Someone once said to me that my writing was, “how I talk.” Which is fine. Mind-blowing as that is, it still doesn’t quite hit the mark, precisely. The biggest lesson I ever learned while attending classes towards my bachelor’s – my liberal arts degree from Northeastern – in of all things, “Speech / Communication” occurred when I began working in the agricultural pits of what I have lovingly referred to as, “the grain exchange” in downtown Chicago. Biggest lesson learned as a communications student.
Which was I don’t, “talk” like this. (when I write) I, “think” like this. (when I write) And now after having checked my socials for the umpteenth time, a post chimes in saying one of the coolest or uncoolest things – above and beyond lessons or a lesson learned that working at the Board Of Trade gave me – was “brevity.” Many of you who know me, probably knows that when I am in the middle of a 4-speed story and I’ve only gotten to 2nd speed, I lose most of you. Don’t worry, I’ve fallen down a few rabbit holes in my day.
The thing coming across my socials tonight was NOT a, “cool” thing. About a place I ran over to – too many times – for lunch, back in the day.
See? If I wrote like I talked, I have always felt – since working downtown – down there, one could not express anything fully or completely. Or even linearly, a lot of times. Brevity.
Short. Staccato. Boom! “Trading floor-ese.” “Get to the point”, type of speech. For example:
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“Hey I heard this place downtown closed, named, Americana Sub. Right across the street from the tringular-shaped correctional facility.”
“Across the street from the jail?
“Yeah.”
“Dang! I loved that place!”
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So, no, I don’t write like I talk, I don’t think. I write like I would LIKE to talk.
Big difference.
So I hear the place got closed down for whatever reasons. Apparently, according to the replies to the social network original posting of the demise of, “Americana Sub Shop” – it was closed by The Chicago Board of Health.
I had every intention of writing a soliloquy to their sandwich, “The Bomber,” when I first sat down but that nagging thing that person said got the better of me. I began to type that “You write like you talk” thing.
That got me completely off-track before I even realized that I missed the point of my own blog. Once again. Rabbit hole. See?
The Bomber.
This thing was on fresh baked, a tiny heavier than French bread; their insides sort of doughy and light. A little denser though. If that makes any sense. Fresh. Then whatever cold cuts, ham, spiced ham, what have you, some cheese, grated lettuce and some Italian dressing. Throw some spices on top of all that. Tomato, and of course, these yellow pepper ringlets! To die for!
I can’t tell you how many times when the one-thirty bell chime came in the agricultural trading room at work – within about twenty minutes – after the day’s work was taken up to the back office – I knew the precise time it took for me to run out, place that order, right at the counter of that sub shop and get back.
Bada bing, bada boom. Right before your very eyes he put it together. Bag of chips. Twenty-ounce Pepsi. Pay. Boom!
Done!
A hundred lunches from there over the years?
Probably so.
I was down there for not quite twenty-five years. Twenty-four and a half. April of ’85 to October of 2008.
Another institution of the South Loop. Gone. Forever.
One of the finest sandwiches known to man. (in my humble opinion)
Gone, for good!
That sucks lemons!
😦
MJC
Word Count: 618. Post #1360.
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EPILOGUE:
(I haven’t done one of these in a while.)
That sandwich description is definitely how I would say it: like a freaking soliloquy. Chicago-ese.
So in that case, I did try to write how I think I would have said it out loud. If any of this makes any sense.
Which if it doesn’t, is fine.
Next time I’ll try not to do two topics at once. Great memory of a great sandwich place.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled swiping.
Spare Change and Paradigms 