I have waited long enough. And I think it is time to tell my story.
I'm a white male. Less than 30 years in age (that could change, though. At some point I may reach that pinnacle, and I may even exceed it... I don't know... fingers crossed). I grew up in Indianapolis and have lived in the surrounding areas of Indianapolis as well, the suburbs (or as signs on the Dan Ryan/Kennedy would indicate: "the Suburbs"). Some people may refer to me as a "hay shaker". Indeed, my family's business was based on shaking hay from sunrise to sunset, Daylight Saving Time be d-----------. Hay shaking (somehow???) made my family money in Indiana.
I moved to Chicago under the pretense that I would have essentially the same job as I did in hay shaking Indiana, but I would receive 50% more in monetary hourly compensation for such a move. Chicago was (and is) a huge step up in what I can do with my career. I took the job. Chicago is my favorite city, at least from places I have visited, and I have always wanted to live here since my first visit.
But this aggression, man. This aggression cannot stand. I have to keep it real.
My significant other and I traversed up to the "Windy City" to check out places to live. Driving on 80/94 we were directed onto a separate (but equally equal) express lanes that serviced "Transplants" to the city of Chicago. No toll was paid, but I was forced to stick my arm out of my window for the "Transplant Attendant" to see if I should even be in that lane. Apparently I passed. I passed Chicago's first test! Yeah! I was on my way to becoming a Chicagoan... or so I thought.
We were directed onto the Gold Coast/Lincoln Park/Lake View lanes (separate, but equal, of course) of the Dan Ryan and told, no matter what, "DO NOT GET OUT OF THIS LANE! YOU WILL REGRET IT AT THE LEAST, DIE AT THE MOST, IF YOU GET OUT OF THIS LANE!". I obliged. That person had a badge, and I respect authority (at least fear it)... especially badges.
The lane we were in directed us to an underground ramp that opened up like the old Batman cave did in the TV series. It looked like a dead end into the Congress Parkway construction, but my skin began to tingle as I covered my face with my arms (after I dropped my phone from texting lololololololololol) and the barriers opened up and my car was guided upon a set track that took me straight to the Thompson Center. And yes, the Thompson Center basement looks exactly like the Bat Cave except there are velour portraits of Jesse White adorning the walls in various "provocative" positions. I may be mistaken, but I think there was that picture above Scatman Crothers' bed in "The Shining" somewhere. After we parked (valet of course) we were escorted up to the "Peon level", aka Everybody Else Level.
We were pushed along through the "white people" line and directed to funnel into the "hay shakers" line. I had some hay with me to demonstrate my hay shaking abilities, but no one working the lines seemed to care. They just told me, "Whitey, F--------- move". My head nodded in agreement. I couldn't smile, or else that would give away my jack-o-lantern teeth, which I am not proud of. Corn on the cob is hard on the gums, you know?
After 2 hours of standing in line, we were finally paired up with our residential administrator (the person who tells you where to live in Chicago). We were glad to finally get somewhere and talk to someone who could answer our questions. This person did not want to answer our questions. All they wanted was for the Chicago Segregation Machine (it is trademarked, by the way, I just don't know how to type it) to process us into our perspective neighborhoods.
This shocked me. I lived in a "hillbilly", "redneck", "backwards", "hay shaking" state known as Indiana, and I never had to go through so much bureaucracy to move into a place in Indy, or it's suburbs for that matter. It was pretty straightforward. That is; Pay the amount due at signing, pay the rent, and you're good. But Chicago was different.
"Where are you from?!?", the administrator barked.
"Uhh... India..."
"INDIA?!?!?!? WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THIS LINE WASTING MY TIME?!?!?!"
"I'm sorry, I couldn't talk fast enough..."
"Well speak Forrest Gump... SPEAK!"
"Indiana, Indianapolis, Indiana... please don't use your stun gun on me." I peed a little.
"Indiana, huh? I guess you do look pretty white. Do you have proof?"
"Here's my driver's license from the Hooiser State..."
"WHAT THE F------ IS A HOOSIER?!?!?! IS THAT TALIBAN OR SOME S-------?!?!"
"No! that's what they call hay shakers in those parts, I swear..."
The stink eye given to me made my mouth close. I didn't feel like getting 50,000 volts... I only wanted 1,000 square feet.
After 5 minutes of reviewing my ID, I was told to get in line for the next counter. I was given a Dum-Dum sucker. Apparently all they had were the pineapple flavor. I hate pineapple. I tried to express my displeasure with the confectionary given to me, but the person behind the counter pulled a gun... so I moved into the next line.
45 minutes later I was finally paired up with my "Residency Placer". The Residency Placer (capitalized by law, anything else is punishable by law) took a look at my credentials, forms, ID's, and the like. I was forced to take off my pants and hold my head and neck out as straight as possible, while the Residency Placer ran his/her (sorry, couldn't tell the gender) hands all along my body while paying special attention to my teeth/gums and my anus. A Golden Retriever made it through quicker than I did. Maybe it was because my hair is brown?
I somehow passed. I was on my way to being a Chicago resident! Yeah!
I was set down with a residency agent. I was given the once over. My files and papers were looked at. The agent left their desk for a few minutes to, "look things over". I didn't know what that meant, and I still don't. But the agent came back with a smile on his (her?) face, and our conversation ensued.
"WHY THE F-------- ARE YOU HERE?!?!?"
"I... uhh... They told me to get in this line... Do I need a lawyer?"
"Oh, SO YOU'RE ONE OF THOSE MOTHER F---------, HUH?!?!"
"I Love my mother, but not in that way, so I don't..."
"YOU'RE CUTE NOW, HUH?"
"I've been told I'm alright looking, but by no means "cute", so I don..."
"ANSWER THE QUESTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"No. I'm not one of those mother f-------, sir... uh.... ma'am... I meant 'cog in the bureaucratic machine.'"
"Do you speak English?"
"Like the Queen's English?"
"ENGLISH MOTHER F-----------... DO YOU SPEAK IT?!?!?!"
I shook my head furiously in an agreeing fashion. I was beginning to think my hay shaking accent was going to sink any chance I had at living in Chicago. Then the questions pressed on.
"Alright. Where are you from?"
"Indiana."
"More specifically?"
"Indianapolis."
"No, you know what I mean."
"No, I don't... I'm sorry."
"Where did you come from originally?"
"I... uhh... I think Indianapolis and Indiana are real places, but I could be mistake..."
"YOU DON'T LOOK LIKE NO APACHE, IROQUOIS, OR NAVAJO, SO WHERE ARE YOU FROM ORIGINALLY?!?!?!?"
"I'm mostly Hungarian... so Hungary, I guess."
"You look fat as S------ to me, how can you be so hungry?"
"I had a couple Pop Tarts before I got on the road and we stopped at the SkyWay McDon..."
I was slapped across the face. Then crying uncontrollably I started blabbering.
"Hungary is a country in Europe! It's a country in Europe! In Europe!"
"Is that on a map?!?!"
"I think so, yes!"
The agent checked an atlas. Indeed I wasn't high on model airplane glue, I had come down.
"Alright, so being hungry is white, huh?"
"I guess a vast majority of Hungarians are 'white', so I guess I am as well."
"There hungry people in Kenya. Somalians are hungry. You're a fat white dude. You aren't hungry."
"Whatever. I just want a place to live so I can work here."
"Uh-huh. You sure you aren't Polish? We got a place for your kind."
"Nope, mostly Hungarian. But I've never been there, nor speak the language, nor know anything about it besides the dude who ruled over the country next to Hungary was killed and that started the first world war."
"Are you getting smart with me?"
"I just went to hay shaking school in Indiana... I don't know how smart I can be..."
"Uh-huh..."
After furiously pecking at the keyboard for a few minutes the agent finally told me my housing designation.
"Lake View."
"Lake View?"
"Lake View."
"Is that by Lake Michigan?"
"Are you dumb? Or just stupid?"
"Is that an unreasonable question?"
"Lakeview isn't by the lake. It's by Lincoln Park and Belmont Harbor."
"So does any place in Lake View have views of the lake?"
"Do you know what the back of my hand tastes like?"
"Yes, you've already slapped me!"
"Do you want seconds?"
"No."
After a few more pecks on the keyboard I was told why I was being set up in Lake View.
"Lake View is where the white people live. And if you aren't lying to me, and you really are white, then Lake View is where you will live."
"But..."
It raised it's hand to me... but I continued.
"I don't HAVE TO live in an all white neighborhood."
"How much do you make a month?"
"I take in about $1,000 a month."
"Okay, the city will subsidize any cost over $1,000 a month for your rent and cover any additional costs you have at the various bars in Wrigleyville. Utilities will also be included"
"Well... ummm... okay?"
"The city, by law will not allow white and black people to mingle. It is the most segregated city in America for a reason. And that reason is that the city forces people to live in certain areas. If you made more than $3,000 a month, then we could subsidize you in River North, the Gold Coast, or even the Loop. Until then, you will have to settle for the white slum of Lake View."
I was thoroughly confused, because I thought this was America, but I decided to press my luck and continue my questioning.
"Why would I want to live in Lake View?"
"Duh. You're white. You're in you mid 20's. You graduated from a Big 10 school. You..."
"No, I didn't go to a Big 10 school! I went to a MAC school!"
"WHAT?!?!"
"I went to a MAC school!"
"Oh, hell no. You just f------- up my paper work."
"I'm... I'm... sorry?"
"You should be!"
By then I was sweating profusely and I had not only peed myself a second time, but I also fertilized my pantaloons. After the cursing subsided, I was given a new living assignment.
"Albany Park."
"Like on a bench?"
"No, that's the name of a neighborhood... and a park that is inside that neighborhood."
"So, I won't have to sleep on a park bench?"
"You eat paint chips as a kid?"
"Who told you?"
"You are dumb."
"So why Albany Park, and not Lake View?"
"You didn't go to a Big 10 school. That's strike #1. Strike #2 is that only white Big 10 graduates can live there. And strike #3 is that you seem like you don't want to move to Schaumburg in 5 years. Do you?"
I thought about it for a second, then I was slapped for day dreaming.
"No... no I don't... do you have some milk to place this tooth in? It seems to have fallen out when you slapped me again."
"Do I look like I could have udders to give you some milk?!?!?!"
"Well... it could be poss... ummm... no... No you don't."
"That's what I thought. And strike #4 is that you're hungry, and I've never heard of that 'country' before, and you could be making it up... but since I'm supposed to be on lunch break now, I'm just going to throw you in Albany Park... let them sort it out. I don't have time for this S-------".
And there it was. A smile crept across my face. I had done it. I had become a resident of Chicago. I jumped up to thank the agent for helping me advance my career by letting me live in this city and I received a response of, "My burrito isn't going to microwave itself. Now get out of here, you smell funny."
Silly ole hay shaking me. I thought that a person's income, personal drive, criminal background, ability to scrimp and save, and desire to live in a certain area determined where someone lived, or could live. But, boy, was I wrong! All that matters is your skin color and ethnicity... the government takes care of the rest!
Please register to participate in our discussions with 2 million other members - it's free and quick! Some forums can only be seen by registered members. After you create your account, you'll be able to customize options and access all our 15,000 new posts/day with fewer ads.
Weird. Funny, but mostly very weird...
??
