After risking my life for our post: Wrigley Loses Her Roof I came home to find Grandpa, Great-Uncle Harold and their old pal Johnny drinking and listening to WGN. A guy had called in to report that his car was stuck. Like many in Chicago, his commute home had turned into a nightmare due to blizzard conditions on Lake Shore Drive. It was just him and a fellow dude, who had hitched a ride after work; stranded. They had left work together 6 hours ago. Visibility was zero. Snow drifts were building. And there was no help in sight.
The thought of spending an entire night trapped in your car with a random co-worker had my Grandpa, Uncle Harold and me all basically saying the same thing: That poor son of a gun !
Johnny's reaction: How long do ya figure until those two start going down on each other?
From that priceless moment; he went on:
You gotta think, after that many hours - just sitting there - that they probably ran out of things to talk about. And whether it was the need to stay warm or due to their close proximity to one another or just because of the craziness of the situation, I'm sure it had to enter one of their minds:
Is he thinking what I'm thinking?
Could this really happen?
Should I show it to him...
I could always play it off like I'm nervous and slightly claustrophobic.
Geez, if I did show it to him - I wonder if he'd be interested in a J, and if so... what kind of J? Obviously a B would be better than an H, but I'd take an H. Or perhaps he would be into an F, never had an F. Maybe I'd like an F...
And this is how I spent my evening during The Great Chicago Blizzard of 2011.
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