I don't mean to go off on a rant here, but ...
... those trolleys for alcoholics in my neighborhood have got to go.
Admittedly, that "ban them all" attitude may be a little harsh. I can see how they serve a purpose. If frat folk and the females who love them are going to be executing on a plan to get black-out drunk in a series of bar crawls, then I have to concede that a trolley for the partying does keep them off the road and protects them (and us) from an increase in drunk driving (although, unless you sleep on the trolley or it takes you to your domicile, I would think that there's still an inebriated trip home from wherever they unload the bodies at the end of the night.)
And I can see how I have to realize that if I choose to live in a touristy area near a major sports stadium that is full of young professionals who "let go on the weekend" in a neighborhood that is surrounded by alcohol destinations for one and all, then I have to be prepared for the occasional public urinating in the back alley, or frequent drunken ding dong ditching or party trolleys that make my life problematic.
[To be clear, lest someone point out that I should "remove the plank from mine own eye", I embrace my monthly binge drinking episode -- but I walk, which reduces my sloshed-sphere-of-influence to something much more manageable and personal in nature.]
My problem with this party-on-a-trolley concept really all boils down to an incident from Friday. In the middle of Wrigley rush hour, as I'm pulling out of the garage next to my barber, cutting across backed up traffic in both lanes to take advantage of the one kind driver who is letting me through ... I get distracted by the sounds of "go Amanda ... go Amanda ... go Amanda", and see a hoochie-mama dancing in the window of a nearby establishment.
Practically in slow motion, I realize that the man in the middle of the road (of course, not a crosswalk ... but literally the middle of the road), is not waving me on to take advantage of the break in traffic, but is instead doing his best to shepherd a line of straggling young'uns who are stumbling out of the bar to cross that same traffic to get back to their trolley. I take it all in in a matter of seconds, and I can see that this Amanda that was being exhorted was not the dancer, but was instead inside the trolley at one end of a beer funnel. And, as I go to hit on the gas to escape this scene, the two women from this group on their way to be the next to get beer-hosed come into direct view in front of my car.
To which I say -- can you help me spread the word? I want folks to know that if you are going to drunkenly play in traffic, and if you find yourself in the same path as an oncoming vehicle, can it just be common courtesy that you provide some audible signal of what might occur? Because these two girls chose to knock on the hood of my car without saying a word -- and approximating the sound of getting hit by my vehicle doesn't really provide me with the kind of notice I'm seeking to move my foot from the accelerator to the decelerator.
And finally, the fuel to this fire? The time of day of this incident was 5:30 pm. Sure, it's 5:00 somewhere (and, quite literally, it was in this scenario just thirty minutes prior) and happy hour is for happy times -- but it is my expectation that rush hour is not the time of day when I need to be extra guarded about my exposure to those who have drunk away any personal responsibility for their own health and well-being!
[P.S. No Trixies (or Chads) were actually harmed in this incident. And if you aren't familiar with this distinctly Chicago stereotype of clueless affluent youth and you're old enough to recall the preppy backlash a few decades ago, you can safely draw parallels to Muffy (and Biff).]
THE DEVIL IN DISGUISE AS A GOOD TIME:
http://www.coachusa.com/chicagotrolley/rent-a-trolley/pub-crawls.asp
IT's OUT CITY, IT's OUR SLANG:
http://gatorgirlinthecity.blogspot.com/2006/07/trixie-and-chad.html
PREPPY SHALL LIVE FOREVER:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/04/books/04preppy.html
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