It’s a lovely Saturday morning. There’s a cool breeze off the lake. I’m sitting on the stoop of a building on the Loyola campus in Rogers Park. I was supposed to have rehearsal starting in about sixty seconds, but half an hour ago – well after I’d started on my way here – I got a message that the schedule was changed and now I’m half an hour early. I do wish they’d let me know a little earlier, but at least I get to sit out here and type for a bit.
Well, I mean, it’s not perfect. There’s some sort of thing going on here today. There are tour groups everywhere. People keep interrupting me to ask directions as if I look like I belong here. Do I look like that? I wonder if that’s a good thing. My hair is the longest it’s been in over twenty years, so maybe from a distance I look younger than I really am. Or maybe they think I’m an eccentric professor. Either way, every time I apologize and say I don’t know how to get to wherever they’re trying to go, I receive these looks that say I have disappointed and offended them.
They can suck it.