All of my preconceived notions about work trips and delusions of grandeur die like the cornfields of autumn on this dreary fall morning. The clouds are windswept against the horizon of the Midwestern sky. Lake Michigan is having her way with the weather and I wonder how people can live here for any extended amount of time. This area of the country has been a pillar in my life for as long as I can remember, but as I look at the heavens during these moments after dawn, I am unsure what to make of it. Usually when I am here, I am visiting family or drinking heavily, or both. But it is always temporary and fleeting and not for someone else’s bidding. What I see out my hotel window can be described only as a terrifying, gender-less figure, slumped over, tired from work. And maybe since all of my other trips to the center of the United States were for some sort of pleasure I remained blind to the posture of the atmosphere – I am not here on my own accord, but for the needs of another – my job brought me here like a grown-up – like a goddamn grown up, and I have never been so afraid.
My fear isn’t a rational one, and I know this. My fingers tremble at the thought of corporate life. A psychiatrist would probably say it is a manifestation of my anxiety over my 20’s coming to an end, and they are probably right. After all, staggering to the finish line of anything fun will tend rattle the soul. No one wants a good thing to end, but no one needs to hold on to shit forever either. My 30’s are upon me a like a front ripping off of Lake Michigan, as I hide in my in my one room shanty. Oh Shit! There goes the roof! The walls will whip off into the morning air soon enough.
I wonder out loud if the fear I feel stems from the idea that I could die one day staring at a spreadsheet instead of the asteroid flying towards earth. I will inadvertently forget to call my parents and friends and tell them I love them. I won’t enjoy a final glass of good scotch and a puff of Mary Jane. I may even forget to rub one out before the rebirth of our planet and the wiping clean of a slate long overdue for an overhaul. That could be it. Or maybe the tension comes from the possibility that I wasted a decade with frivolous drug use and unprotected sex. I have a distinct feeling it is the former, but one can never be too sure when he is under the gun of supply chain management, in Northeast Indiana, wondering why God did this to him.
After those deepening thoughts came to me this morning, we hit the road, but they didn’t go away. On the way to work we went to Cracker Barrel and drank too much coffee. They kept filling our cups and I believed in the caffeine and the stimulant built a roaring fire deep inside of me. The hum of a restaurant filled with the elderly is good for the spirit. Momma’s French toast drenched in maple syrup and savory sausage patties filled my stomach to the brim. I imagined growing old in a place like that – fattened, homely – showing pictures of grand babies and jabbering on about some politician and his dedication to my view of Americana. Is that what life boils down too? Spreadsheets, biscuits and gravy, cubicles and Gary, Indiana seemed like my only choices on how and where to live and die in My Modern America on that morning.
The reason we traveled to that village on the outskirts of Chicago was for a “crisis” or sorts. Things at the third party logistics warehouse went completely awry in recent weeks. They were and still are behind. During my time working at the DC I was surrounded by stressed out executives that struggled to give us answers. The company we hired to ship our goods fucked up and they sat with empty glares and frustrated wrinkles on their faces. We did little or nothing to change the functionality of the whole place while we were there. A workplace vacuum. Bad decisions were made by folks in the name of money and it may cost them a chunk of their wallet at great distress, but they will go on after the dust settles and the crimes will be forgotten.
During my weekend I only witnessed only a brief crippling of momentum in the business world. Those fellas who fucked up, will resell back into what business they lost, and the drum beat of the parade won’t miss a step at the end of the day. That’s the churning of capitalism. That’s the rhythm of the whole goddamn operation. And that’s what I see lurking behind these spreadsheets that reflect my life like a magic mirror.
Despite some prevalent negativity you might sense, the trip wasn’t in vain. My co-worker and I ate good Chicago style pizza after landing at the airport and we even grabbed some more before we went back home. We managed to get some delicious Italian beef sandwiches loaded with peppers and light gravy for lunch one day. Food soothes the soul during even the most mundane corporate panic attacks. Chicago knows how to eat! I will take that to my grave. Lou Malnati’s and Portillo’s have changed my life for the foreseeable future.
Even though we couldn’t right any wrongs while we were out there, at least I watched another part of the human experience unfold and I came out knowing what not to do and what I don’t want to be. My fear is still there, but is a little more rational now. I think that’s a clean and positive way to end this post. The airplane is pulling out of Midway International Airport for a 9pm flight back to Denver and I can’t wait to see this city at night.
We are cruising over the city now. I can no longer see the dull sky I thought about for two days, but I know it’s still there, all around us. All I can do now is sip in this gin and soda, ask for more limes from the stewardess and look out at the sprawl of Chicago below. The city spreads like peanut butter across the lake shore and shines like a million fireflies scotch taped to the earth – pale yellow lights are blinking, flaring out into the dark, fading, dying and then finally being consumed by the darkness of a horizon I cannot see and have yet to understand. It’s time to go home and re-evaluate. It’s time to get some sleep. It’s time to say, goodnight.