Chicago has two airports
I'm going to try to post the travelogue-style content whenever possible, since it's what people like and it's the best way for me to improve my writing ability. The singularity stories will be fun for me, I'm sure, but dense speculative fiction is an esoteric taste.
The travelogue stuff takes a lot of time and energy, so when I don't have those precious things you'll get random other content, as you've seen.
For tonight's content, I'm reprinting an adventure I chronicled a few years ago that showcases why people shouldn't ask me for directions so often.
Our story begins as I touch down at Midway in my surprisingly snazzy Frontier Airlines plane. The stewardess goes on the PA and says "On behalf of French Airlines, I'd like to welcome you to Denver. Sorry! I mean Chicago O'Hare." Despite having repeatedly told airline officials prior to this point that I was going to Midway, as I land I somehow become convinced I have landed in O'Hare. As I head to baggage claim, I have a nagging feeling of confusion. I decide that the airport has been redesigned, but not so massively that it doesn't feel familiar. I get my two swollen checked bags and head out to ground transportation. Dear Lord! They've redesigned it too! Now there are clearly marked signs pushing me to the right spot to catch a shuttle directly to campus! Wow, O'Hare has finally learned from Midway how to help jet-lagged, hungry, absent-minded college students not get confused. There are two shuttles of the type I remember goes to Hyde Park parked next to each other. I see somebody who is achingly obviously a UofC student as well. I make eye contact with him and grin, and he uncomfortably looks away. As I try to decide whether I should ask him, after this setback, if he knows which of these shuttles is right, the driver of one gets out and asks me, cheerfully, "You going to O'Hare?" "Whuh?" "Are you heading to O'Hare?" "Um...no. Hyde Park." "Oh, that's that guy." He peeks into the other shuttle. "Sorry, I mean that girl. She'll take you to Hyde Park." I grin in thanks, pitying him for having clearly confused his intended destination, wherever it is, with where he is now. You'd think a professional driver wouldn't do that. He's going to have trouble getting takers. The other driver comes out and asks me and the other U of C student where in Hyde Park we're going. She smiles as we each give a look of panic, he because he's a first year and doesn't exactly know, and me because I'm a moron. She says, "Building name?" but I've recovered the address from 3 months storage and give it. The other guy gives the name of his dorm, Shoreland, and happily she knows where it is. She says to him “Okay, that’ll be $17 for you, and…” she trails off, staring at me. Then she slaps me on the chest. “What the hell, I’ll look out for you. $17 for you too.” As we load our luggage into the shuttle, the driver of the other one approaches someone else and says “Going to O’Hare?” She rocks my world by answering “Yes!”, loading her luggage, and driving off with him. This starts a train of thought in my head which, after we’ve been on the road for 5 minutes, leads me to finally remember that I had landed at Midway.
The travelogue stuff takes a lot of time and energy, so when I don't have those precious things you'll get random other content, as you've seen.
For tonight's content, I'm reprinting an adventure I chronicled a few years ago that showcases why people shouldn't ask me for directions so often.
Our story begins as I touch down at Midway in my surprisingly snazzy Frontier Airlines plane. The stewardess goes on the PA and says "On behalf of French Airlines, I'd like to welcome you to Denver. Sorry! I mean Chicago O'Hare." Despite having repeatedly told airline officials prior to this point that I was going to Midway, as I land I somehow become convinced I have landed in O'Hare. As I head to baggage claim, I have a nagging feeling of confusion. I decide that the airport has been redesigned, but not so massively that it doesn't feel familiar. I get my two swollen checked bags and head out to ground transportation. Dear Lord! They've redesigned it too! Now there are clearly marked signs pushing me to the right spot to catch a shuttle directly to campus! Wow, O'Hare has finally learned from Midway how to help jet-lagged, hungry, absent-minded college students not get confused. There are two shuttles of the type I remember goes to Hyde Park parked next to each other. I see somebody who is achingly obviously a UofC student as well. I make eye contact with him and grin, and he uncomfortably looks away. As I try to decide whether I should ask him, after this setback, if he knows which of these shuttles is right, the driver of one gets out and asks me, cheerfully, "You going to O'Hare?" "Whuh?" "Are you heading to O'Hare?" "Um...no. Hyde Park." "Oh, that's that guy." He peeks into the other shuttle. "Sorry, I mean that girl. She'll take you to Hyde Park." I grin in thanks, pitying him for having clearly confused his intended destination, wherever it is, with where he is now. You'd think a professional driver wouldn't do that. He's going to have trouble getting takers. The other driver comes out and asks me and the other U of C student where in Hyde Park we're going. She smiles as we each give a look of panic, he because he's a first year and doesn't exactly know, and me because I'm a moron. She says, "Building name?" but I've recovered the address from 3 months storage and give it. The other guy gives the name of his dorm, Shoreland, and happily she knows where it is. She says to him “Okay, that’ll be $17 for you, and…” she trails off, staring at me. Then she slaps me on the chest. “What the hell, I’ll look out for you. $17 for you too.” As we load our luggage into the shuttle, the driver of the other one approaches someone else and says “Going to O’Hare?” She rocks my world by answering “Yes!”, loading her luggage, and driving off with him. This starts a train of thought in my head which, after we’ve been on the road for 5 minutes, leads me to finally remember that I had landed at Midway.