My Life in Chicargo

Today’s Wisch List column from the Kankakee Daily Journal …

My Life in Chicargo

The WISCH LIST
Oct. 3, 2009

This week has been a pretty complicated one for me.

After all, on Tuesday night, I ended the longest relationship of my life.

Eight years.

But, hey, don’t worry about me. I’ve already moved on to someone who’s younger.

And has a better body.

(No dents.)

Yes, after nearly 100 months of marriage and 137,762 miles of carriage, on Tuesday I traded in my reliable Hyundai Elantra and drove off in a brand-new 2010 Mazda 3. So far, things are going great. But the new girl still has a lot to learn about living with me in Chicago.

I mean, it’s been four whole days and she hasn’t even gotten a parking ticket yet.

She’ll learn.

Heaven knows, I have.

Of all the cities I’ve visited in this sprawling country of ours, I’d have to say that Chicago is one of – if not the most – pedestrian-friendly. I think many others would likely agree.

With public transportation, cabs and a good pair of shoes, you can pretty easily live in most of the city’s neighborhoods without owning a car. Plenty of people do.

I, however, am not one of them. I never have been, nor do I want to be. I like owning a car in Chicago, even with the (many) costs and (occasional) hassles involved.

Among my reasons are that having a vehicle gives me the freedom to easily escape the city whenever I please, makes grocery shopping a simple task rather than a daunting ordeal, and allows me to help out-of-town friends headed to Cubs games in my part-time role as a Wrigleyville Parking Guru.

It’s a title that’s earned via baptism by fire.

Meaning, you really get burned.

For instance, four summers ago, shortly after moving to Chicago, I learned a valuable – actually, let’s call it costly – lesson about neighborhood parking.

On one day each month, the city’s Streets & Sanitation Department sweeps one side of your street ($50 fine). And on the next day, they sweep the other side of the your street ($50 fine).

No, I was not fine.

And that was only the beginning of an education that’s seemingly cost me about as much as an associate’s degree.

Maybe a bachelor’s.

Because, since 2005, I’ve handled more tickets that the guys working the turnstiles at Wrigley Field. And just when I think I’ve figured out every way that I could possibly incur a parking violation, the city seems to conjure up a brand new one.

For Mayor Richard Daley & Co., issuing parking tickets is literally like printing money. There’s a reason, after all, why fines are paid to the Department of Revenue.

As a result, police are often quick to ticket even the slightest infraction. And, from parking with my bumper creeping into a crosswalk to parking 14 feet from a fire hydrant (rather than 15) to being fined for something called a “disabled curb cut,” I’ve been slighted.

Enough to get some of my tickets dismissed.

However, while owning a car in the city can at times dull the savings account, it does keep the mind sharp. Or, at least, active.

For example, every morning almost without fail the first thought that pops into my head when I walk out of my apartment building is, “Where the heck did I park?”

Who needs coffee to wake up when you have that?

As for my car, I do find it. Usually.

Although one day a few years ago, my car wasn’t where I swore it should have been. It didn’t seem to be in the general vicinity, either, so I became convinced that it must have been towed.

I went home, looked online and found a listing on a city Web site for the same model as my car that had been impounded in one of the city’s lots just the day before.

I dialed a number and told the woman who answered that I thought the city might have my car, providing her with the impound number I’d found online.

“That car was involved in a drug bust on the South Side!” she replied

Um, definitely, not mine.

I hung up and returned to the streets.

My car was parked two blocks further down the street than where I thought.

Thankfully, I haven’t “lost” my car since then. And it’s actually been months since I received a parking ticket.

Just last week, however, I opened my mailbox to find an envelope from the Department of Revenue inside. It was a ticket and photos of my car taken by one of the city’s controversial new red-light cameras.

Like I said, my new car has a lot to learn about living in Chicago.

And, apparently, so do I.

Sigh.