snow boots and exit strategies

Morning, chickens!

I am waking up this morning to hopefully the last of this week’s snowfall, even though I have to honest and admit that I’m skipping town for Orlando tomorrow, so do whatever you want, Chicago weather.


We had some kind of record snowfall on Sunday, which I didn’t see coming because I clearly can’t anticipate weather, and even though everyone kept closing school and buildings and also I was in the terrible weather I was convinced that I could make it to the office Monday because I always make it to the office.

I set off for the bus stop, high-kneed the one block there over approximately eight thousand snowbanks (shovel your damn sidewalks, people of Chicago. Don’t be shitty neighbors), and settled into the cold corner to wait ten minutes for the bus.

Except the bus didn’t actually come for twenty-five minutes, during which time my fingers nearly froze off from my constant CTA checking, and also, a disgruntled man on his way to work insisted that the bus wasn’t coming for reasons of racial prejudice.

This didn’t make sense to me, but I just kind of nodded and willed the bus to come.

When it finally did show up, there was no shoveled path to actually get onto it, so I sort of ran/jumped up on it, which obviously led to me tripping and nearly falling.

The key word here is nearly, you guys.

After a longer than usual bus ride of around thirty minutes (so we’re at around an hour here), we hopped off the bus, and I scuttled to the el station.

Where it appeared the entire city of Chicago was waiting for a blue line train.

From the screen in the station, it looked like it was going to be another 20 minutes for a train to even show up, and the next few were running express right by us.

I struggled past the masses to get to the platform, where a bunch of angry commuters were milling about. After about 20 minutes of this (or one train speeding past our stop), I threw up my hands, admitted defeat, and tried to move through the crowd to get out of there, which I would compare to a salmon swimming upstream through a river of angry, hungry bears.

Not ideal.

After finally getting back to the lobby of the station, I waded through another snow bank, waited for another bus, and finally got myself home after almost two hours of my life that I can never retrieve back.

The point of this all, my friends, is to say that despite my better judgment, I can’t wait to go to Orlando for work.

Words you’ll never hear from me again, but there they are.

Keep it easy, chickadees.

And wear snow boots.


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