Really buddy? What idiot picks a Thursday during afternoon rush hour to casually take a stroll on the CTA tracks? Apparently a wannabe suicidal one who thinks it would be fun to bring the Red Line to a grinding halt on a Thursday afternoon, that’s who.
After a stressful day of meetings, conference calls, and 482058 emails from crazy people who I’d love nothing more than to punch in the throat some days, I was excited to get the hell outta dodge and get my weave tended to by a new stylist at a new salon. I’d scheduled my appointment earlier in the week after telling the receptionist I wanted a male stylist who was talkative, fun, and most importantly good at what he does. If I’m sitting in a chair with you for 45 minutes and shelling out a dollar per minute, I expect to be entertained. Drinks are an added bonus.
So here I am, running to the train. Almost falling in my treadless shoes. Real practical for January, but they’re super cute double monkstrap wingtips…they look good. That’s the most important part. Hop the train, start going, and….”Your attention please. We are standing momentarily waiting for signal clearance. We expect to be moving shortly.”
After five times of this message and sitting at a standstill for nearly 15 minutes though I was about ready to pull the emergency lever and hop down two stories to the ground. A broken appendage would have been less painful than listening to hip hop blasting and abusing my nostrils with the stench of chronically unshowered trash on the train that day.
Much to my luck though, the train started again as I contemplated leaping to my death. Jackpot.
Opting to hop off a stop early and walk a few blocks rather than risk another 15 minutes of waiting for signal clearance, I two-stepped my way over to the Red Line and headed downstairs.
Holy. Effing. People. Everywhere.
Something was clearly going on. Free cake? One can only dream.
Apparently some idiot who enjoys long walks on electrified train tracks thought it’d be fun to go for a stroll…during rush hour…causing the train to abruptly halt service. Great. If it were me, I would have just mowed the idiot down mad kept going. Not my fault you’re on the tracks…
But whatever. Back up I went. I’m not a snob. I’ll take the express bus.
Then I realize it’s 5:45pm, and my hair appointment is in 15 minutes. No way am I making it on time. So I call the salon, spill the beans on Mr. Suicide Attempt, and bump my appointment to 6:30pm instead. Perfect.
Except the “express” bus takes freaking forever during rush hour. I mean, I guess it makes sense since there’s a million cars out, but really…it’s 2014. We should have flying cars and buses by now. Where is the wonderful world of the Jetsons I used to watch on tv growing up?
Fast forward a bit. Cancel the appointment. Move it to 7:45pm and grab coffee in the interim. Burn my mouth. Go figure. Such is my luck.
Hair appointment. Check.
This stylist turns out to be insane. In a good way. When the receptionist told me she knew exactly who to out me with, she wasn’t kidding. This guy did not only do a phenomenal job, but he didn’t shut up the whole time, only charges $35, annnnnnd joked that the “Rough Rider” paste was my kind of product because he could tell I liked to ride and liked it rough. I have no idea who he’s been talking to, but whoever it is needs to stop dishing my secrets so freely.
Anyways, I couldn’t have been happier with this stylist. After an afternoon feeling like I couldn’t win, my odds changed. Clearly winning.