The Chicago Neighborhood Guidebook by Martha Bayne

Author:Martha Bayne [Bayne, Martha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781948742498
Google: P2_svgEACAAJ
Publisher: Belt Publishing
Published: 2019-11-15T23:20:54.014955+00:00

River West: Counting Cranes

JEAN IVERSEN

The paint guy at the Home Depot on North Avenue said that one sample-sized jar of Behr Marquee should do it.

It was the final project on my list: transform my ancient, peeling bathroom vanity cabinet into something that potential homebuyers might mistake for new. On trend. Or at least, not so hideous. Only one jar of semi-gloss paint in Moon Quake and a set of brushed-nickel drawer pulls stood between my stressful existence in River West and a peaceful new place to live.

Armed with supplies, I surrendered a Saturday night to painting in the confines of my Jack and Jill bathroom. As the dark gray paint settled in the roller tray, I flicked on the exhaust fan—not so much to suck up the fumes, but to fill the space with white noise as yet another “family gathering” unfolded in the upstairs condo. I suspected this would happen. The midday drone of a vacuum over the hardwood floors above me had become a reliable predictor of an evening party with a few dozen adults and children who were clearly not asked to please leave their shoes at the door. For over ten years, I endured these nights with increasing frequency. This had to be the third or fourth time this month.

I dipped the roller in the tray. Don’t oversaturate, I could hear paint guy say. That’s how you get drips. My aching, stiff hips protested as I crouched down to apply careful, smooth strokes. Would potential buyers be duped by my ten-dollar DIY job?

Children stampeded above me while I worked, chasing each other at speeds normally reserved for fleeing crime or impending death. In my mind, my upstairs neighbors insisted their guests only wear heavy work boots and chunky high heels. I cranked up Soundgarden on my iPod and started a second coat. Even with the accompaniment of the whirring fan, however, it was no match for the cacophony overhead.

Then, there it was, right on cue at 11:00. Boom! Boom Boom! One of the other reasons why I was squatting on a stepstool on a Saturday night to sand and paint a cheap piece of bathroom furniture.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

My jaw clenched as the restaurant next door morphed into a 3:00 a.m. nightclub.

“They’re allowed to remain open until 3:00 a.m., ma’am,” the City of Chicago’s Department of Buildings employee had spat into the phone. As though I was the one who deserved to be reprimanded.

Ten years of stampeding children and a revolving door of neighboring restaurants and nightclubs that never made it to their second year in business. Boom! Boom Boom! My cabinets started to rattle. I couldn’t take one more year of noisy neighbors, nightclub owners, or the angry bicycle-versus-car war that now raged outside my door on Milwaukee Avenue. This latest 3:00 a.m. Goliath was the last straw. I was too tired, too unequipped, to fight.

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