I hope you stayed in the cab and went home that night.
Here's my story:
There is an epidemic going on in Chicago and I'm not talking about Swine Flu or Twilight Fever. It's called--well, I call it-- Ho-ery of the Fourth Kind. Specifically of the Ginger variety. Taken from the scale "scientists" use to classify Alien Abductions, the "Fourth Kind" dictates that the offender has makes physical contact with you and in the general sense of the term, abducts you.
|The much-missed Lakeshore Theater.|
The Ho-ery I speak of seems to happen mostly on Broadway ave., near Belmont (previous home to the infamous Lakeshore Theatre, now Laugh Factory). Hos of all ages, shapes and sizes have been clawing their way out of the gutters and infecting the general population. It's usually just groups of drunken girls singing, throwing empty water bottles and running up and down the sidewalks. Sometimes they are crying--barefoot and intoxicated-- about a current/ex-boyfriend who mistreats them.
Sometimes they just want tacos.
But, there's always the exception. Here is a recap of a recent outbreak:
Mid-twenties heterosexual couple leaves Laugh Factory, crosses Broadway ave. heading South to check out a condo posting they saw earlier in the day. Couple (Ok it's Capricorn and I) makes it safely across the street, reads the condo posting taped to window front of local Thai restaurant. Couple is joined only by two men smoking cigarettes twenty feet away, softly talking about meteors. (the real topic of conversation, people watching and eavesdropping can be fun).
|When I try to picture her this is all that comes to mind.|
In bursts small, hot mess of a Ginger Kid girl (GK), possibly early twenties. GK bumps into couple, slurs an apology, stumbles the twenty feet to meteor-loving men, knocks into both of them, drops her wallet, bends over to pick it up, and falls on the pavement. This is where things go a little sideways...
Upon watching Ginger Kid lay on the pavement for a full minute, the four unlikely comrades realize the GK is alone, at nearly 2am, drugged or drunk out of her mind. First meteor lover picks girl up, standing her on her feet. Girl stands, wobbles back and forth, does a rather odd slow-motion version of the Safety Dance, and falls back on the pavement. Hmm... what to do with a GK in need?
Capricorn picks Ginger Kid up, sits her on the awaiting sidewalk bench, and asks the girl what her name is.
(Author's note: Capricorn would later admit he was scared to pick girl up as she may have summoned super-ginger strength and clawed his eyes out.)
GK does not answer. GK cannot answer, but oddly points at First meteor lover. GK widely opens her month, narrows her glazed-over eyes, but is unable to speak coherently. Courtney Love at an open bar.
At this point, we were concerned.
It is at this time I noticed that Ginger Kid's shirt is raised and shows a squared-shaped white bandage below her navel that disappears into the GKs jeans.
I make this deduction: Ginger Kid has either had a recent C-Section, belly-button piercing gone horribly wrong, or tattoo that was badly dressed. None of the options look good, and all of the options would require GK to be sober before and after. Hepatitis may now be an issue.
Ginger Kid refuses hospital, wants to go home. GK expresses a deep desire NOT to go to the hospital by pursing her lips and widely waving her index fingers side to side. Motor skills may be returning, but the speech still needs work.
After much confusion, a contemplation to call the cops or an ambulance and fruitless attempts get the Ginger Kid to formulate full sentences, I looked through GK's wallet and finds her address
(Author's note: it is at this time I noticed a WAD of cash but does NOT steal any.)
Cab is called-- First meteor lover carries Ginger Kid to cab, Second meteor lover pays cab driver extra $10 to get her home safely, Capricorn gives cab driver the address on GK's license where to drop her off. Ginger kid is now the cab driver's responsibility, as she tried to run when group suggested they call her an ambulance. We wave goodbye.
(Author's Note: we asked her profusely if this is where she lived. She nodded "yes" over and over again.)
We bid goodnight, meteor lovers walk southbound on Broadway, couple walks back to the condo listing to write down the phone number.
|Not Cash Cab... how awesome would that have been?|
THREE MINUTES LATER: Cab re-arrives. Ginger Kid opens door while cab is still moving, tucks and rolls. Think Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible.
Ginger Kid stands in the street, gets back into cab through the door she widely swung open, and screams out the window, this time coherently, "Thanks, bitches! Let's ride." The cab drives away.
At this point, we were confused. She can talk?
(Author's Note: Although odd, hearing her speak coherently made me feel a lot better. I had reservations about sending her home in a cab and secretly wanted to call an ambulance and sneak attack her feisty ass.)
Ho-ery of the Fourth fucking Kind. Abducting normal people's evenings leaving them with an incredibly awkward story to tell that they will never fully understand or know the ending. We spent about an hour with this woman and we never get an answer to any of our questions.
Who was this Ginger Kid and what mischief did she get into the night? Why did she choose those four people whom would attempt to get her home safely? How did she get that wad of cash? What was under that bandage?
Kind of like a dream or an alien abduction: no end and no beginning. Madonna, you are so right. I get it now.
I will probably always think about you, Ginger Kid. I hope you got home safely. And I swear I did not take a dollar. Meteor lovers paid for your cab ride home that night.
Hug a Ginger,
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