I don't own a GPS.
Last year I spent $10 on a 7-county street finder map of Chicagoland from 2006.
I figured I saved about $100 or so.
Then during a bumper-to-bumper crawl in South Elgin, I searched the heavy, 500 page hardcover tome for a residential street nearby. I didn't find the street, but I did find the bumper of the car in front of me.
That summer I spent over $500 to repair the nice man's bumper.
I figured I lost about $400 or so.
I still don't own a GPS.
Too expensive!
Today I had to deliver an envelope to Mishawaka, Indiana.
It's near South Bend and Notre Dame and all that stuff.
An auditing firm wanted their envelope delivered to a media group by 3pm.
I printed out directions and headed out around 12:30pm.
Lovely day for a drive.
That asshole heat that plagued us all week took the fucking hint and left us alone.
But not before buckling the pavement on Lake Shore Drive, like an asshole.
A couple of days ago our maintenance man lost consciousness from the asshole heat, and smacked his head on the floor.
He's 60 years old.
Fuck that asshole heat.
I exited the tollway in South Bend at 2:15pm.
While looking for Douglas Avenue, a major thoroughfare, I took in South Bend's sites:
The winding St. Joseph River, the Notre Dame campus, the College Football Hall of Fame.
It seemed a decent type of town.
If only I could find this Douglas Avenue.
Maybe googlemaps was wrong again.
I kept driving until things got impoverished and barren, and cutely seedy motels started springing up in the weeds.
While consulting my road map in a bowling lot parking lot, I realized I had driven the entire length of South Bend.
"BOWL YOUR WAY TO A FREE MUSTANG," the bowling alley sign shouted.
I didn't have time to do that.
It was 2:35.
Uh oh.
I drove across town again only to discover that Douglas Avenue doesn't have a street sign.
I had to call my boss.
I had to call the media company.
If only I had a GPS.
But the envelope arrived in the lobby of the media group at 2:52!
Oh, wait.
In Indiana it was 3:52.
Who knows.
Who cares.
I escaped rotten Chicago for a whole afternoon.
Lauren's been teaching sketch comedy to a bratty batch of teenagers.
She's also teaching improv to adults.
And waiting tables in the evening.
Now she has a summer cold.
Sweat vs. Snot.
Vs. Cramps.
Summer.
Sucks.
Dead.
Cock.
So she splayed out at home, stuffed up in our un-air conditioned apartment while The Bitter Tears played their last Chicago show of this asshole season.
Verdict: Win
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