Clueless in Chicago

Why does this stuff always seem to happen to me?

On Monday, my Ma drove me to the Windy City so I could meet my new hematologist, Dr. C. (Whatta great dude.)

Now I am NOT a city-girl. I know for the most part how to act and how to avoid most trouble that is associated with big cities. But let’s face it, I am more at home at home in my rural suburb where I can hear coyotes (PM) and cows and roosters (AM) bellering in the distance. In fact, I can look out the window of the classroom where I “teach” and see numerous wheat fields, a big white barn, and a small pasture with four; black, baby cows.

My Uncle, bless his heart, tried to teach me how to handle myself in Chicago; and for the most part it all sunk in. So what was I doing on this sunny, Monday morning running full tilt down Halstead Ave. dressed in high heeled boots, slacks, and a stylin’, sash-waist blouse???

Well the answer to that, my compadres, goes back to today’s theme and query: “Birds fly over the rainbow…why-oh-why can’t I??” Wait. Scratch that. That was from a dream last night. “Why does this stuff always happen to me?”

The quick and dirty answer to that is: I try to do too much all at the same time. Multi-tasking works best when, well, you’re not me. My friend Tammy, a high school special-ed teacher, always told me that I was one of the most ADHD adults she had ever met. However, that term is so over-used I much prefer: “happy-hyper-organizationally-challenged”.

Our first dilemma was that Mom and I couldn’t see the street signs. They’re tiny and green, and there’s a million other things to look at. Next, it’s Chicago, duh…if you don’t know where you’re going…you’re bound to get lost and end up on some one-way street a thousand blocks away from your intended destination. Plus, once you see those street signs, you probably shouldn’t trust them. So the sign that pointed out that the parking garage was this way was
NOT
the way we actually wanted to go.

Hence, we finally gave up and just parked at meter on the street two blocks from new Doc’s office.

Next, the meter only took quarters. So there I was, the happy-hyper-organizationally challenged; juggling my purse, my wallet, my special 3-ring binder with all of my lab work papers, and my date-book all in the quest to find quarters. (And of course, I’ve got to look at the dates and states on each quarter before it goes into the meter…hey, anything before 1973 has silver in it!) I think must have I put a couple nickles in by mistake…you would too!…the new ones sort of look like quarters nowadays. What we realized is that you don’t get the nickles back though…they’re probably considered a donation to the Chicago Public Transit dept.

At any rate, we finally, made it to the doc’s office (on-time believe-it-or-not). And now I really really had to pee…and of course!…this being Chicago you have to get a key to open up the lavatory. So this being me in Chicago I was doing the tinkle dance in front of the receptionist begging her for a key… it went like this:

“HimynameisKarinandI’mthe10:20appointmentpleasegivemethebathroom key!” (Imagine this being said really quickly and pretty loudly with a faint hint of desperation.)

After taking care of business and handing back said key to very nice reception-lady came the part we all must face in a physicians office these days:

“I need to see your ID and proof of insurance.”

Open purse. NO WALLET!!! AHHHHH! No wallet? I just dug quarters out of the wallet!

“You’d better go back to the street and look for it.”

So that’s how I ended up doing the 400 meter dash on a sunny day on Halstead Avenue.