Ask A Simple Question . . . Again and Again

Today, right on schedule, I followed up with a bookstore in the Chicago train station whose manager wanted me to come in for a pre-Mother's Day signing, when she is expecting an inflated number of shoppers. The manager wanted to make sure she'd be able to get my book, a May release, in on time (I've been screwed before when new releases didn't arrive on time, but that's a column for another day). After that was confirmed I looked up train schedules on the Internet, then called the train station to find out about parking, since I've been up here long enough to know that it probably isn't free. I'd prefer not to get hung up arranging for where to leave my car and possibly miss my train in the process.

"I'm sorry," the woman who answered the phone told me. "I know our number is on the Metra website, but the parking lot is actually owned by the city of North Chicago." She apologetically added that she had no information to give me, not even a telephone number to call.

Thoroughly unimpressed, I looked up the number of the City of North Chicago. It took a full three minutes for someone to pick up once I said I needed information on parking at the Great Lakes Train Station. I asked if the parking was metered, or if there was someplace I could purchase a card for my windshield.

"I'm sorry," the woman said. "I don't know why those Metra people keep referring people here. I really don't know about how the parking works." She politely suggested that I go down there in person before my trip and check things out.

By now I was feeling fed up with being tossed about like a rubber ball by people who don't know shit. But since the station is right around the corner from where I work, I drove there after I got off. The station consisted of a parking lot and a building that looked like it contained a couple of vending machines and not much else. I didn't go in; it was set up in a convoluted fashion that required a hike to the end of the platform to go up the ramp to get to that side. I'm sure all those daily commuters curse whoever designed this on mornings when it's raining, snowing, cold, or just plain windy, which, considering the station is very close to Lake Michigan, is probably pretty damn often.

I got back into my car and drove home, deciding that my next effort at solving the riddle will be a call to the North Chicago Police Department. Since they're the ones who will undoubtedly give me a ticket if my car is without the proper authorization, they ought to be able to tell me the information I need to know.

But, you know what? It shouldn't be this damn hard.