Originally uploaded by iamnowhere.
Me and P set off rather early today to view apartments on Arlington Place, my favourite residential street in Chicago (that I've seen so far, I mean). We are both in the hunt for an apartment, and pretty much have the same list of criteria, so it made a great deal of sense to roam the streets together.
When I left the house to meet him this morning, it was already well into the 80s (35 degrees celcius to be precise) and it was heavenly. Feeling my skin warm right down to the bone was such a long-overdue sensation that I was happy to walk down Broadway and not catch the bus with P until it was absolutely necessary to do so.
The apartment we looked at was pretty crap, but it didn't upset me because it was actually one block over from Arlington, so my opinion of my darling street remains a good one. In fact, I am viewing another apartment on Arlington later this week, so I got a sneak peek at it today. The building is not terribly pretty, and probably dates back to the late 50s, early 60s maybe. It could do with some loving but as P said, I'd be looking at it from the inside anyway so it doesn't matter too much what the outside looks like. Agreed. And as we walked towards Clark St, I saw another courtyard-style building advertising one bedroom places for rent, so I called the agent and left a message for her to call me back on Monday with some prices.
We stopped off at Mickey's on the corner to have lunch and sit outside on their patio area, overlooking Clark Street. I instantly fell in love with the longest list of mojitos I've ever seen on a bar menu. Typically I had the cosmo-mojito, a blend of my two favourite drinks for summer. And it was delicious.
The Cubs game was playing on TV and there was a huge melee. I wouldn't have noticed it on the screens, but for the fact that a guy in the bar yelled at the TV in disbelief at what he was seeing. Apparently the Cubs player at the center of it all is normally such a mild-mannered gent. As the bar population turned its collective attention to the game, a man dining with his wife and daughter decided to throw in HIS two cents worth:
"Well he should just go back to Mexico, where he belongs."
The bar was silent. Realising he brought the bar to a virtual standstill, the man turned to the crowd and apologised but then added, "sorry everyone, but he SHOULD be sent home".
The bar didn't even need to say anything because at that point, his daughter stood up and stormed off in the biggest huff I've ever seen. She was dying of embarassment and disappointment and disbelief and it was a display way more interesting than any televised baseball scuffle. The guy and his wife took off in hot pursuit and we all watched. The poor daughter was a block away before her parents caught up with her, and we could all see her wiping tears from her face, the poor thing.
No one commented on the man's racist comment; there was no need. Everyone knew he was out on his own with that one. But I have never heard anyone outside of the movies be so openly racist and it was very shocking. That someone would think it, much less say it, particularly in a bar where every second staff member was Hispanic. I mean, come on!