The Winter of my Discontent

Marla and I were walking through the neighborhood this weekend when a bunch of women pushing a shopping cart darted in front of us. You get used to seeing strange things in Wicker Park but what made us do a double-take was that the young ladies in question were wearing Mexican sombreros, had penciled-in thin mustaches above their lips and were screaming what sounded like a parody of a battle cry.

Now---the girls looked to be in their early twenties, on some sort of scavenger hunt or shopping cart race. Perhaps a pub crawl? Did no one among them say,

"Guys, this might be construed as offensive by some people. We're wearing sombreros and mustaches and going through Wicker Park, which still has a significant Latino population. Could we be perpetuating offensive stereotypes?"

Apparently not. They were enjoying themselves with the unselfconscious air of the truly ignorant.

That night at Nick's, the place was packed with drunk louts. The bartender rolled his eyes when he saw us sit down, and we knew it was only a matter of time before people started getting kicked out. I returned from the bathroom to see a fresh-faced kid hanging on Marla. She saw me, smiled, and said to the kid,

"No, I told you I'm not doing a shot with you. Maybe my boyfriend will...."

"Yes, thanks, I'd love a shot," I said, downing the Jaeger bomb. I smirked at the guy, wondering how Mar would have handled the situation. She probably would have accepted the shot.
And maneuvered us into an argument.

We stayed for a couple drinks, including a complimentary round of shots and drinks (gotta love a place that takes care of their regulars), watched a few people get kicked out, including one who shoved the bartender (very lucky not to have gotten his ass kicked) and left. The next night, Sunday, we returned to Nick's to wrap up the weekend. I mentioned to the bartender that the weekend crowd seemed to be changing from when I first moved in, two and a half years ago.

"More musicians and art students, then," he said, adding wistfully, "I miss the old Wicker Park."

I don't get much sympathy from my college friends when I complain about gentrification. One of them drew a chorus of laughter when he said,

"You're just pissed off that people like you are moving in..."

Fair enough. But, it's not just a yuppie vs. hipster issue. It's when the loud and un-curious change the character of my favorite haunts. Just a couple weeks ago I was leaving Nick's with Marla when I was spotted by a bloke I used to work with, who's now in pharmaceutical sales.

"Yo, wazzup, mo-fo?" he greeted me. Marla visibly winced. I should mention, the former co-worker is a fraternity-boy shade of white, right down to his baseball cap.

Yes, the neighborhood is changing. And it feels as if the winter will last forever.....