Also, my TiVo should (hopefully) be at my doorstep, waiting for me to lovingly carry it upstairs and instruct it on the matter of recording everything I like to watch. Which means I need to find all my TV shows again, and set up my season passes.
Last night was an interesting time as well. It took me an hour and 10 minutes to get down to Lincoln Park, where I was meeting my Dad and step mother for dinner at Goose Island. I had a Granny Smith Woodchuck on tap -- oh so good -- and a wild mushroom turkey burger. Yum.
Weall piled into my car around 7 ish and drove the couple miles to Pipers Alley and Second City. The doors were supposed to open an hour before the 8:30 show, and since we picked up our tickets about 7:25, we didn't make our bathroom runs then, because they informed us, "You'll all need to be there together so they can seat you together."
7:40, and there are no signs of the doors being open to us. I mention to my dad that they're probably waiting for one of us lemmings in the lobby to make a break for the restrooms, and then they'll start seating. He laughs, and that is one of the reasons I love my dad.
The big hand makes it to the 10, and I'm really thinking about going to the bathroom. But luckily a few minutes later, the doors open and we start to get seated. They try and sit us in the back, but the seater makes the mistake of saying "How about these seats?" And for once, Sue made herself useful by asking, "Or?" This confused the seater-boy, and he said "Or, where would you like to sit?" Sue pointed out the second row seats and he put us there.
The show was extremely good; I'm always amazed by comedic actors. I was kind of surprised the Sue found it funny -- there were a few bits or more crass humor that I thought she wouldn't enjoy, but she did. Go figure.
And then, the trip home. I took 290 home, through the hillside strangler, and while it was a bit slow through the construction, it was all going well enough until I suddenly, while going 5 miles an hour, heard this *skreeeeech* *thud*. I looked in my rear view mirror and there was a white van halfway in my lane,the other half placed in the lane to my right. Thoughts run through my mind: Did she hit me? I didn't feel jostled? Oh, the kids in the car in the right lane are screaming at the lady in the van; she probably hit them. As these thoughts run through my head, I see the van take off and exit on Mannheim. I see the kids' car pull off, and I also decide to pull off, so I can check to see if she did hit me or not.
I get off the interstate, and get out to check, and see the kids talkign with thevan driver, who then takes OFF! Ath this point, I pull around, and see if they're okay, and find out they did do the smart thing and get the license plate, so I call 911 on my cell phone and get the state troopers dispatched.
I also play camp counselor to a bounch of frightend and freaked out 16 year olds, and explain that jumping on the hood of the van to get her to stop was not the smartest thing they can do, but accidentsa re what insurance is fore, and everything will be okay. Has everyone called their parents? Good. yes, I know she hit you. No, I don't know if you're going to be busted for too many people in the car. It'll be okay.
Which it was. Some nice Jeep driver ended up following the van, and the police apprehended her, and they took my name and number, and took care of the kids, and told me I could go home.
So now I'm calling my house, hping to get my parents, because my dad will worry; they left after I did, so they would be curious when they didn't find me at home first. I still have that habit ingrained in me of calling when plans change, as my dad taught me.
Though, you know what kind of car the 16 year old kid was driving? A 5 series BMW -- 1988 or newer. With leather seats. And it was his own car -- not mom or dads.
Kind of makes a statement on the world when the car a single professional drives is less expensive than a 16 year old kid.