organs plopping to the ground with comic thuds. I don't know, but it seemed very out of character for The Mayor.
But all good walks must come to an end, and so I headed on over to the auto pound.
In the dark weird trailer a baby cried constantly. I thought it might be the waiting room music, but when I got inside there was a real baby crying. I think its stroller got towed.
The man behind the counter wore what looked like green janitor coveralls decorated with City of Chicago patches. He liked to talk and take his time. When a woman cut in line in front of me they had an exchange:
JANITOR OF AUTHORITY: Oh, you're gonna have to wait in line.
ASSHOLE WOMAN: I already filled out that paperwork that he got! I'm about to tear this place up!
JANITOR OF AUTHORITY: Still. Once you leave you have to go to the end of the line.
ASSHOLE WOMAN: I'm just so mad! I've got things to do!
JANITOR OF AUTHORITY: Oh, me too. After this I'm going to my other job.
ASSHOLE WOMAN: Where's that?
They proceeded to have a little chit chat while the rest of us listened. It was really great and friendly. The more she talked, the more he stopped everything he was doing to answer her questions and demands. It was like watching raw footage of a reality TV show that would never air anywhere. I'm glad I got to see this rare behind-the-scenes sneak peak into the fascinating lives of people who tow and get towed. And like all great reality TV, it was a wonderful waste of everyone's time.
I was less fascinating.
I only used one word.
The word was "what."
I couldn't understand the cashier behind the glass, who had the eloquence of an angry K-Town crackhead. He was so good at sounding proudly ignorant that I almost ordered a hamburger from him. It's good that the city employs people who know people with rudimentary customer service skills who know people who knew someone who once went to school once.
No, but in all seriousness, The City of Chicago is great and I think Our Mayor And Saviour is doing a terrific job keeping things good and nice and good for the people. I'll just have to send the city a little note about today's misunderstanding. Good thing they stamped my receipt with the necessary information.
Later today on the street an Amish or Mennonite teenager approached me in full garb.
"Excuse me. Are you Jewish?"
"What?"
"Are you Jewish?" he repeated.
"Noo.."
His smiled broadened, revealing braces.
"Have a good day."
I sat in the van with no work for the next four hours.
It was a really slow week.
After gas and towing expenses I spent over $300 this week on work.
I made about $300.
This means, I lost money by going to work this week.
I would have saved more money had I taken the entire week off.
Verdict: Loss
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