I know this blog is about places to visit before you turn 30..however, due to an embarrassingly frequent occurrence, I am compelled to talk about a place that you never, ever, want to visit.
The caverns of Lower Wacker…otherwise known as “the scary place you go to get your car when it[s been towed”.
I am ashamed to admit that I am all too familiar with this place. The same kind of shame I had the one random night a few years ago when I ran into my college-aged brother at Beaumont’s on Halsted (I don’t know what possessed me to go there ) and realized the Beaumont ship had sailed eons ago (if indeed it had ever docked). The tow place will evoke the same emotions I promise you.
For those lucky people who have the Towing Gods on your side and have not had to visit what looks like the set for a new Wes Craven movie, I will tell you about my most recent excursion.
Shockingly, I couldn’t find a parking spot by the Apple store on a recent Friday during rush hour. So I did what I always do. Park my car on the corner of Superior, east of Michigan Ave., put on my hazards, cross my fingers, say a few silent Hail Marys and join the long mass of cars that are parked in a row doing the exact same thing (in retrospect, this may be why I’m always getting towed….but whatever). Allprofessional double parkers have the same look in their eyes: a crazed look, with eyes darting back and forth as if their being followed and a walk that could rival the power walking champion of the world.
Not more than 20 minutes later, I emerged from the Apple Store to find my car…or, to be more accurate, not find my car. I immediately cursed my carelessness. Never be the first car in a line of cars with their hazards on. You might as well send an invitation to the city to tow your car. I couldn’t believe I made such a rookie mistake.. Of course, my car was the only one towed. .
As I gazed upon the spot where my car used to be, my stomach dropped because I knew where my next destination must be.
Lower Wacker.
And it’s funny, because no matter how many times I have been there, I still cannot tell a cab driver exactly where it is. It’s like being in “Labyrinth.” The place exists, but it is so underground that even cab drivers don’t know where it is.
When you finally arrive at this strange place, you are immediately shocked at the village of people that dwell down there. It is the Ritz Carlton for homeless people. All of the people know each other and not just any homeless person can start hanging out. It’s like a secret club. But the only prerequisite for this club is a mild case of schizophrenia.
When you finally find the make-shift office (really it’s a double wide), you will be rudely greeted by a city employee who is as unhappy with his job as Milton when Lumbergh took away his Swingline stapler.
The misery is palpable. Imagine the DMV times a thousand.
And if you try to build a compelling case on why you should not have been towed, the tow employees will mock you like a late night employee at Weiner Circle.
And if you want to pay the $200+ tow fee in cash, watch out. You will have to venture outside – the now (oddly enough) safe haven of the double wide - to go find a cash machine…which is conveniently located in someone named “Crazy Joe”’s bedroom.
I have three words for you: Run really fast.
Each time I get my car from Lower Wacker - like an alcoholic-I vow that I will never park illegally again.
But, well, you’ve seen the ending to that story.
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Patrice Poltzer
Patrice Poltzer is a graduate student at Northwestern's Medill school of Journalism and a life-long native of Chicago. While some may find it weird that she has anxiety about turning 30 – which is not old- those who know her remember when she cried on her fourteenth birthday because she was upset about “ the passage of time.” Weird? Perhaps.
She is a freelance writer with a concentration in broadcast and multimedia journalism. She used to host an entertainment show called, "Nude Hippo: Your Chicago Show" and yes, she realizes that is a really strange name.
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Pat Rice, I'm sure homeless people would love to know that you analogize lower Wacker to the "Ritz Carlton". :) PS, I was in Mobyville the other day, feeling a little cliche myself (although in the wrong part of town) with my Crackberry in hand, and thought of this blog.
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