Relying on the Kindness of Strangers (written in Chicago, IL)

Maybe all that good karma I have built up is paying off.  Relying on the kindness of strangers has been a breeze this trip. 

Delaware (a.k.a. Patrick) offered to let me use his Droid as a wi-fi hotspot.  He wanted me to be able to publish the posts I had for all of you.  Finding out his name was pretty epic.  It was like something you’d see in a travel movie.  I’m sitting on the floor in the Great Hall at Union Station.  His wi-fi wouldn’t work, but I was able to get access from a deli close by.  He decided that he would go catch his Metra train home, and he said, “By the way, I don’t know if I ever introduced myself.  My name is Patrick.”  I told him my name was Aimee, and we parted ways.  Last night he and I discussed how neat it is to meet people while on the road.  We were talking about how for the most part the people you meet on the road, you don’t Facebook them.  You don’t e-mail them.  You really don’t keep up with them at all after the fact because that moment, the moment that you’re traveling together is all that really matters.  Delaware asked for my blog site.  So, maybe he and I will stay in touch.  I’m pretty jealous of his upcoming travels—heading to Ireland to see some family for the holidays.  Then, he’s going to Switzerland to study for a month.

I also relied on the kindness of strangers to take my picture.  I was scoping out people in the Great Hall (reminds me of Harry Potter), and I decided to ask this couple if they would be willing to take my picture.  The wife gladly volunteered.  They were on an anniversary trip in Chicago.  I don’t know what number anniversary, but they stayed at the Palmer House, went to the Art Institute, and saw the Million Dollar Quartet.  I asked if the Million Dollar Quarter was worth a million dollars, and they said yes.  So, apparently they must have been pretty good.  The woman who took my picture was a “perfectionist.”  She wanted to make sure she got a great shot.  She took a few pics because of that, and it made me smile.  The way her husband called her a perfectionist, it wasn’t mean-hearted.  He said it out of love.  He said it in a way that made me feel like that he was proud of that quality in her because it meant that she cared.  After the picture (which she had me make sure I approved of), we wished each other safe travels and parted ways.

A father with an Eastern European accent took my picture in front of a body of armor at the Art Institute.  A man visiting the museum with his partner took my picture in front of the American Gothic.  I smiled, and when I took their picture, they posed like the farmer couple on the painting.  Have to say, that was pretty righteous.  If Brad was there, I would have embarrassed him until he complied to pose the same way.  And a woman walking in downtown Chicago delightfully agreed to take my picture in front of the “Beginning of Route 66” sign.  She was walking with a man who I assume was her significant other. 

Someday it might be interesting to write a novel about all of these people I have met.  Just fill in the blanks.  Maybe someday I will.  Until then, I’ll just blog.