“Hello?” I timidly said into my cell phone. Although I was hopeful that Jack would be on the other end of the line, I was also afraid to speak with him. What can you possibly say to someone who has told you that they’re no longer in love with you? Unfortunately, or luckily, I wouldn’t find out just yet.
You see, I have the unfortunate luck of having a telephone number that is extremely similar to that of a certain Rush Street restaurant. I’ve been politely redirecting callers to the correct number for nearly seven years. When this evening’s caller asked if I had a four top available for 9:30, I aloofly told her that we were closed for renovations. I was not in the mood helpful or polite.
Cell phone in hand, I took the elevator down to street level. After nodding to the night doorman (he’s not nearly as nice as Simms), I began trudging along Illinois Street toward Walgreens and the glorious bottle of Xanax waiting for me. As I crossed Lake Shore Drive, a family of slatternly dressed tourists approached in route to Navy Pier, no doubt. The mother smiled at me as they passed. I nodded, taking her in. For a brief moment I realized my life isn’t so bad. I, like the mother, could be walking around the Near North Side with a bad perm. I had a similar experience the first time I met Jack’s family. I distinctly remember feeling as though I’d stepped into a lost episode of Roseanne.
Roseanne Season 1 - 9
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