I recently finished booking my trip to Chicago for next month.  I’m going (again) for Pitchfork Music Fest. Really though what I’m doing is a complete re-do of last year. Call it a “closing of the loop” if you will. These are necessary metaphysical procedures in life to make corrections.

Last year I booked my 1st trip for Pitchfork Music Fest.  I had been to Chicago for Lollapalooza a few years prior, and was told that Pitchfork was the younger, more demure, quiet little sister of Lolla.  My friend was going but we were staying at different Airbnb’s and flying in at different times.  I booked a late afternoon flight from Austin, putting me into Chicago’s Midway airport at dusk.  My Airbnb was in a place called the Ukranian Village. It’s a village of old buildings, some hip spots but mostly rustic.  It was only about a mile or so to Union Park where Pitchfork was.  I figured one of the days I could walk to the fest (spoiler alert:  I did just that, on Day 2 of the fest.  Also, I spent Day 2 night in my Airbnb’s claw foot bathtub, sobbing tears of pain while I popped the blisters on my feet bigger than marbles.  My host gave me her entire box of band aids which I used to cover my feet.  Also, the fest had been evacuated due to a freak thunderstorm and the grounds of the park had flooded, leaving Lake Michigan’s industrial strength mud caked on my feet and toes, with a weird tan afterglow that no matter how hard I scrubbed to get it off it still lasted long after I left town, though my feet were as smooth as a baby’s bottom.  This was a really sexy sight.  But I digress…) Let’s dial back to Texas:

Since my flight was so late in the day leaving Austin to Chicago I thought it would be neat to take the Airport Flier bus from my house to Austin’s ABIA airport. I had just recently ditched my purse for a very cute Betsey Johnson fold over snap wristlet (for the dudes reading: a wristlet is a tiny purse with a strap you carry on your wrist).  Please note the words FOLD OVER SNAP.  (My mom was with me when I bought the wristlet back in Dallas a month prior. Her words at the time, prophetic, “I don’t know if this design is going to be good at keeping your cards and ID safe.  It looks pretty easy for them to fall out”).  My wristlet held $400 in cash that I pulled to use all weekend, as I was heading to the savannahs of Africa where there were no banks or ATMs.    Just kidding, I was going to Chicago, one of the largest cities in the US with a huge financial district. To be honest, I’m not sure why I pulled so much cash.  But I did. I was in a hurry to get to the bus stop, and I was trying to shed some extra pounds, so on my way out my front door through my gated community I pumped my arms back and forth vigorously, like how only a champion Mall Walker could do. I was pumped for the trip.  I caught my buses on time and zipped right into baggage claim at the airport.  I folded open my wristlet to show ID at the counter and froze in my tracks: my ID wasn’t in the clear plastic holder of the wristlet. Gasp! I looked everywhere but it was gone.

My immediate concern was getting through TSA on to my flight to Chicago.  I had my wristlet, credit cards, library card, AND cash but zero ID.  Luckily TSA let me through by verifying my name on my ticket to the name on my bank card.  Even though there was no photo.  I was shocked, but grateful they let me fly.  I was on my way to Chicago! 

When I landed the travel app I was using had me take an L (subway)type train out of Midway Airport to a main hub bus stop where I would take a bus to my Airbnb in the Ukranian Village.  My flight was delayed into Midway, and by the time I landed, got my bag and navigated the subway it was pitch black and raining.  I was confused on which city bus to take at the bus stop hub, and boarded what I thought was the correct one.  I got funny looks when I got on the bus, but I figured it was because I was the only white person and I was carrying a giant back pack and leopard print suitcase.  As the bus kept stopping and more and more people got on I realized I was going the wrong direction.  I was heading further and further South into the South Side of Chicago.  I got off at the next stop I could.

The streets of this stop were wet from the rain, and it was still drizzling and of course, pitch black.   There was no one around. It was late. I was by myself.  Off in the distance I saw the neon glowing sign of a Polish hot dog place.  I was starving! I walked up to it, hoping to get out of the rain. Unfortunately the door was locked tight, with like 50 padlocks. In fact, the entire place was covered in heavy steel burglar bars.  But they were open! The slot where you would slide your money was a tiny hole, like what you would find in the best casinos in Vegas.  “One hot dog and a drink please!” I shouted through the bullet proof glass.  “And?” the counter guy shouted back, looking to my left and my right for my companion and his/her order.  “Just one, just me!” I say gleefully, standing in the rain with my leopard print suitcase and Betsey Johnson wristlet, looking like the clueless village idiot.  They looked dumbfounded.  I pulled open my wristlet, pulled the 1st twenty dollar bill of my $400 cash stash, and paid for my dinner.  They gave me my food in a brown paper bag. I dashed to the nearest bus stop, heading North.

This would be the last time I would see my wristlet.

———

I definitely had it in my possession when I got ON the bus, maybe.  I used it to pay for my bus fare, so I had to have it, I think. Unless I had the bus fare ticket in my backpack and not my wristlet.  I’m not sure.  All I know is that I got on the bus trying to balance my hot dog bag, drink, backpack and suitcase. I juggled all this stuff up my 6 floor (!) walk up Airbnb apartment, and it actually wasn’t until the next morning that I realized my wristlet was missing when I was sorting my backpack and suitcase.

So now I was on Day 1 of my Chicago trip, and not only had I initially lost my ID but now my entire wallet.  With $400ish in cash. AND (brace yourself) a $50 Whole Food gift card my friend had given me.  I’m still bitter over this gift card loss.  There’s a rule in Taoism: when you lose something you have to 1st agree to lose it.  I struggled to accept this fact all weekend. First and foremost: I had come to Chicago to drink their delicious craft beer! And Pitchfork fest was releasing a special addition, Chance the Rapper beer in conjunction with Goose Island Brewing. Nevermind how I was going to get through security back to Texas I had 3 days of Chicago in front of me with no money and no ID.

1st stop: Bank Of America.  I walk in to see if I can get cash with no form of ID or anything. I explained my predicament.  Initially, the banker refused.  Then, he said he would give me $50.  To last all 3 days. I begged. I explained I had to eat. I said, ask me anything about my account. They said, you have a mortgage with us, what’s the balance on your mortgage? Being that I auto paid my mortgage payment each month I had no idea. Some phone calls were made. The banker hemmed and hawed.  We started shooting the breeze. Luckily I have the same taste as guys so we talked sports, rock bands and comic books.  In the end he gave me $200. Just in case I was lying. He didn’t want the bank’s liability to be too high (side note: my sweet friend graciously picked up a few meals during the trip which I paid her back for when we got home.  This helped me to use less of the cash they were willing to give me). Cash in hand I grabbed food and left for Pitchfork.

Right as I was arriving to Pitchfork I got a text from my friend Baines.  He and his girlfriend live in my gated community and he said someone had posted on our community’s Facebook group that my ID was found on the sidewalk.  Can you believe it! My wristlet was gone but my ID was safe in Texas. I asked Baines to text me a photo of my ID.  When I got to Pitchfork I went up to the tent where you show ID to get the wristband (21+) to drink. I told the kid handing out wristbands that we use virtual ID’s in Texas nowadays.   I showed him the photo of my ID that Baines had texted me. He looked unsure. He turned to his supervisor. I looked cool as a cucumber.  The supervisor shrugged, the kid gave me my wristband.  I got to try Chance the Rapper’s beer.  This worked all 3 days of the fest.  But not in Chicago’s bars. They were too smart. Luckily I only got carded twice. 

My final hurdle was clearing TSA going home to Texas.  I told them my story. They said they couldn’t accept a virtual ID. They asked, over and over, did I not have ANYTHING with my name on it.  I had my backpack filled with my magazines. I subscribe to 15 different mags. I pulled out my New Yorker, Rolling Stone, Harper’s, Economist. The TSA guy made some phone calls. This wasn’t good enough. Did I not have any  prescription drugs? Everyone takes prescriptions for something. This would work. I explained to him no, I don’t take pharmas at all. We were at a standstill. He sighed, pulled out a clipboard and made me fill out personal info.  Then he got on the phone with a mysterious figure and started asking all kinds of personal info to me relayed by this mysterious person.  Questions that weren’t on the form I filled out. Info about my family, and other things.  After spending 10 mins answering all this stuff they let me board, and I flew home to Texas. 

When I got home I realized my backpack still had a large bottle of water from Pitchfork fest tucked into one of its pockets.  It had been overlooked by TSA.