The City of Chicago, in its infinite wisdom and with its plenitude of excess funds, has decided to install a new sidewalk corner at the southeast intersection of West Division and North Orleans streets. This is otherwise known as across the street from my bedroom window. It appears they have ripped up the one that was there and are in the process of laying down a new one. I cannot figure out why we have such a gaping budget shortfall with invaluable projects like these. The best part of this project to modernize the previously modern corner of W Division and N Orleans, is that it is being done entirely overnight. From approximately 11 p.m. until 5 a.m., for the past two weeks, these dickholes have been working on tearing up concrete, hauling it away, and otherwise making our lives a living fucking hell. This is great news for all involved, except of course the residents of this neighborhood who have had to collectively go in on a 5 gallon bucket of cocaine in an attempt to stay awake for our jobs. We are, however, very happy that the single-wide lane of traffic has not had to be slightly narrowed during the day to accommodate the workers. I wonder if the decision to work overnight has anything to do with the fact that our neighborhood is still considered, by many, to be “the hood”, given that it was formerly the Cabrini Green projects? I know many of the former Cabrini residents are still drifting around the neighborhood, but I feel very strongly that they deserve to drink 22 ounce cans of Steel Reserve in relative peace and quiet, just like the rest of us. Would this project be occurring during the graveyard shift if the address were Mohawk and Dickens, or somewhere on Astor Court? Me thinks not. So keep on rockin’ all night dudes–I hope this is the shiniest fucking corner in all of Chicago when you are through.
As you can imagine, this has also done wonders for the previously shitty sleeping habits of my 13 month old daughter. She already sleeps like a spooked cat hooked on crystal meth, and this really added a sharpness to her nightly wake ups. Much like wind in the willows or the crash of distant waves upon the shore, the pounding of jackhammer on concrete at 2:30 a.m. a mere 50 feet from your bedroom is a powerful sedative for a baby. I awoke several times with burning hatred in my heart for both the City, and the workers (like they have some sort of say in the matter). I’ve threatened, to no one in particular, to call and complain. But in rational moments I’ve realized the futility in speaking to whoever functions as “Customer Service” for the City of Chicago. I can’t imagine how that would be received by the fat woman who answers that phone in between swallows of Diet Coke and bites of 7-11 bought snack cakes. So I stew in quiet. Thus far my only act of defiance has been to violently flip a middle finger out the window of my car, aimed in the direction of the workers, as I drive to the gym at 5:10 a.m. each day. I’ve no reason at all to believe that anyone has ever seen it. FML indeed.