There are a lot of advantages to living near Chicago. One is that you get the opportunity to see major musical acts as they tour. Another is that there are several forms of public transportation at your disposal to whisk you around the larger metropolitan area. As fate would allow, I was able to combine these two, as I procured four tickets to the Paul McCartney concert at Wrigley Field this past August 2nd.Robyn and I went with our friends, who live in Oak Park, near one of the "El" stations. Our plan was to drive to Oak Park and take the "El" downtown, and then transfer northward to Wrigley Field.
We make it downtown without incident, and then to the platform for the Red Line which runs to Wrigley Field. As the last in our group to make it up the stairs to the platform, I took a second to look around and orient myself.
No sooner am I on the platform then a young girl nearby sees me and asks, without solicitation, "Where are you heading to, sir?"
"To the Paul McCartney concert at Wrigley," I reply. A quick glance puts her at 18, maybe 19.
"Well then. You want to go to the far side of the platform and take that "El" and get off at the Addison stop."
Now, I had neither been looking for, nor needing, directions, but apparently something in my demeanor must have signaled that I needed assistance.
"You are so lucky to be going to the concert!" she continued. "My grandmother is a huge Beatles fan, and remembers when they first came to the US. She said that she would pay any price for a ticket to have me go, but unfortunately they were sold out." My first thought was that she must not have tried too hard, as scalpers always seem to have tickets. Especially if price is no object.
It was then that I noticed that my wife and friends are just about peeing their pants with laughter at this exchange. It dawns on me that I was being grouped in her grandmother's generation of Beatles fans. My befuddled state on the platform must have elicited a sympathetic response from her. Since she couldn't go, the least she could do was to make sure this poor old man makes it there to see this living legend!
Where am I? The trains are so loud! How did I even get this far safely?
So there you have it. At the tender age of 46, with no lack of grey in my beard, I made the transition from a man who might be attractive to young women, to one who needs to be steered through the confusing world of public transportation.
