America had a birthday (233rd), I had a birthday (June 28th: 26 years old), and you had a birthday (don’t you remember). Yes, it’s been a while since the last post but I got another one for you fresh out the kitchen (remix to ignition by R. Kelly).
So Chicago stories, right? Well these have been edited so no one will be arrested or deported (Let’s just pretend that Adam’s Canadian)

Adam realizing I declared him Canadian
I flew on Delta Airlines to Chicago. It was a morning flight. I knew that. Despite knowing that I went out the night before because I’m a smart man. I went to Cagematch at the UCB Theatre. Then to a bar afterward. I got home at about five in the morning. I needed to get up at six. Long story short I didn’t sleep. Like I said, I’m a smart man.

Peep Delta
Somehow I not only made it to the airport in time for my flight I made it early. I checked my bag, got through security, and sat at the gate with time to spare. However, the flight was overbooked. I got bumped. “We’re very sorry, Mr. Ross, ” they said, “we’ll get you on another flight.” Fine. I was dead-tired and just wanted to get to Chicago. Whatever flight they put me on would be fine.
I was wrong about that.
They gave me a $400 Delta flight voucher, a ticket for a Delta flight to chicago, and a voucher for a car service to the airport. Car service? RED FLAG! I was already at the airport. JFK Airport to be exact. However, my new flight was flying out of LaGuardia airport on the other side of Queens.

Note: My luggage went to O'Hare
I have the most fun.
I waited outside for the car service which, of course, never arrived. It was at this point that I checked the time for my next flight: only 30 minutes away. One cannot cross queens in less than thirty minutes. Unless you are in a rocketship or, I don’t know, an airplane.
So I missed my flight and when I got to the Delta terminal at LaGuardia all the guy at the desk would tell me was that I was at the wrong terminal. Apparently Delta flights to Chicago leave from the Marine Air Terminal at LaGuardia. I guess I was supposed to know that.
I arrived at the Marine Air Terminal long after my second flight went to Chicago. I explained the whole predicament to the woman at the Delta desk and stated something to the effect of “this needs to be fixed.” And it was. Not only did I keep my $400 voucher, but they also reimbursed the cab fare to LaGuardia ($31.80), AND upgraded me to first class.



They have ACTUAL food in first class!
I arrived in Chicago about six hours later than planned. But was quite happy with my first class experience and, through another fortuitous twist of fate, wound up at Chicago-Midway Airport at the same time Adam, the bachelor in question, arrived.




The infamous Adam
We met up with Kerry in Chicago, but had to go to Glenview, Illinois for some reason. Oh, right, that’s where Miranda was. Trivia time: Miranda and I were in the same confirmation class at Calvary Episcopal Church in Rochester, Minnesota.

Kerry in Glenview

I'm sure we were having a riveting discussion.

Miranda on the right. Martine, Miranda's friend, on the left.
For that first evening we met up with Aaron, Nate and Dain at this one dude’s house. I say “this one dude” because I don’t know him…and neither did anyone else…except Miranda…sort of. “This one dude” was Miranda’s friend Martine’s boyfriend: better known to us as a stranger. However, the beer was free so complaints were sparse.



Nate in deep thought.



That's a great idea, Aaron.
The next morning we left Glenview to head back to Chicago.

Kerry somehow managed to stain his shirt

L-R; Martine, Me, Adam, Kerry, Miranda, Dain, Nate, Aaron

On the Metra to Chicago


The Tribune Tower, methinks

Then we had deep-dish pizza. Of course.






We went out that evening. This was the adventure. Also, it was the last time we’d see my camera alive.

The last known photo of my camera while alive.
First stop on the trio of bars was Spybar.



We had free drinks from 10pm until 1 am so, yeah, we were drinking. Pretty heavily. As so often happens there was a bachelorette party happening at the same time. That’s been redacted, though.

I don’t remember the name of the second bar, but I do remember not being impressed. However, when we left, we got attacked by a cougar.

Cougar going in for the kill.
At some point in the evening we did manage to stumble into McFadden’s which was packed beyond their fire capacity.


At that point the shit hit the fan.

"huh"
Nate decided he wanted to take a picture with one of Chicago’s finest. I loved the idea. For those of you who know me I gesture wildly when I talk. Also I was drunk. Also my camera was in my hand. Was. Past tense. With my excitement about the cop picture my camera went flying.
At the cop.
Luckily for both him and me it didn’t hit the cop, but it did hit the street. Hard. And that was the last thing it ever did. At the time, I thought it was hilarious. I still do. He didn’t.

Kerry with the Angry Cop. photo courtesy of Aaron.
Sadly, that marks the end of the photo version of the Chicago adventure. I can tell you that the debauchery continued for several more hours, I can tell you that I dropped our room key down the elevator shaft at the Hyatt Regency, and I can tell you that the flight back was much smoother than the flight there. But I won’t. I’m a jerk.