My first ever trip to the US and I was on my way to present a paper at a conference in Michigan: flight to Chicago, where I’d arranged airbnb accommodation for the night, then onward the next day by Greyhound bus to Kalamazoo.
My airbnb host, had given me directions on how to get in from the airport by subway. I didn’t give much thought to how I would get to his house from the subway station, assuming I would just be able to step into a taxi.
I got out of the train and found myself to be the only person on the platform. There was an eerieness about the empty station. I walked out onto the street, expecting to see a taxi rank, or at least frequent taxis passing by. Not a taxi in sight, no pedestrians either, only private vehicles racing past as if the hounds of hell were on their heels.
I went back into the station where one solitary figure was manning the ticket counter, chewing gum and reading a comic strip.
‘Can you tell me where I can get a taxi, please?’
He looked at me is if I was asking a stupid question. ‘Ain’t no taxis here, ma’am. You call Uber.’
Well, I couldn’t call Uber because I didn’t have a functioning mobile. I’d planned to get a local sim card but hadn’t seen anywhere I could do this at the airport.
I asked him if he could tell me how to get to the address I was looking for. He had no idea.
I walked out into the street again. Still no people. No shops, no restaurants.
I’d looked up the address on an online map before I left home but hadn’t printed a copy of it as I’d been so sure that I wouldn’t need one. How wrong I was. I’d no idea even which direction to take.
Then, way off in the distance, I saw a gigantic M flashing yellow in the skyline – Macdonald’s. I headed off towards it. Surely I’d be able to pick up a taxi there.
The empty sidewalks exuded the same spooky atmosphere as the subway station. I felt as if I was walking through a ghost town, and the Macdonald’s sign didn’t seem to be getting any nearer.
I came to a couple of vagrants sitting on a bench, drinking. They greeted me merrily so I took it that they would be open to conversation.
‘Can you tell me where I can get a taxi, please?’
‘Ain’t no taxis here, ma’am. You ask the police.’ They pointed to a vehicle which I’d noticed prowling along as if driven by a kerb crawler.
I went over and flagged it down. A policeman rolled down the window and looked at me suspiciously.
‘What you doing hereabouts, ma’am?’
‘I’m looking for my airbnb accommodation.’
I told him the address. He gave his companion in the passenger seat a look which I couldn’t read but which seemed loaded with meaning, then jerked his head towards the back seat.
‘Get in. We’ll take you.’
Once I was in the vehicle both policeman lectured me sternly about the stupidity of walking alone, or walking at all, in that area after dark. I was puzzled.
‘But what’s wrong with the area? Those look like nice houses.
‘Nice houses, ma’am. But not nice people.’
It was, I discovered, a neighbourhood notorious for gang warfare and gun violence. As a little old lady walking alone with a suitcase on wheels, a laptop and a handbag full of dollars I would have been an easy target.
We arrived at my destination and I got out of the vehicle with the police still shouting warnings after me. I walked up the garden path and rang the doorbell. No-one came. There wasn’t a sound from inside. There were no lights on. Perhaps I’d made a mistake about the address. I was afraid to look back towards the street in case the police car was no longer there. I rang the bell again. Still no sign of life from inside.
So I had to look round. To my relief the police were still there. I went back and explained to them that although I had a mobile number for the host I couldn’t call him as my own phone didn’t work in the US. They took the number and called it. My host answered. It turned out that the door bell didn’t work and he lived down in the basement.
I went back up the garden path. The door opened and I went in, feeling now that I could be entering something resembling the scenario in Hitchcock’s Psycho.
I reassured myself with the thought that the Chicago police knew where I was.
My airbnb host, had given me directions on how to get in from the airport by subway. I didn’t give much thought to how I would get to his house from the subway station, assuming I would just be able to step into a taxi.
I got out of the train and found myself to be the only person on the platform. There was an eerieness about the empty station. I walked out onto the street, expecting to see a taxi rank, or at least frequent taxis passing by. Not a taxi in sight, no pedestrians either, only private vehicles racing past as if the hounds of hell were on their heels.
I went back into the station where one solitary figure was manning the ticket counter, chewing gum and reading a comic strip.
‘Can you tell me where I can get a taxi, please?’
He looked at me is if I was asking a stupid question. ‘Ain’t no taxis here, ma’am. You call Uber.’
Well, I couldn’t call Uber because I didn’t have a functioning mobile. I’d planned to get a local sim card but hadn’t seen anywhere I could do this at the airport.
I asked him if he could tell me how to get to the address I was looking for. He had no idea.
I walked out into the street again. Still no people. No shops, no restaurants.
I’d looked up the address on an online map before I left home but hadn’t printed a copy of it as I’d been so sure that I wouldn’t need one. How wrong I was. I’d no idea even which direction to take.
Then, way off in the distance, I saw a gigantic M flashing yellow in the skyline – Macdonald’s. I headed off towards it. Surely I’d be able to pick up a taxi there.
The empty sidewalks exuded the same spooky atmosphere as the subway station. I felt as if I was walking through a ghost town, and the Macdonald’s sign didn’t seem to be getting any nearer.
I came to a couple of vagrants sitting on a bench, drinking. They greeted me merrily so I took it that they would be open to conversation.
‘Can you tell me where I can get a taxi, please?’
‘Ain’t no taxis here, ma’am. You ask the police.’ They pointed to a vehicle which I’d noticed prowling along as if driven by a kerb crawler.
I went over and flagged it down. A policeman rolled down the window and looked at me suspiciously.
‘What you doing hereabouts, ma’am?’
‘I’m looking for my airbnb accommodation.’
I told him the address. He gave his companion in the passenger seat a look which I couldn’t read but which seemed loaded with meaning, then jerked his head towards the back seat.
‘Get in. We’ll take you.’
Once I was in the vehicle both policeman lectured me sternly about the stupidity of walking alone, or walking at all, in that area after dark. I was puzzled.
‘But what’s wrong with the area? Those look like nice houses.
‘Nice houses, ma’am. But not nice people.’
It was, I discovered, a neighbourhood notorious for gang warfare and gun violence. As a little old lady walking alone with a suitcase on wheels, a laptop and a handbag full of dollars I would have been an easy target.
We arrived at my destination and I got out of the vehicle with the police still shouting warnings after me. I walked up the garden path and rang the doorbell. No-one came. There wasn’t a sound from inside. There were no lights on. Perhaps I’d made a mistake about the address. I was afraid to look back towards the street in case the police car was no longer there. I rang the bell again. Still no sign of life from inside.
So I had to look round. To my relief the police were still there. I went back and explained to them that although I had a mobile number for the host I couldn’t call him as my own phone didn’t work in the US. They took the number and called it. My host answered. It turned out that the door bell didn’t work and he lived down in the basement.
I went back up the garden path. The door opened and I went in, feeling now that I could be entering something resembling the scenario in Hitchcock’s Psycho.
I reassured myself with the thought that the Chicago police knew where I was.
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