My kind of town....usually

The Windy City. The Chairman sang it correctly... my kind of town. Chicago is unquestionably one of the best cities in the entire world. But today, Chicago’s very own O’Hare airport is moving in incredibly slow motion.

I’m not talking about Baywatch slow motion, either... For the record, I’m a really big fan of that. Run Pamela! ...save this drowning 32-year old with your buoyancy. I saw her with Tommy Lee trying to give him mouth-to-...wait a minute...old news and inappropriate. What a stellar performance, though.

Clean airport floors are about as unrealistic as a Republican social worker, but the staff at O’Hare gets an A+ for effort. Armed with a scraper at the end of a long pole (no Tommy Lee reference intended), this guy is walking along pushing the scraper down the floor....scraping the entire path whether it needs it or not. For those who can fit down the 3-inch path, I’m certain the clean floor is nice. But for those larger than a Smurf, the sound rivals the annoying pitch of fingernails on a chalkboard. I’m tempted to shove the scraper straight up his ass if he passes again.

I am a self-proclaimed expert in airport delays. And since there is no organization to disprove that, I’m sure you’ll find what I’m about to say as insightful as it is true. When traveling, comfort is a must. That’s why I stopped at the oasis to change from dress pants into cargo shorts. Yes, I was mildly concerned about the rest stop public bathroom frequenter....but I made out ok. Not like that. We all miss you, George. Again...not like that.

Travelers are taking comfort to an entirely new level today. Shorts, black socks and sandals, ...while comfortable to him, he doesn’t realize that it frightens me. He certainly carries himself like he is straight out of the pages of GQ, though. So what’s more important ...fashion or attitude? Can a complete disregard for anything even slightly fashionable be offset by attitude? Not when I’m judging you without your knowledge...that’s for sure.

Hairy butt cracks. There’s a familiar sight in the airport. If my ass crack stuck out that much, I’d at least try to clean it up a bit. I might even try to make it functional. Excuse me, sir, do you have a _________________? Fill in the blank...pencil, piece of gum, boarding pass, mint, light. Why yes I do.

Is your posture really that good or are you just trying to stick your boobs out? Either way, good for you...and me.

Tattoos are permanent, so use caution. Big Nick and Doug have done a great job with theirs, but Captain Ape across from me really doesn’t seem to give much thought to what he’s putting on his body before permanently inking himself. A wife beater wit a bearskin rug quantity of fur coming out of the top is only interrupted by one half of his huge spider tattoo peaking out of the mess.

The vinyl covered chairs here at gate B8 are so hot that they make the surface of the sun seem like an Antarctic holiday. That...plus the approaching floor scraper is forcing me to end it here. “Today on NBC news at 5...an O’Hare worker is in good condition after having a scraper shoved up his butt.”