For the sake of a Dyson

This $30 impulse purchase led me to venture into one of the more dangerous neighbourhoods of Chicago by my lonesome female self.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. I was sick of sweeping my house. I needed a vacuum cleaner. The Facebook Marketplace listing ticked all my boxes.

• It was Dyson branded.

• It was a stick vacuum cleaner

• It was second hand

• It was cheap

• 
  

I messaged the guy and told him I would buy the Dyson. He must have been ecstatic to be rid of his vacuum cleaner within 30 seconds of posting it on Facebook Marketplace, with zero haggling to boot.

I did a mini wiggle in my seat to celebrate the purchase of my very first Dyson vacuum cleaner. And then I realised - I’d have to go to Oak Park to pick up the vacuum cleaner. Oak Park is nowhere near the Northshore suburbs, especially not when travelling by public transport. I would have to travel from the northern outskirt of Chicago to the western outskirt. It would be a four hour round trip if I didn’t plan my timetable well.

So I thought I would make a day out of it and view all the sights along the way.

The travel would be tolerable if I used the Metra as much as possible.

Illinois’s Metra is to Victoria’s V-line as the CTA is to Melbourne’s Metro. That is to say, the Metra is a grand affair. There are comfortable seats, onboard toilets and actual human conductors. The Metra goes far beyond the city bounds, and it goes fast. (It also travels on tracks of fire.) It has a deafening horn that announces its immediate presence. It has an imposing engine that alternatively pushes or pulls the double decker carriages. The lines terminate at two different stations in West Loop - both of which surpass any CTA station in grandiosity.

I stopped at Delia’s Kitchen in Oak Park for breakfast. It was a good thing that I woke up so early for the trip because when I left, there was a line trailing out the door.

I have never eaten so much for breakfast in my life. I ordered a vegetable hash - it came with a side of toast which I swapped out for pancakes. The side of pancakes was a full stack in itself. It was brilliant and excessive. I didn’t need to pack a lunch at all - both because of how stuffed I was and because of the leftovers I now had to carry with me.

It was a short walk to the Frank Lloyd Wright home. I shelled out $18 for a tour of the place. I’ve always been that kid to trail behind the group at class excursions and take too much time staring at the exhibits. I was delighted to find that I was the only person in my tour group and I had the tour guide all to myself. Life was serendipitous.

Frank's house is a fascinating place. I highly recommend it, even if you have no interest in architecture or interior design. My husband did the same tour a few months later and he enjoyed it too, which says a lot given that he thought our century old apartment was built twenty years ago, and would decorate the whole house in blue if he could.

I also shelled out money for a collapsible backpack. I don’t know how I managed to stuff so much into my tote bag every single time (I swear it was all necessary) but it did weigh my left shoulder down. I spread my belongings across both my tote bag and the backpack, and yet both were completely full.

Burdened down on both shoulders, I trekked westwards on foot towards Thatcher Woods. There lay the Trailside Museum of Natural History. Within this little museum was a fluffy haired old lady giving a talk on the fossils that could be found in Illinois.

Outside the museum was a coyote in a cage. It seemed a sorry existence. The coyote pack living in Calvary Catholic Cemetery at least have free reign across the gravestones.

The snow-less wintry forests of North America are okay. Just okay. I have nothing more to say about them.

My tourism done for the day, it was time for me to pick up the vacuum cleaner. I had been researching the neighbourhood the night before. What I had learnt was not promising for a small female on foot. The western section of Oak Park - the Frank Lloyd Wright tinged parts that bordered the family friendly suburb of River Forest - was safe. The eastern parts of Oak Park that butted onto the Chicago city bounds on Austin Boulevard - not so much. Unrecommended. Disencouraged. Don’t go there.

That’s where the vacuum cleaner was.

I still wanted it.

In school, teenage girls play games where they nominate people for likely futures. I was the one who was most likely to be kidnapped. I can’t be accused of having a sense of self preservation.

There is no public transport that cuts through the middle of Oak Park. I muddled through the baseline minimum of small talk with the Lyft driver before asking him if he could spot me while I made the porch exchange.

Fortunately, the vacuum sucked and I was not kidnapped.

I gave the Lyft driver a big tip. Well, my Australian senses say that it was a big tip. My internal tipping meter is underdeveloped.

I marched north to the Galewood Metra station, weighed down with my tote bag, my Frank Lloyd Wright backpack and my blue Ikea bag full of vacuum cleaner parts. It was a heart racing 20 minute trek, my lack of fitness compounded by my anxiety about missing the train. Missing a Metra train is a catastrophe - the next Metra train is always two hours away.

I made it with two minutes to spare, and from there it was a relaxing trip back home with several bags filled with souvenirs and travel photos.