Fulfilling

There's news to report on our little block: the sinkhole was filled! After Jason watched a Department of Transportation truck pull up three weeks ago his hopes were raised that they might have arrived to fill in the hole that's been on the street since February. Instead a worker hopped out, grabbed a new traffic barricade and placed it over the hole, this time tying it with plastic safety tape to the nearby tree. (The previous barricades were persistently tossed aside by desperate parkers.) If there was anything that suggested the permanence of our hole on the street, this seemed to be it.

Then last Thursday, while working from home, the cat and I watched another truck pull up and stop by the hole, also dispatched by the Chicago Department of Transportation. Surely this time work would begin and a patch made. Nope, two guys stood over the hole, scratched their heads (literally!), got back in their truck, sat there for about 10 minutes, and then drove away. I was crestfallen. Our hole lay gaping open -- I would say it had been "kicked to the curb" except that its location is by definition at the curb.

But when no one was watching (well, maybe the cat observed it) workers came and filled in our road hazard. Hurrah.
I had been planning a letter to our recently re-elected alderman (Chicago's equivalent to a city councilman) because he had printed our address in his campaign mailers as an example of the revitalization of our neighborhood, for which he took all the credit. Perhaps he could add street repairs to his resume?
I guess now I can move onto my letter to the manager of the Marriot Times Square. Their maids threw away my hanger. The hanger that I had left carefully hanging in the closet. I hadn't cast it aside, suggesting I meant to put it in the trash can, leaving them to complete my thought. Nope, it was in the closet and they threw it away. Very annoying when you have to repack your clothes and were counting on that hanger. In a fit of petty spite, I packed one of the Marriot's hangers in my bag and took it home. Maybe I shouldn't write after all, and risk exposing my crime. Shhh!