City Life, Part Twenty-Seven: Douchebagus Corporatus

Native Chicago Wildlife

Essanay Studios (use freely with attribution: srpradiopodcast.com)

Last summer (2010) I moved to Chicago’s quiet Andersonville neighborhood, in part to escape the wildlife of the Gold Coast — a rich neighborhood where vomit and urine flow freely outside the many popular pubs, and where sirens never cease, 24 hours a day. I now live in an historic building that used to house the production staff of a silent movie studio across the street. Currently host to a small liberal arts college, the words “Essanay Studios” and two Native American figureheads remain carved in stone above the front doors.

The other night, I stepped outside the kitchen door of my second floor unit to enjoy a smoke and to listen to the birds. The kind of roomy, wooden, walk-up balcony one often sees behind vintage Chicago apartments joins all the back doors of my building with those of its twin.

Faintly, at first, I heard the approaching sounds of a species not common to these parts — Douchebagus Corporatus. As it got closer, I could tell from its loud, slurring vocalizations that it had imbibed too much barley nectar and, through a cell phone, was engaged in some sort of turf negotiation. I imagined that the poor creature had strayed from its native habitat, and, thus, had no clue where a public toilet might be; because it soon stepped into our courtyard below and pissed on the wall. A large puddle circled behind the noisy beast, as it relieved itself.

What grace, what fluidity (pardon the pun), despite intoxication, in managing a phone in one paw and its penis in the other! When done, it staggered out and down the sidewalk, its obnoxious roar fading beneath my soft, smoky exhalations and the native birdsong.