Wednesday, September 25, 2002
The last few days have been a trip.
Well, Monday night was the trip, everything else has been more of the same!
LaLinda and I got together for dollar-drinks. We left his house late (big surprise) and started to make our way up North.
Well, the trip was okay, until we overheard a CTA worker saying to a woman behind us "Hope you don't have to go any further than Roosevelt". This set me off to cursin' and complanin', because the trip had been going slow anyway because of track work.
I'm thinking, no problem, we can just transfer to another line at Roosevelt. But this was not to be.
Instead, we are told to get off at Cermak. Keep in mind it's after midnight and this stop is way away from Roosevelt, which would be the next stop after Cermak, and a point at which one can transfer to alternate lines.
Everyone's in a tizzy, not knowing what to do or get from point A to B (which for some was work). We then find out that the reason for this all is that a fire broke out in the underground and no trains are going thru. We, of course, go to find a CTA map and thus encounter the first of many CTA employees, who, despite the fact that bunches of people are inconvenienced completely due to their fuck-up, move as slowly as humanly possible to help their customers out.
We end up getting a train chit to make it easy to get on alternate buses or trains (since our transfers will most likely be useless by the time we find another mode of transportation). LaLinda and I then decide to walk the mile or so to Roosevelt. We were followed by two guys I thought were Indian but LaLinda says were Arab. They kept a nice distance from us (because, let's face it, you don't know what any 2 strangers will do), but kept up. LaLinda was all Mr. Helpful, but I could have cared less because I just wanted to get SOMEWHERE before the night was through. We had fun on the long walk, due to us both having positive attitudes and the fact that the idea was to get together and hang out, and this qualified.
Long story short, by the time we get downtown in the hopes of catching a 22 Clark to the far off North Side, the subway as started up again (leading LaLinda to think that the whole thing was some minor fire caused by their own fuck ups). So we get on and now cannot go to dollar-drinks because the bar will be closed by the time we get there.
Note: It has taken us 2 1/2 hours from LaLinda's house to the next bar of our choice).
Another long walk from the station and we're at Jackhammers. I start sucking down the gin and tonics like they're going out of style, get treated to free shots by one of the owners (Note: this is all due to LaLinda, who has his hands in numerous pies and knows everybody). I dance a bit and get the party started by dragging people out on the floor and a good time was had by all.
Then everything went black.
The last thing I remember is ordering a Cuervo shot (another freebie) from Bruno.
I woke up Tues. afternoon at 2:20 p.m., face down on my bed with no recollection of how I got there.
I was still in my tee shirt and shorts and alone, so I knew it was doubtful that I was on my own getting home.
My stomach felt fine, so I then deduced we didn't go to breakfast.
Dad says I got in around 6:30. And I'm pretty sure we must have gotten a ride home. But I'm not sure.
Anyway, I'll have to talk to LaLinda to get the whole story.
The thing I really hate is that I'm never really sure I didn't do or say something embarassing. I kind of doubt it since I've never been a wild drunk (except that one time years ago when LaLinda's brother and I did a very good impersonation of Patsy and Edina on a bender in "Absolutely Fabulous"--I have never fallen down so much in my life).
I didn't make it to class, but then drug my sad ass out of my house because I had to return late tapes to the library or face a doubling of my fine. That was trip thru hell but when I got home I took a couple of Aspirins and daddy fed me and I felt heaps better.
And trust me, that's the short version.
But I think my favorite part of the night was when LaLinda and I, upon passing a carpet store from which he wants to get a large Oriental, began to make up names for a sad ass Middle Eastern country with the suffix "-istan".
This led to much merriment as we made our way thru "Bankruptistan"(tm Roger Ebert), "Cheaprugistan", "Cheapistan", "Sadbitsofbeadsandcheappotteryistan", and others now forgotten and lost to time.