At about 8:32 a.m. this morning, I was sliding, laden like a mule with my laptop and bag, along the edge of a suburban parking lot, squeezed between a guardrail and a Pace commuter bus. I was wearing my big, brown, down coat, a wool hat, mismatched gloves, jeans with salt residue from the roads creeping up my calves, heavy socks and sneakers that are about a decade old. My name, “ERIN,” is carved into the arch of the right foot shoe. I believe that inscription dates back to an afternoon sociology course I took in college—seven years ago. I do not know why I so sorely needed to brand my shoe.
The weather this morning was problematic. It was all at once, raining, icy, cold, snowy, slippery, foggy and dismal. I had on full winter dress, but also was carrying a completely useless old black umbrella with one broken stretcher that made the whole canopy half-slack. This rendered it like a blackbird with a broken wing, or a bat. Everyone who’s lived in Chicago knows that umbrellas don’t do anything worthwhile. The wind currents rushing through the alleys and the fantastic badness of the weather in this city have torn asunder many a windproof umbrella. Yet, we suspend our knowledge of this truth and all still carry the things like worthless shields against an indomitable enemy. It’s very human of us.
I live in the city and work in the suburbs, but I am without a car. I have an almost two hour morning commute—first by subway, then by commuter train, then by walking. The last walk is usually what gets me. I have to get from the train station across a Home Depot parking lot, then past a Bennigans and another fast food establishment’s parking area. Next, there’s a bank that has a sidewalk that’s never shoveled. On the other side of the bank is a street with no stop signs or crossing walk and one large blind corner of death, around which cars full of over-caffeinated, distracted commuters zoom at high, negligent speeds.
This might not seem like much of a jaunt on paper, but anyone who has ever had to walk anywhere commercial in the suburbs knows that this is a long journey; these areas aren’t designed for pedestrian traffic. I’m not sure if you all know this, but—interesting fact—the parking lot of a Home Depot, when coated with ice (in the rain) is approximately the same size as the state of Nebraska.
This morning, when I was squeezed between a Pace bus and a guardrail, I used my sad, weak, broken umbrella as an instrument of my frustration. As the bus passed and sprayed me with muddy, salty road slush, a hot rage boiled within and I futilely grasped my umbrella and smacked the guardrail with all the force my 5’5-1/2”-frame could muster. Sociologists might call my angry outburst a schism between arcane human nature and the frustrations of modernity. I might know if I hadn’t been tagging my shoe so diligently seven years ago.
And guys, it’s only December. We have three or four months left of slugging through this crap. I do think, though, that there is something character building about a Northern winter. It keeps us tough to have to fight through atmospheric extremes every step of a day. This weather (and the extreme summer heat we have, too) instills a sense of camaraderie between all of us. I can glance at a fellow pedestrian trudging through snow and in one second we soundlessly say, “Yeah, this is rough, isn’t it?” It’s a small comfort to know that all of us need multiple layers of coarse wool and thick down to keep warm in this world. But that wouldn’t be a comfort if it wasn’t also true that sometimes, all it takes to pierce all those armored layers we don to combat the chill of a treacherous winter day is a sincere glance and a sympathetic nod of the head.
The weather this morning was problematic. It was all at once, raining, icy, cold, snowy, slippery, foggy and dismal. I had on full winter dress, but also was carrying a completely useless old black umbrella with one broken stretcher that made the whole canopy half-slack. This rendered it like a blackbird with a broken wing, or a bat. Everyone who’s lived in Chicago knows that umbrellas don’t do anything worthwhile. The wind currents rushing through the alleys and the fantastic badness of the weather in this city have torn asunder many a windproof umbrella. Yet, we suspend our knowledge of this truth and all still carry the things like worthless shields against an indomitable enemy. It’s very human of us.
I live in the city and work in the suburbs, but I am without a car. I have an almost two hour morning commute—first by subway, then by commuter train, then by walking. The last walk is usually what gets me. I have to get from the train station across a Home Depot parking lot, then past a Bennigans and another fast food establishment’s parking area. Next, there’s a bank that has a sidewalk that’s never shoveled. On the other side of the bank is a street with no stop signs or crossing walk and one large blind corner of death, around which cars full of over-caffeinated, distracted commuters zoom at high, negligent speeds.
This might not seem like much of a jaunt on paper, but anyone who has ever had to walk anywhere commercial in the suburbs knows that this is a long journey; these areas aren’t designed for pedestrian traffic. I’m not sure if you all know this, but—interesting fact—the parking lot of a Home Depot, when coated with ice (in the rain) is approximately the same size as the state of Nebraska.
This morning, when I was squeezed between a Pace bus and a guardrail, I used my sad, weak, broken umbrella as an instrument of my frustration. As the bus passed and sprayed me with muddy, salty road slush, a hot rage boiled within and I futilely grasped my umbrella and smacked the guardrail with all the force my 5’5-1/2”-frame could muster. Sociologists might call my angry outburst a schism between arcane human nature and the frustrations of modernity. I might know if I hadn’t been tagging my shoe so diligently seven years ago.
And guys, it’s only December. We have three or four months left of slugging through this crap. I do think, though, that there is something character building about a Northern winter. It keeps us tough to have to fight through atmospheric extremes every step of a day. This weather (and the extreme summer heat we have, too) instills a sense of camaraderie between all of us. I can glance at a fellow pedestrian trudging through snow and in one second we soundlessly say, “Yeah, this is rough, isn’t it?” It’s a small comfort to know that all of us need multiple layers of coarse wool and thick down to keep warm in this world. But that wouldn’t be a comfort if it wasn’t also true that sometimes, all it takes to pierce all those armored layers we don to combat the chill of a treacherous winter day is a sincere glance and a sympathetic nod of the head.
posted by Erin at 8:47 PM
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