So, I had an interview today at Sysco to be a food salesperson. Great job. Great company. And possibly the only position in our solar system that would legitimize the time I've wasted in the restaurant industry. Well, oddly enough Sysco's offices aren't in Chicago proper, rather they are in a magical land called Des Plaines...which is a quiet little suburb about 20 miles outside of the city. No worries. I've consulted the Chicago Transit Authority's website to get my exact route, I will take one bus, get on a commuter train, and then its a short 15 minute jaunt to the facility. I should have known.
I get dressed today, cute well-fitting charcoal suit, purple shirt, the blue eyes are popping. I notice some black dress shoes in my closet that I've been neglecting, so I pull those bitches out. Grab a scarf and I am out the door.
About half way through my little mile-long trek to the bus, through the remnants of Monday's honest-to-God blizzard, I notice my toes are really ridiculously cold. Now, the windchill is about 15 below, but still. Get on the bus, slip my shoe off, and remember why those shoes were banished to my closet: they kinda leak. So the two pairs of socks I"m wearing are completely soaked. Of course. Get off the bus, walk up 73 stairs to the commuter train station. Ask the friendly, albiet toothless young lass how long until the train comes. 33 minutes. So I'm waiting on a platform in the middle of the interstate with nothing to break the frigid wind, wearing wet socks. And of course forgot my earmuffs. Ty'shawnia and I make idle chit chat until the train comes when I ditch her and board the train. Having relieved myself of the burden that is shame years ago, I remove my shoes to allow my feet to warm up in the hopes that when my adventures have concluded, the doctors will be able to save at least 2 of my toes. The conductor quickly instructs me to replace them.
So, I get off the train in God's Country (aka Des Plaines), and begin following my little directions. Apparently the suburbs aren't big on pedestrians, so there are no sidewalks. And in GC (aka DP), when they plow the streets, they're left with 5 foot tall mounds of snow on the shoulders. So, I start walking, okay, sliding down the street about a mile and see Sysco looming before me like an MAOI in front of Britney Spears. When I come to the end of this road, I notice that the gate is padlocked. No worries, just above this road is a highway. So I climb the embankment to the highway. The highway sans a walkway. The busy highway sans a walkway. So I slowly begin my travel, thinking this will only be a minor setback. Well, I end up walking (though if you were to see me, I don't know that walking is the accurate description) through knee-deep snow. While I'm in my suit. And dress shoes. That leak. While cars a whirring past me. Splashing my entire face and body with black street slush. I get about a mile and a half down this highway, and finally call Sysco to ask where on the highway the entrance is. Velma then informs me, "Oh no, sugar, you've gone too far. You need to go back down the highway, and its about another mile and a half." Cue tears. Real tears.
I turn myself around, and begin the journey back to where I had started. I'm running the iditarod at this point without the luxury of a sled or dogs. I'm still traipsing through knee-deep snow, my nose is still running constantly which at this point, I"m just wiping it away with my scarf. Cars are still splashing me. It's snowing. My shoes are still leaking. I go to wipe my nose again with my scarf and realize that said scarf is now frozen. I also realize at this point that thanks to all the moisture, my Clinique Streak-Free Bronzer for Men is rubbing off on my white scarf. Snot? Now frozen to my face. Along with my tears. And road slush. My toes are now burning which is odd because it's not even remotely warm. I make it back to the original area, through which I've already walked twice, find a nice little path and am on my way. I encounter some stairs along my path which lead me to a bridge. I promptly fall backwards, cushioned by the snow and perhaps even giggling like the Snuggle Bear. Try again and this time fall face forward. There was no giggling this time as I hit concrete. When I use my frozen scarf to wipe my face, this time there's bronzer and blood. But I perservere. I reach the hallowed Sysco gates, ask a gentleman where the administration office is (keep in mind I'm 35 minutes late for my interview at this point). He points off in the distance, "You see that blue building way down there? It's two buildings past that." So I continue down my path, now with 18 wheelers splashing slush onto me. Finally make it there, ask where the men's room is so I can attempt to save face (literally) only to be told it's out of order.
So, I go into my interview looking like a victim of a brutal hate crime who has been cryogenically frozen. It goes ok.
Begin my trek back to the train station just in time to miss the train. Have to stand outside and wait 55 minutes for the next one. By now, the sun has gone down. The wind has picked up. I'm not sure how many toes I have. Get on the train. Arrive at the train stop, wait 15 minutes for bus. Board bus. 2 blocks later, the bus breaks down. Wait 20 more minutes, board another crowded bus where any idea of 'personal space' is quickly forgotten. Luckily, a man keeps stepping on my toes, so I'm able to count about 4 of them. Get to my destination. Slide down 4 more blocks to get home.
I get dressed today, cute well-fitting charcoal suit, purple shirt, the blue eyes are popping. I notice some black dress shoes in my closet that I've been neglecting, so I pull those bitches out. Grab a scarf and I am out the door.
About half way through my little mile-long trek to the bus, through the remnants of Monday's honest-to-God blizzard, I notice my toes are really ridiculously cold. Now, the windchill is about 15 below, but still. Get on the bus, slip my shoe off, and remember why those shoes were banished to my closet: they kinda leak. So the two pairs of socks I"m wearing are completely soaked. Of course. Get off the bus, walk up 73 stairs to the commuter train station. Ask the friendly, albiet toothless young lass how long until the train comes. 33 minutes. So I'm waiting on a platform in the middle of the interstate with nothing to break the frigid wind, wearing wet socks. And of course forgot my earmuffs. Ty'shawnia and I make idle chit chat until the train comes when I ditch her and board the train. Having relieved myself of the burden that is shame years ago, I remove my shoes to allow my feet to warm up in the hopes that when my adventures have concluded, the doctors will be able to save at least 2 of my toes. The conductor quickly instructs me to replace them.
So, I get off the train in God's Country (aka Des Plaines), and begin following my little directions. Apparently the suburbs aren't big on pedestrians, so there are no sidewalks. And in GC (aka DP), when they plow the streets, they're left with 5 foot tall mounds of snow on the shoulders. So, I start walking, okay, sliding down the street about a mile and see Sysco looming before me like an MAOI in front of Britney Spears. When I come to the end of this road, I notice that the gate is padlocked. No worries, just above this road is a highway. So I climb the embankment to the highway. The highway sans a walkway. The busy highway sans a walkway. So I slowly begin my travel, thinking this will only be a minor setback. Well, I end up walking (though if you were to see me, I don't know that walking is the accurate description) through knee-deep snow. While I'm in my suit. And dress shoes. That leak. While cars a whirring past me. Splashing my entire face and body with black street slush. I get about a mile and a half down this highway, and finally call Sysco to ask where on the highway the entrance is. Velma then informs me, "Oh no, sugar, you've gone too far. You need to go back down the highway, and its about another mile and a half." Cue tears. Real tears.
I turn myself around, and begin the journey back to where I had started. I'm running the iditarod at this point without the luxury of a sled or dogs. I'm still traipsing through knee-deep snow, my nose is still running constantly which at this point, I"m just wiping it away with my scarf. Cars are still splashing me. It's snowing. My shoes are still leaking. I go to wipe my nose again with my scarf and realize that said scarf is now frozen. I also realize at this point that thanks to all the moisture, my Clinique Streak-Free Bronzer for Men is rubbing off on my white scarf. Snot? Now frozen to my face. Along with my tears. And road slush. My toes are now burning which is odd because it's not even remotely warm. I make it back to the original area, through which I've already walked twice, find a nice little path and am on my way. I encounter some stairs along my path which lead me to a bridge. I promptly fall backwards, cushioned by the snow and perhaps even giggling like the Snuggle Bear. Try again and this time fall face forward. There was no giggling this time as I hit concrete. When I use my frozen scarf to wipe my face, this time there's bronzer and blood. But I perservere. I reach the hallowed Sysco gates, ask a gentleman where the administration office is (keep in mind I'm 35 minutes late for my interview at this point). He points off in the distance, "You see that blue building way down there? It's two buildings past that." So I continue down my path, now with 18 wheelers splashing slush onto me. Finally make it there, ask where the men's room is so I can attempt to save face (literally) only to be told it's out of order.
So, I go into my interview looking like a victim of a brutal hate crime who has been cryogenically frozen. It goes ok.
Begin my trek back to the train station just in time to miss the train. Have to stand outside and wait 55 minutes for the next one. By now, the sun has gone down. The wind has picked up. I'm not sure how many toes I have. Get on the train. Arrive at the train stop, wait 15 minutes for bus. Board bus. 2 blocks later, the bus breaks down. Wait 20 more minutes, board another crowded bus where any idea of 'personal space' is quickly forgotten. Luckily, a man keeps stepping on my toes, so I'm able to count about 4 of them. Get to my destination. Slide down 4 more blocks to get home.
Shockingly, about a week later, I receive a nice letter from the good people at Sysco. While they appreciate my interest, they do not feel that they currently have an opportunity that matches my needs. I am shocked.
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