It may surprise you to find out it is still possible to get lost in a major city in the United States in 2023.

It’s possible for me, anyway.

I traveled to my friend’s bachelor party in Chicago at the end of March.

Before you conjure up images of a stereotypical bachelor party that lead to us all saying, “What happens in Chicago, stays in Chicago,” this was a relatively relaxed weekend for men in their mid-to-late thirties. 

Mid-to-late thirties is not how I think of myself. Mentally, I am twenty years old. This means when I am presented with a weekend away from my family, I don’t necessarily behave like a thirty-eight-year-old father of two should behave.

I refuse to say things like, “I can’t drink like I used to and function the next day,” or, “I can’t sleep on a couch. Otherwise, my week will be ruined.”

You know, things old people say.

For better or worse, I drink like I’m twenty and will sleep wherever is convenient. Let’s call it “mind over maturity.”

On top of this mindset, my excitement is maxed out when I can socialize with adults. Also, my tolerance for alcohol has seen a significant decrease over the past couple of years.

All of this, put together, occasionally leads to less than sound-decision-making. It also leads to me repeating the same stories multiple times a night, as my brother, sister, and wife discovered in mid-April when my sister visited. I re-told this same tale many times in the same evening.

Our day started around 11:30 AM at Butch McGuires. Chicago dog and cocktails. We all commented to each other around the table about the importance of keeping food in your stomach to drink all day and still feel decent the following morning. The food we ate would be the last for that Saturday. 

From there, we hopped to a different bar to meet with the rest of the party. Then we headed to a golf simulator. 

When we walked out of the golf simulator, night had fallen. I’m confident you could have convinced everyone at the party that it was midnight (the shots of Malört may have helped). In actuality, it was 8:00 PM.

If this were a “choose your own adventure” story, this would be the spot for a choice.

Timmy walks to the street outside the golf simulator after consuming too much alcohol and taking a quick “power nap” on the couch inside. What should Timmy do?

Call an Uber and head back to the hotel for a good night’s sleep like a responsible adult, husband, and father? – END OF STORY

Or,

Head to the next bar and keep the night going? – CONTINUE READING

I have yet to become the mature adult who picks door number one. 

The four of us left standing ventured on to The Lodge Tavern; this would be the last bar of the night. We sat in that classic Chicago bar, drank beer, and talked about… well, I’m not sure what we talked about. I know I got sentimental at some point, which led to tears. It’s just who I am. I can’t help it. 

Four people turned to two. The bachelor and I were the last two standing.

It’s important to note when we called it a night, it was 10:30 PM. It is not as though we were walking out onto the street at four in the morning.

The bachelor lives roughly ten blocks from The Lodge Tavern in the Old Town neighborhood of Chicago. The Courtyard hotel that I was staying in was about twenty blocks in the opposite direction in River North.

I have been informed that, when we were saying our goodbyes at the end of the night, my friend did his best to convince me to call an Uber.

Timmy is standing outside a bar in Chicago, and his friend insists he takes an Uber. Still, Timmy knows the hotel is within walking distance and would like to get a few more steps in before the night ends.

What should Timmy do?

Call an Uber and return to the hotel in less than ten minutes? – END OF STORY

Or,

Walk home to get some exercise and see the sites of the big city? – CONTINUE READING

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me,” I said with a smile. 

My friend gave me a refresher on the directions. They were pretty straightforward. Walk half a block, turn right on State St., take a left on Hubbard, and there’s the hotel. Almost literally straightforward. 

Easy peasy.

It had been about twelve hours since I last ate. So, it shouldn’t be a shock that a block and a half down State St. that I was drawn like a moth to a flame by the neon glow from the sign for Velvet Taco. I definitely didn’t go in because the name has made me laugh every time I’ve passed that restaurant. I’m thirty-eight years old, and such sophomoric humor is of little interest. 

I bought and ate tacos. I don’t know what kind of tacos. I don’t know if they were good. I only knew that I needed them. They must’ve been good since I decided to take this picture mid-taco.

I finished up, ready for the rest of my journey back to the hotel. I walked out with the confidence of a lifelong Chicagoan. Little did I know that my drunken hubris was leading me in the wrong direction.

As I write this, I have been putting the pieces together, and everything has fallen into place. Thanks to this picture and a video I recorded.

As you can see, I ended up walking down Rush St. rather than State St. I know this because I took this lovely shot of the Chicago Water Tower. I recognized that I had deviated from the path shortly after as I recorded a video of myself around the corner of Wabash and Ontario.

_{The green route on the map is the route I should’ve taken, and the red route is the route I actually took.}

Around this time, it occurred to me that the phone in my hand could be used as a navigation tool via the Maps application that comes standard on the phone.

My phone died as I spun on a corner for the third or fourth time, trying to get the arrow on the map to point the way I thought it should be pointing. I had no choice but to go the old-fashioned route of asking other human beings for directions. Which led to multiple interactions that went like this:

“Excuse me, do you know where the Courtyard is?” I asked complete strangers passing by.

“No,” the strangers said, not slowing as they walked past.

“Me neither,” I said to the back of their heads as they walked away.

It’s worth noting I was looking up at buildings to help me navigate. I did this because I had spent a significant amount of time that morning looking out my hotel window at the hotel across the street. You never know when you might see something interesting through the open curtains of a stranger’s hotel room. 

I finally spotted the neighboring hotel shortly after midnight.

A few days after returning home from Chicago, I stumbled on a TikTok of a man explaining why he believes an active serial killer exists in Chicago. He had created a map similar to the one above. His map had flags where bodies were found, people had gone missing, and attempted abductions were reported. I matched the age and description of people who appeared to be victims or prospective victims. Many of those flags were in the River North neighborhood.

Some might say that I risked my life to bring you this story. I’m not saying that, but some might say that.

What good is life without a bit of adventure, right?

Cheers.