Adventures in Chi-town, Part I
From 5/9/05
Chicago. The Windy City. The Second City. Bustling, brawling City of the Big Shoulders. Great architecture, lousy weather. Da Cubs, Da Bulls, Da Bears. Food that will kill you but you'll have a smile on your face as you go. I love Chicago. My name's John. I'm from Fresno. I work in produce.
Oh yeah, laugh it up, fuzzball. Fresno's a flat, dusty town with a serious self-esteem problem, stuck right in between its overachieving siblings, LA and SF. But chances are that whoever and wherever you are, you ate a sandwich or a salad or a spicy mediterranean chicken wrap today that had ingredients grown around here. We're feeding your ass. And I make money because of it. I work for a marketing firm that represents produce companies, and I get to go to tradeshows. One of them is in Chicago every year. I just got back a few days ago. Had a great time. Ate some great food. Didn't get laid.
Herewith, some of my Chicago adventures, for whatever it's worth. Enjoy.
The best part was just getting there.
Thursday morning. My friend Eric- who for this trip has the official title of "Executive Chef"- and I are sitting in the newly expanded, ambitiously-named, yet somehow still boring, Fresno-Yosemite International Airport. For those of you who may not know, you can pretty much fly anywhere from Fresno, but your journey will start with some crappy commuter or "regional" flight to LA, SF, or a handful of other "real" airports. In our case, we are waiting for our flight to Denver, thence Chicago. I'm a little excited, not only because I love to travel and still like to fly despite having gotten rather jaded about it over the last few years, but also because I've never been to the new Denver airport. It's a new place to go, and I'm a nerd, so I'm looking forward to visiting the facility that the hardcore conspiracy dorks consider to be one of the most evil places on Earth, packed with sinister Masonic symbolism, the detention center of the New World Order, with multiple sublevels in which abducted children are enslaved and put to work for aliens. I am not making this up. There are whole websites devoted to this shit. So of course, I want to go there.
We're waiting patiently to board our plane. Suddenly, an alarm pierces the sleepy air of the terminal, and a recorded voice tells us that the fire alarm has been activated and we need to evacuate the terminal. Well, shit. This doesn't bode well. As we- the various passengers- slowly look around at each other for clues on how to react, I notice the gift shop/snack bar employees don't seem to be paying much attention. Hmm. Perhaps this happens all the time? Meanwhile, if everyone else is thinking the way I do- and I believe they are- they're wondering if this is going to mean we have to go through security again. So, we all reluctantly start moving, not toward any emergency exit, but back to where we came in, in hopes of escaping certain death from the conflagration while not being too inconvenienced. After all, we have places to be.
We get to the bottom of the escalator to the only non-emergency route available, only to find a big fire door blocking our path. Well, shit. At least there are some bored-looking security types with walkie-talkies, so we'll probably be okay if we stay close to them, right? After a couple minutes, they absently motion us to go back with an "It's okay." Terror in Fresno, averted at the last moment! We schlep back to our waiting area, joking that now the trip has been pre-disastered. If there had been some wood in our new stainless steel terminal, I should have knocked on it.
Eventually, we board our plane. At least it's a small jet, not just one of the rickety little prop planes- gotta get all the way to Denver, after all. We take off, meet our motherly flight attendant Marty, and despite the poor woman in the row behind us who is practically hyperventilating from fear, all seems fine. Until.... well, Marty's on the phone with the cockpit. And she doesn't look happy. The captain's voice, godlike, speaks to us for the first time- it turns out that the air pressurization system is not working, so we can't go to altitude. Some silly thing about being able to breathe, I think. And now that he mentions it, the little air nozzles haven't been blowing, and my ears have been popping. We're about a half hour out of Fresno, and we have to turn around. Well, shit. This will guarantee that we'll miss our connecting flight, since we only had about 40 minutes in Denver. And now it's just turning into an adventure. Honestly, I'm kind of giddy about it, and not just for lack of oxygen- now the future is unclear! Who the hell knows if we're going to make it today at all? Maybe we'll be stuck in, say Des Moines for the night! Anyway, we've got all day to get to Chicago, and even if we don't make it that day, it's not the end of the world. So now I'm just laughing as we make a perfect landing- in Fresno. It's already gotten ridiculous.
The mechanics are working on the plane, with no estimate of when it will be ready. Since just about everyone on the flight is going somewhere that's not Denver, they call us up by name to reschedule. The nice woman at the counter puts us on a flight that's only an hour later than our original connecting flight, but our plane is going to be at least an hour and a half late. Little question marks dot about my head, but I don't argue- whatever, maybe they're taking some shortcut through the center of the Earth. In retrospect, I think she wasn't considering that it is an hour later in Denver.
The plane is reportedly fixed. We leave. Again. Two hours late. Scared woman is hyperventilating again. Marty gets on the phone. She doesn't look happy. Again. I hear her say to the people in front, "It's the same problem." I look out the window and see that we're flying pretty damn low for being this far into the flight. Well, shit. A couple minutes later, the air starts blowing, Marty looks surprised and relieved, and the ground moves farther away. We made it to Denver, but the pilot never spoke again. My question is, at what point do you decide to just not go for it, and you get another plane? Eh, I didn't die.
We land at the most evil airport in the world. I look eagerly around for aliens or Nazis or members of the Masonic Elite, but all I see is baggage handlers- or what APPEAR to be baggage handlers..... And it's snowing. Not very hard, but it's snowing. Not being an important enough plane to go to the Big Boys' Terminal, we have to walk outside to get to the gate, so now we're getting snowed on. The weather is grey and oppressive, and nothing is visible of the world beyond the aiport. Very surreal, and perfect for the center of power of the Dark Millennium, but really, I don't see anything very unusual or sinister about the place. The Food Court's a little lame, but that's hardly call for such badmouthing. Poor Denver Airport. Anyway, we have of coure already missed our connecting flight, so off we go to United Customer Service. They promptly reschedule us, assure us that our baggage will go to the right place, and for our trouble they hand us- oh my God, I can't believe it- meal vouchers for $9 each!!!! Holy Mother of God! Thank you, United Airlines! For all you know, I'm trying to get to Chicago to see my sick wife one more time before she dies, but now it's all okay because I can pay for an overpriced turkey sandwich at Wolfgang Puck's! Well, I took the voucher, and the sandwich was actually pretty good. And there was a statue of Apollo 13 astronaut Jack Swigert, which I took a picture of for you, Alan. (I'll send it later)
To be continued- we're not out of Denver yet.....
Chicago. The Windy City. The Second City. Bustling, brawling City of the Big Shoulders. Great architecture, lousy weather. Da Cubs, Da Bulls, Da Bears. Food that will kill you but you'll have a smile on your face as you go. I love Chicago. My name's John. I'm from Fresno. I work in produce.
Oh yeah, laugh it up, fuzzball. Fresno's a flat, dusty town with a serious self-esteem problem, stuck right in between its overachieving siblings, LA and SF. But chances are that whoever and wherever you are, you ate a sandwich or a salad or a spicy mediterranean chicken wrap today that had ingredients grown around here. We're feeding your ass. And I make money because of it. I work for a marketing firm that represents produce companies, and I get to go to tradeshows. One of them is in Chicago every year. I just got back a few days ago. Had a great time. Ate some great food. Didn't get laid.
Herewith, some of my Chicago adventures, for whatever it's worth. Enjoy.
The best part was just getting there.
Thursday morning. My friend Eric- who for this trip has the official title of "Executive Chef"- and I are sitting in the newly expanded, ambitiously-named, yet somehow still boring, Fresno-Yosemite International Airport. For those of you who may not know, you can pretty much fly anywhere from Fresno, but your journey will start with some crappy commuter or "regional" flight to LA, SF, or a handful of other "real" airports. In our case, we are waiting for our flight to Denver, thence Chicago. I'm a little excited, not only because I love to travel and still like to fly despite having gotten rather jaded about it over the last few years, but also because I've never been to the new Denver airport. It's a new place to go, and I'm a nerd, so I'm looking forward to visiting the facility that the hardcore conspiracy dorks consider to be one of the most evil places on Earth, packed with sinister Masonic symbolism, the detention center of the New World Order, with multiple sublevels in which abducted children are enslaved and put to work for aliens. I am not making this up. There are whole websites devoted to this shit. So of course, I want to go there.
We're waiting patiently to board our plane. Suddenly, an alarm pierces the sleepy air of the terminal, and a recorded voice tells us that the fire alarm has been activated and we need to evacuate the terminal. Well, shit. This doesn't bode well. As we- the various passengers- slowly look around at each other for clues on how to react, I notice the gift shop/snack bar employees don't seem to be paying much attention. Hmm. Perhaps this happens all the time? Meanwhile, if everyone else is thinking the way I do- and I believe they are- they're wondering if this is going to mean we have to go through security again. So, we all reluctantly start moving, not toward any emergency exit, but back to where we came in, in hopes of escaping certain death from the conflagration while not being too inconvenienced. After all, we have places to be.
We get to the bottom of the escalator to the only non-emergency route available, only to find a big fire door blocking our path. Well, shit. At least there are some bored-looking security types with walkie-talkies, so we'll probably be okay if we stay close to them, right? After a couple minutes, they absently motion us to go back with an "It's okay." Terror in Fresno, averted at the last moment! We schlep back to our waiting area, joking that now the trip has been pre-disastered. If there had been some wood in our new stainless steel terminal, I should have knocked on it.
Eventually, we board our plane. At least it's a small jet, not just one of the rickety little prop planes- gotta get all the way to Denver, after all. We take off, meet our motherly flight attendant Marty, and despite the poor woman in the row behind us who is practically hyperventilating from fear, all seems fine. Until.... well, Marty's on the phone with the cockpit. And she doesn't look happy. The captain's voice, godlike, speaks to us for the first time- it turns out that the air pressurization system is not working, so we can't go to altitude. Some silly thing about being able to breathe, I think. And now that he mentions it, the little air nozzles haven't been blowing, and my ears have been popping. We're about a half hour out of Fresno, and we have to turn around. Well, shit. This will guarantee that we'll miss our connecting flight, since we only had about 40 minutes in Denver. And now it's just turning into an adventure. Honestly, I'm kind of giddy about it, and not just for lack of oxygen- now the future is unclear! Who the hell knows if we're going to make it today at all? Maybe we'll be stuck in, say Des Moines for the night! Anyway, we've got all day to get to Chicago, and even if we don't make it that day, it's not the end of the world. So now I'm just laughing as we make a perfect landing- in Fresno. It's already gotten ridiculous.
The mechanics are working on the plane, with no estimate of when it will be ready. Since just about everyone on the flight is going somewhere that's not Denver, they call us up by name to reschedule. The nice woman at the counter puts us on a flight that's only an hour later than our original connecting flight, but our plane is going to be at least an hour and a half late. Little question marks dot about my head, but I don't argue- whatever, maybe they're taking some shortcut through the center of the Earth. In retrospect, I think she wasn't considering that it is an hour later in Denver.
The plane is reportedly fixed. We leave. Again. Two hours late. Scared woman is hyperventilating again. Marty gets on the phone. She doesn't look happy. Again. I hear her say to the people in front, "It's the same problem." I look out the window and see that we're flying pretty damn low for being this far into the flight. Well, shit. A couple minutes later, the air starts blowing, Marty looks surprised and relieved, and the ground moves farther away. We made it to Denver, but the pilot never spoke again. My question is, at what point do you decide to just not go for it, and you get another plane? Eh, I didn't die.
We land at the most evil airport in the world. I look eagerly around for aliens or Nazis or members of the Masonic Elite, but all I see is baggage handlers- or what APPEAR to be baggage handlers..... And it's snowing. Not very hard, but it's snowing. Not being an important enough plane to go to the Big Boys' Terminal, we have to walk outside to get to the gate, so now we're getting snowed on. The weather is grey and oppressive, and nothing is visible of the world beyond the aiport. Very surreal, and perfect for the center of power of the Dark Millennium, but really, I don't see anything very unusual or sinister about the place. The Food Court's a little lame, but that's hardly call for such badmouthing. Poor Denver Airport. Anyway, we have of coure already missed our connecting flight, so off we go to United Customer Service. They promptly reschedule us, assure us that our baggage will go to the right place, and for our trouble they hand us- oh my God, I can't believe it- meal vouchers for $9 each!!!! Holy Mother of God! Thank you, United Airlines! For all you know, I'm trying to get to Chicago to see my sick wife one more time before she dies, but now it's all okay because I can pay for an overpriced turkey sandwich at Wolfgang Puck's! Well, I took the voucher, and the sandwich was actually pretty good. And there was a statue of Apollo 13 astronaut Jack Swigert, which I took a picture of for you, Alan. (I'll send it later)
To be continued- we're not out of Denver yet.....
posted by Zonthar at
2:23 PM
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