My cab driver complains about the timing of construction on Lake Shore Drive, which began on Monday. On Halloween; trick indeed. Usually a Red Line commuter, I completely forgot.
The cabbie says they should be working at night.
I say workers would be paid more to work at night (not to mention safety), which he dismisses. He has theories and doesn’t want anything to do with mine. Sharing shuts down any further conversation.
WBEZ, public radio, has a story about the upcoming city budget. 28 city council members are signing a “Dear Rahm” letter to express concern over cuts to necessary programs. Programs that, in almost every area, would affect myself and everyone I know. The only thing I think is, “Every cab plays NPR: Why?”
Despite traffic, I arrive at work, on-time, where I am starting a new job.
The lobby and interiors of the new building are beautiful; black marble and bamboo, and deep oak everything in other areas. But I will spend the day in a 15 x 15 room, with two other temps, until they can make room for us. At least the coffee, although terrible, is free.
A tour of the office leaves me bizarrely impressed with how attractive all of my new co-workers are. The people at my last job were normal-looking or, at most, average. Most of the people here look like models or could be on television. On my best days, I feel like a frog, the way I imagine the majority of Chicago feels.
I will update thier website; tracking and editing hundreds of mini-sites. Training consists of reading company texts on branding and several development guides. The analog nature amuses me.
I still cannot wrap my mind around Daley being gone. I see Rahm’s grim smile from the Reader — staring, dead-fished, from nearly every street corner. I never cared for Dailey, and initially, I liked Rahm Emanuel.
But now, his stoic face and general unpopularity haunt me. It feels as if I’ve done something wrong. I don’t have cronies or get preferential treatment. Still, I walk around, in a constant state of shame, and wonder if this is going to get any better.
About the author: Donaldson is a writer, actor, and artist living in Andersonville, making a living in web content. Next year, he’ll be forty. Follow him on Twitter at @Donaldson.