Chicago Stories #17
-In which our hero trespasses-
“Delusions of Grandeur” could be my middle name. It isn’t. Not for lack of catchy-ness, however. I believe my parents only thought ahead. The resulting attitude and self-image would be incapacitating. Let alone the initials. If somehow this child could muster the level of confidence necessary for playing Centipede, what convoluted version of his initials would he enter for the stats?
The source of these delusions is a bit of the chicken & egg paradox. My formative years consisted of the eighties and nineties. The world was rife with optimism. The air of Los Angeles so thick with it, the residents were known to seek refuge inside to avoid overdose. This atmosphere resulted in gobs of movies all about overcoming the odds with little to no work whatsoever. These movies are what I had in mind, in coming to Chicago. I would be Jonathan Switcher in Mannequin, or Michael J. Fox in Secret to my Success, even Monty in Brewster’s Millions. I couldn’t fail.
The United Center. As you walk up to the structure, you are struck the scale of it. Especially the oversized features, makes you feel like as an ant might next to Michael Jordan’s shoe. It took me the better part of an hour to get there. Public transport can be useless, if you don’t actually get on board. I circled the building two and a half times. The first time, just surveying this beast that was mine to conquer. The second time I was looking for maybe a little “help wanted” sign. I could grab the sign, walk in, and say confidently, “Help has arrived.” Sadly, this was no soda-shop. I peered in the glass doors. Hoping to see a custodian, maybe they could let me in. It was dark. There was no game today, nothing was happening. Then, it hit me. Maybe there was a service entrance, I could hide under a garbage truck and ride in on that. As I turned to execute this genius plan, my hand stayed on the door. And it opened. I was inside! The job was as good as mine! I took one step, and heard the most deafening shriek. Two thoughts entered my head. I was inside, I just need to play it cool, someone will come by to check on the alarm, A little explanation, and I would soon be employed.
Fifteen minutes later, I decided to find someone.
An hour and a half later, a custodian told me how to get to the receptionist, “Down, to the left. Go outside and turn the corner. You can come back in, they should be at the desk” How did I not see that door before? Was it cloaked somehow? As I waited patiently for the receptionist to be free, I knew it didn’t matter. I would soon be talking to the team owner, or at least the coach. Someone.
“Well, you know how it is these days,” She said, “Everything is done on the internet.”
She had no idea. They couldn’t see my enthusiasm, my tenacity, my gumption on the internet. Was I supposed to befriend them on facebook? Maybe eHarmony? Badgering them with emails surely would make me seem more irritating and desperate than interesting and determined. I knew what I really must do. I was even already prepared. The genius of Ferris Bueller was coming via Netflix. But for now, I had a long, long walk ahead of me.
“Delusions of Grandeur” could be my middle name. It isn’t. Not for lack of catchy-ness, however. I believe my parents only thought ahead. The resulting attitude and self-image would be incapacitating. Let alone the initials. If somehow this child could muster the level of confidence necessary for playing Centipede, what convoluted version of his initials would he enter for the stats?
The source of these delusions is a bit of the chicken & egg paradox. My formative years consisted of the eighties and nineties. The world was rife with optimism. The air of Los Angeles so thick with it, the residents were known to seek refuge inside to avoid overdose. This atmosphere resulted in gobs of movies all about overcoming the odds with little to no work whatsoever. These movies are what I had in mind, in coming to Chicago. I would be Jonathan Switcher in Mannequin, or Michael J. Fox in Secret to my Success, even Monty in Brewster’s Millions. I couldn’t fail.
The United Center. As you walk up to the structure, you are struck the scale of it. Especially the oversized features, makes you feel like as an ant might next to Michael Jordan’s shoe. It took me the better part of an hour to get there. Public transport can be useless, if you don’t actually get on board. I circled the building two and a half times. The first time, just surveying this beast that was mine to conquer. The second time I was looking for maybe a little “help wanted” sign. I could grab the sign, walk in, and say confidently, “Help has arrived.” Sadly, this was no soda-shop. I peered in the glass doors. Hoping to see a custodian, maybe they could let me in. It was dark. There was no game today, nothing was happening. Then, it hit me. Maybe there was a service entrance, I could hide under a garbage truck and ride in on that. As I turned to execute this genius plan, my hand stayed on the door. And it opened. I was inside! The job was as good as mine! I took one step, and heard the most deafening shriek. Two thoughts entered my head. I was inside, I just need to play it cool, someone will come by to check on the alarm, A little explanation, and I would soon be employed.
Fifteen minutes later, I decided to find someone.
An hour and a half later, a custodian told me how to get to the receptionist, “Down, to the left. Go outside and turn the corner. You can come back in, they should be at the desk” How did I not see that door before? Was it cloaked somehow? As I waited patiently for the receptionist to be free, I knew it didn’t matter. I would soon be talking to the team owner, or at least the coach. Someone.
“Well, you know how it is these days,” She said, “Everything is done on the internet.”
She had no idea. They couldn’t see my enthusiasm, my tenacity, my gumption on the internet. Was I supposed to befriend them on facebook? Maybe eHarmony? Badgering them with emails surely would make me seem more irritating and desperate than interesting and determined. I knew what I really must do. I was even already prepared. The genius of Ferris Bueller was coming via Netflix. But for now, I had a long, long walk ahead of me.
Labels: chicago, job search, unemployed
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home