Windy City Accomodation

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The Greyhound Bus from Detroit pulls into the Chicago bus station late at night. I'm not sure when, since I don't know if there's a time difference between Michigan and Illinois. I know basically nothing about the city, and I have no place to stay. On top of this, it turns out that my luggage is not on the bus. Late night at a Greyhound terminal downtown Chicago is not exactly the right moment to crack. So, I pull out my sensible thinking, working methodically.

Awaiting my luggage is step one. It arrives with the next bus. Finding a place to stay is step two. I call a hotel listed on the ad board, they have a room. The comment from the taxi driver "You don't wanna stay here, man", isn't very encouraging. The room is terrible. The bed is terrible. The bathroom is terrible. Like the worst scene from a movie, there is shouting in the hallway, and the tone is everything but friendly. Don't get much sleep. And I don't know where in Chicago I am.

The morning brings new light and strength. I pull out a map and ask people on the street to point out the location. Nobody knows. Not even the fireman. Maybe in the bank? They don't know either, but the very friendly customer takes me to a YMCA just a block away. The Y works. Clean, safe, convenient, and safe. Works for me. The bank customer asks me where I stayed last night. "Lucky you didn't get shot", is his comment on the hotel. Not exactly the kind of stuff you write home to tell your family about...

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