Stephen Explores Chicago, or How GPS Amost Killed a Good Friend

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I delivered pizza in Chicago back in 1970. I drove a delivery truck in Chicago for five years. I drove a taxi cab in Chicago for three years. When it comes to knowing my way around this city, I know as much as anybody.

On Wednesday our friend from Indianapolis, Stephen, texted me and said that he was returning from Wisconsin to Indianapolis. He told me that he'd like to drop by for a quick visit. I love hanging out with Stephen, and I immediately told him, "Yes, drop on in, we'd love to see you." He texted back that he was at the Mars Cheese Castle (A famous tourist attraction in Wisconsin). I texted back to him the best way to get to our house. I gave him our address, and told him to take Interstate 94, the Edens Expressway, to the Peterson Avenue exit and then go east. We are only two and a half miles from that exit. I then texted him that we'd see him in an hour, because that's how long it takes to drive from the Mars Cheese Castle to our house. As soon as I put the phone down I ran around the house and did the quickie clean up for unexpected company. Quick dusting, dog toys in the dog toy basket, new hand towel in the bathroom, and I picked up the tumbling dog hair from the floor with my bare hands (Bad move. I sneezed for an hour after that). Almost two hours after that text exchange, I got a phone call from Stephen.

"I'm here. Which house is yours?"

I looked out the window.

"I don't see any car out front."

"I had to park down the street. There were no spots near your house."

Odd, I thought, there was fifty feet of open curb in front of our house.

"Okay, I'm outside now. I don't see you. Are you sure you are on our street?"

I repeated our address to him.

"Yes, I'm a few houses down from you walking towards your address."

"I'm standing in front of our house. I don't see anybody walking on the sidewalk towards our house. Are you absolutely sure you are on our street?"

"The GPS says that this is your street, that this is your address. I trust the GPS completely. I'm in front of 5939 right now."

"Well if you are, you are a ghost."

Stephen continued walking, apparently right through me, and got to the corner. As he walked there I asked him, "Did you get off at the Peterson Avenue exit?"

"No, the GPS said to get off at Garfield Boulevard. Okay, I'm at the corner. The sign says 60th Street..."

"Ahhhhh.... get out of there! Right now, get back in your car and get the hell out of there!!!"

I could not stress enough how dangerous it might be for a slightly built white guy from Indianapolis to be walking through one of the most violent neighborhoods in Chicago. You see, Stephen had put 'South' into his GPS instead of 'North'. Unfortunately, Chicago is a very segregated city, and Stephen had been strolling through 'The Hood'.

"It looks like a very nice street. I don't think it's dangerous."

"Seriously, I cannot be any more serious. Get back in your car and get the hell out of there. Don't stop to chat with anybody, don't make eye contact with anybody, just drive!!!"

When you hear about all the shootings and gang violence in Chicago, that is where Stephen was. Up here, where Mark and I live, it is peaceful. In fact the police refer to our little neighborhood as "Mayberry".

I did check with Stephen in the morning and he did make it back to Indianapolis. We made plans to get together again in October because turning around and coming back up to the north side would have got him home very late into the night. All I can say is, do not turn on the goddamned GPS machine. It will kill you. And never, ever doubt the instructions of a Chicago cabbie when it comes to directions.