A Naive Moment

To me, this next moment I'm about to share was a common mistake--something that could have happened to anyone. Well, needless to say, I was wrong. Within minutes of posting my experience on Facebook, I had about 20 people either commenting or "liking" my status (probably because of the pure stupidity of the situation). That's when I realized it wasn't a common mistake, but a naive small town moment...mixed with slight stupidity, I admit.

Here it goes...you be the judge.

My roommate, Molly, and I decided to make nachos for dinner. While I was at dance, she sends me a text asking me to pick up cheese. Simple task, right? For me, apparently not. I hadn't lived at my house that long and the route was fairly new, as were the nearest grocery stores. Then it clicked. I always pass a Costco on my way home from dance. Problem solved: I'll run in real quick and be home having a glass of wine and delicious nachos in no time.

I turn into the Costco parking lot and rush to find a parking spot. I think to myself, "Man, this place is busy!" I hurry out of my car and scan the building,  only to realize that the front entrance is no where in sight. A couple gets out of their car a few rows over, so I decide to follow them--it was clearly not their first trip to Costco. Without seeming creepy, I walk closely behind them to the other side of the building to the entrance, where they are stopped by a Costco employee. Frustrated that I was held up, I scurry around them and make my way through the store.

I see everything from diapers to TV's to huge boxes of cereal. "Where the hell is the dairy section in this place?" I think to myself, or possibly say out loud, I can't be sure. Finally, all the way in the back of the store (the biggest grocery store I've ever been in!) I see the familiar sight of a grocery store refrigerator. I find the cheese section--the endless stock of cheese. All I wanted was a bag of shredded cheese to top off my nachos. No such luck. So I settle for a big brick of mozzarella cheese (hopefully we have a shredder at home). At this point, I'm so frustrated and annoyed with the complexity of this place that I just want to pay for my cheese and get the hell out of there (that glass...or bottle...of wine is sounding even better by the minute).

I stand in line for what seems like hours. Everyone has carts piled high with everything you could imagine--like the world is ending and your survival depends on how much crap you can leave Costco with. It's finally my turn. I set my measly brick of cheese on the counter and the lady looks at me, as if she's waiting rest of my items.

"That's it," I say, looking back at her with the same look of sassiness she was giving me. "Your membership card," she answers. "I don't have a membership," I reply, my heart starting to pound harder as I realize I am about to look like complete idiot. "You have to have a membership to shop here," the counter lady says, looking more and more annoyed with each passing second. "Okay, how much does it cost?" "$50." "Okay, nevermind," my shaky voice replies as I set the cheese back on the counter and attempt to get to the door as fast as possible. I did manage to catch a glimpse of the guy behind me trying to hold back a smile, his cart piled high with diapers and cleaning supplies (clearly his after work assignment from his wife, but then again, I just walked into Costco trying to buy a block of cheese, so who am I to judge?). I wanted to say, "What are you looking at?" in an attempt to show complete confidence. But, obviously I knew he was looking at a naive girl who just made a complete fool of herself. I would be staring, too.

In my defense, I come from a town where you can shop wherever you damn please. I guess this is the perfect time where the common saying "You're not in Kansas anymore" comes into play. Needless to say, we didn't have cheese for our nachos.

My First Moment

Born and raised in a small town in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, moving to Chicago was a change...to say the least.

In the small town of Marquette, everybody knows everybody. Basically, you can't go to a bar or a restaurant without knowing at least half the people in there. Everyone just expects it and in some ways, us small towners actually enjoy that comfort. In Chicago, I'm lucky if I recognize that the bar or restaurant I am going to actually exists. Everything is a new adventure and in some ways, I find a comfort in that as well.

I love my hometown. It definitely has beauty behind it. There is nothing like sitting on the quiet beach of Lake Superior and listening to the waves crash against the shore. I know what you're thinking: there's a lake in Chicago, too. But trust me, it's just not as peaceful (is anything in Chicago?).

Peaceful or not, I've always loved the buzz of the city and I fell in love with Chicago years ago as I was walking through the hustle and bustle of the streets, straining my neck to see the tops of the buildings. It was my dream to move to this city and make my mark on the world. Well, I moved here...let's see if the second part happens.

My roots and my dreams happen to be in two completely different cities, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Walking around the streets of Marquette, everyone (that is, if there is anyone even on the same sidewalk as myself) seems so calm; not in a rush at all. As I look around at the people who walk the streets of Chicago, not only are they walking a million miles a minute, but they all seem to have their shit together. That may not be the case, but Chicagoans sure know how to put on the act. Although I hope to be walking around the city with such confidence someday, I, a girl who has lived here for a mere eight months, am not there yet.

As I was thinking about all these differences, I came to the realization that I can't be the only person in the world to feel this way. And there you have it...my first small town moment. With this blog, I will share my experiences about life, changes and finding my own place in this crazy world. Hopefully my words will be of some inspiration and I can make someone feel like they aren't alone. And if not, it will just be me telling you about the moments I have in this great big city that remind me that I'm still a small town girl from the good ol' U.P.