Those of us who live and frequently drive in Chicago see many unseemly things on a daily basis, but this past Saturday evening, I was unwillingly treated to the sight of a crack addict showing me her breast in the LA Fitness parking lot at 115th and Marshfield, adjacent to I-57.
Let me clear up a couple of things right off the bat. First, I'm not sure this woman was a crack addict; I'm just assuming she was based on the facts as I "saw" them. She may have been a heroin addict, a meth addict, or a drunk. Not that any of that matters. The fact that this crazy bitch pulled out her tit was certainly enough to deem her on something.
Second, I did nothing to encourage this sort of behavior. I am a happily married man who is not a substance abuser or out for some parking lot kink. (I may have a couple beers now and then, but certainly not before I go to the gym.) So, I was more than surprised that I became the victim of this assault on my senses.
Here's how it went down: I was pulling into the parking lot and getting set to back up into a parking spot. A woman was walking toward my car as I got set to pull forward and then back in. She didn't move and kept walking straight ahead.
I backed into the parking space with the car facing forward directly across from the entrance to the gym. My windows on both front sides of the car were open and I then saw her walking toward my side of the car with a large plastic bag in her hand.
I started to see her face, demeanor and clothes and realized I was about to get hit up for money. As we all know, it usually just takes a wave of the hand to let someone on the side of a road know not to come to the window of your car. This didn't work. I waved and she kept coming.
Before I could put my window up, she was there. She didn't speak English, or at least the words were not recognizable. Instead, she mumbled or, better yet, growled at me with her hand out. I said, "I don't have any money. Get away from me."
She was undeterred. She growled again; something that sounded like, "Grnklllminnncriklmn."
At the same time that she was growling, I was getting frustrated and said something like, "Get the f*** away from me."
It was then that I was permanently scarred. As I tried to shoo her away, she reached under her shirt and pulled her breast through a hole in that shirt and squeezed it, growling "Arrghhklimnishing."
I can't remember exactly what I said then, but it was something like "You need to get the f*** away from here before I call the cops" or some other lame comment.
She left and I sat in my car for a couple minutes deciding if I was going to tell the person at the front desk of the gym how I had been traumatized in their parking lot. I decided not to say anything lest they think that I had lost my mind. I figured also that I could let my workout try to free my mind from the disturbing vision that had been burned into my brain.
It didn't work.
As my wife and I drove to dinner later that night, I told her the story. I think she stopped laughing when we got to the restaurant. Thankfully, it was in the neighborhood.
For now, I suffer alone. In silence.
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