So this is what happened:
On Friday night I came home from work, got my hair braided, stayed up a little late to watch the rebroadcast of Chicago Tonight to confirm that Garry Meier is indeed insane and I fell asleep at around 2 am.
Three and a half hours later I woke up, showered, dressed, and headed out the door. Where the hell was I going so early on a Saturday?
24 hours prior I learned that the AFL Chicago Rush were holding a competition to find one person to sing the National Anthem before yesterday's quarterfinal playoff game at the Allstate Arena. The contest would be 8:00 AM at the arena. Each contestant would receive two complimentary tickets to Sunday's game. Friday was the last day to register for the contest, so after testing myself with a few vocal exercises, I called and had my name put on the list. I was told that "about fifty people had signed up" and I figured I would have a pretty good shot against a sample of fifty.
As I drove I tried to rouse my voice, which was not nearly ready at 6:45 in the morning for the task that lay ahead of it. I was interrupted by the vehicle's omni-tones. You know, the tones that tell me my seat belt isn't on or that the door is open while the keys are in the ignition. The tones sounded and a corresponding light began flashing on the dash. Now, I'm sure I had read previously in the vehicle owner's manual what the significance of that flashing light is and what to do if it occurs. But I figured the light was fair warning and I had a day or two to fix the problem. I gave some consideration as to where I would take my car on Monday morning to have it looked at and I drove on.
On the Dan Ryan, to I90 and exit to Mannheim Rd. I was surprised not to see an Allstate Arena directional sign at the exit, but I had no reason to doubt the directions so I was unconcerned. I had never been to the arena, but the directions could not be simpler. The venue itself was on Mannheim so I just had to drive until I encountered it.
I never once saw a sign pointing the way to the arena and as I began to get further away from the expressway exit that brought me into Rosemont, I wondered if I had ventured too far. I stopped at a red light and looked around a bit. The light turned green. I pressed on the gas pedal and nothing happened.
So there I was in the middle of Mannheim Rd, impeccably dressed, I might add, pushing my car into the parking lot of a Mexican grocery store that was too small and underdeveloped to deserve Supermercado status.
Street signs were clearly visible, so I knew where I was in an empirical sense. I thought that if I knew where the arena was and if it was close enough to walk, I could leave the car, have my chance to audition and come back for the vehicle later. But, I knew where I was only in an empirical sense. So I called my insurance company, requested a tow and waited.
About an hour and a half later, tow truck driver Mike came around and loaded my car onto the bed of his truck. The diagnosis was simple and Mike called ahead to a repair center to see if they could take my car right away. The alternator had gone Ronald Reagan on me and I had driven about 30 miles before the car finally gave out.
About three miles away in Des Plaines was a Marathon service station with an auto repair facility attached. The cashier offered me a free newspaper and a folding chair seat beside the cold beverage case. Now, this was a very sweatpants and t-shirt neighborhood and I was noticeably overdressed for the area. (I might also mention that there was nary a Negro in sight). So as I looked over the newspapers and glanced at the beverage case, I resisted my initial impulse to pick up the New York Times and grab a Starbucks Mocha Frappuccino from the case so as not to add to the "stranger in a strange land" dynamic that was already apparent.
The mechanic Gary confirmed that the alternator was the problem and that it would take a few hours for him to charge the battery and replace the alternator. Next door to the marathon station was a Jay's Italian Beef. So I walked over there to kill some time.
I ordered a broiled chicken sandwich with fries and a lemonade. I sat for a long time in the empty restaurant reading the Sunday Sun-Times and swirling the crushed ice around in my cup. When the lunchtime crowd started to come in I decided to leave. My car was still being worked on so I went across the street to Walgreens. I wandered aimlessly around the store for awhile. I bought a Duncan Butterfly yo-yo and walked out to the bus shelter in front of the store. I stayed there for a little while, trying to operate the yo-yo and pacing the shaded confines of the shelter.
When I walked back across the street to the service station, my car was ready. I thanked Gary, paid the cashier, said my goodbyes and drove away. I had no trouble finding my way back to the spot where I had been stranded. I drove down Mannheim toward the expressway and I noticed a modest blue sign that read: Allstate Arena Parking. For the first time I saw the arena and I would describe it as a modern looking but rather unimpressive building. From my point of view, it could have been just another suburban office building. The Target store next to it was more prominent.
I had, of course, proceeded right past it earlier. In fact, if I had discovered it originally, I would have made it into the parking lot in time for the National Anthem contest. Instead of being towed from the lot of a second rate Mercado, I could have been towed from the Allstate Arena following a triumphant rendition of the Star Spangled Banner at midfield.
The red star indicates where my car stopped
Notice the Allstate Arena: the yellow triangle at the bottom of the map
