I was thinking about having a contest to have people make-up a kooky caption for this photo. But then I realized that the truth is stranger then any fiction you could ever dream up, and so, I will share it with you. Below.
Just like many a great story before this one, this tale begins on Craigslist. As many of you may know, I am moving in May to a much larger apartment. I have been looking for furniture, on craigslist. I found a great 50s table, sturdy American-made-no-name-faux-Danish affair with a built in magazine rack. (see below)
I took a trip to Evergreen Park.
South on the Dan Ryan to 95th.
West on 95th till you pass the Walmart just past Western.
The Ryan was flying. Express lanes upwards of 85mph. A quick trip over 121 city blocks. Northside to Southside.
I saw the table and offered the asking price ($40) because sometimes it's just not worth bargaining.
I was cruising back home, feeling sweet, hoping to make it to the gym before 9 Westbound on 95th it happened.
My car WAS ATTACKED by a pothole TWO FEET DEEP and SIX FEET WIDE with a raised manhole cover right in the middle of it!It was a hungry monster and my Volvo was easy prey. I wasn't going very fast but that thing came out of NOWHERE.
I limped my injured car through the crazy intersection, bypassing the on ramp back home, pulled in a gas station. a Mobile ABC SNACKS, whatever the hell that is.
Shit. I have to pee. I have a flat tire on the front driver's side and I'm parked at a nasty South Side gas station with bullet proof glass. And bums, and drug dealers and terrible drivers (I witness two accidents and another casualty of the monster)! Allow me to set the scene.
This corner is jumpin' 95th Redline stop, a gang a bus's and of course the Dan Ryan. Bums and crazies are out in full force, like a foul smelling, meth smoking casting call for Thriller. It's deep south baby. And I realize that I can't change the tire here. In fact. It would be best if I stayed in my car and called AAA. My spare is in the back under my new table and my back hatch doesn't stay open on its own. It falls on your head.
God I'm glad I'm not blonde.
I put my hood up and tried to blend in. Everybody wants to talk to the white girl. When I get out of my car they are on my like white on rice. Do I need help? Do I wanna buy a CD or socks or give him some money?! or my number.
Scowling and swearing loudly, I throw them for a loop long enough to survey the car and get back in. 1 hour 45 minutes till the guy comes. Where am I gonna pee...? I can't make it that long.