Chicago: Weather

We coined a term on the first day of our trip: Stumidity. When it’s so humid you get stupid.

It was humid in Springfield, so humid that it overloaded the water cycle and set off a tornado the next day in Chicago. I’m not exaggerating.

And, just so you know, the tornado warning sirens are IN Chicago the city proper, not off in some field so they only deafen the field mice. Even though there was a tornado warning, we had to get to Second City, so we grabbed the umbrella and rain jackets and set out anyway. The sirens blared until we’d walked four blocks, then mercifully faded out.

After a moment of (relative) silence, Gary fearfully said, “Ellen! I can hear the tornado! It DOES sound like a train!” Turned out he was just standing under the EL.

We took the EL and walked four blocks in the rain to 616 N. Wells, and by then we were pretty damp, even with the rain gear. I can tell you, 616 N. Wells is not a comedy club. I fished the tickets out of my purse. 1616 North Wells. Not 616. Well, it’s just ten blocks, and we can’t get any wetter, right?

Why yes, we did get wetter. I was so wet that when we got there I thought they might not be able to scan the sopping wet ticket because the inside of my zipped-up purse had filled with water. I explained why we were so wet to the ticket lady, and she said, “We’ll give you good seats then.” We ended up in the seats on the aisle in the first row. There are no better seats. Our seats were better than the couple married 15 years and THAT WOMAN only had ONE ARM.

The troupe was excellent, especially when acting out the tale of how the one-armed woman met her husband. (They omitted the one-arm detail, which we heard later was a key part of the story.)

(Not my photo. I think the guy on the left is destined for stardom.)

Gary was integrated into the performance three times: once because his glasses worked into the act, once as a general “THIS guy, am I right,” and once because he’d turned his phone back on during the intermission and it sounded a loud weather alert during the performance. If I remember they broke into general panic and shouted, “Are we going to die? NOW?”

Though the rain stopped, we took a taxi back to the hotel after. You’d think I’d be unscathed from having walked ten blocks in the torrential rain, especially since Gary was a trouper about it, but no. I was wearing a new pair of jeans, three sizes smaller than I’ve worn for years, so small I didn’t dare wash them before the trip. I peeled them off to reveal a totally blue butt and thighs. Smurf butt. Avatar thighs. Took three days to wash away.