Monday, July 7, 2008

Chicago & LaSalle is the worst place to be at 5pm

Ugh, I HATE the intersection of Chicago & LaSalle. I honestly don't know why I walk that way anymore. There are so many different routes I can take to walk home, yet I'm a creature of habit and never realize my mistake until I'm almost run over by some jackass. Yes, that's why I hate Chicago & LaSalle. Something bad happens to me there once a week.

What is it about that intersection that makes rush-hour drivers lose the tiny shreds of sanity they had left and plow through the streets as if we don't live in a busy, pedestrian-ridden city?

Last night when I was walking home, I was crossing Chicago, heading south on the west side of LaSalle, with the crosswalk's little white walkie man giving me the go-ahead. Yeah, I often cross when the big red hand is saying NOOOO, but this time I was good. The drivers were not.

As I step my foot onto the street, I see a white van out of the corner of my eye, going for the right turn. Right into me.



I kept going, because I care more about proving a point than preserving my life, apparently. This forced him to stop and glare (don't mess, I'm the queen of the stink eye) while a guy coming from the other direction decided to squeeze past everyone and bust out in front of all of us. I turn my evil eye to him and continue walking at a normal pace. I figure that if I pound someone's hood, they deserve it for being close enough for my tiny fist of fury to reach them. But, alas, I didn't have time for physical violence. He drove too fast. Such a let down.

Another time I was walking around Chicago & LaSalle, heading east this time on the south side, I actually got a little more vocal. Perhaps it's because I was SERIOUSLY almost run over. Me and another girl actually, except I was closer to the car that nearly plowed into us. A silver Mercedes with the Douchebag of All Douchebags at the wheel.

Mr. Douche thinks he's in the 'burbs where you can make right turns on red rampantly. As this girl and I are crossing -- again, we had the little white walkie man -- this guy comes flying up to the red light as if he's just gonna go for it.


He slams his brakes and comes within about two feet of me. My heart was pounding so fast and I was shaking. No too scared to yell at him though...

"What the FUCK are you doing, jackass!? This isn't Schaumburg!"

I refrain from pounding his precious car. He refrains from acknowledging me. Or the other girl who let out a demure, "Oh SHIT," just as it happened. My heart pounded the rest of the way home.

And then, there was the worst incident of all.

A few weeks ago, I was walking in the exact same area as the Mercedes incident as I saw two shady-looking, loud-talking assholes in a parked sedan. Sure, go ahead and park in the turning lane. You'll regret it when an expensive car comes barreling into your bumper. Whatevs.

Then these guys actually started yelling at me!

They go, "Hey, baby! Hey there." I roll my eyes and give them the don't-bother look, which, incidentally is pretty close to the fuck-off-cuz-I'm-way-better-than-you look. Needless to say, they didn't like it.

"Hey, BITCH," one screamed.

Now, why does that get my attention? Why did I turn? Why, why, why?

He continues, "I'm talking to you, BITCH."

This is what ran through my head:

Oh HELL to the no. Don't let him talk to you like that. Who does he think he is? Tell him to fuck off. Now.


Whoa, whoa, just kidding. You're seriously going to tell some maniacs to fuck off? They will follow you home! What if they get out of the car? What if they wait there for you tomorrow? Do NOT antagonize the crazies. You don't even have your pepper spray, you idiot. Walk away.

So I walked away. Walked right back to my apartment, put my pepper spray promptly in my bag and cursed the dangerous intersection of Chicago & LaSalle once again.

Maybe today I'll remember to take a new way home.


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