Chicago has always been known as a place where everything has its price, where a wink and a nod (and a little cash) can work wonders securing box seats at the ballgame or negotiating with tow-truck drivers. A few weekends ago, my best friend Demetrius and I, armed only with my brand-new American Express gold card and the leftovers of our Pell Grant checks, attempted to test that hypothesis. Specifically, we asked ourselves, what would it
At 8:30 on Friday morning Demetrius and I popped onto the 14th floor of Water Tower Place to breakfast with the idle rich in the Dining Room of the Ritz-Carlton. In order to spruce up the atmosphere a bit, we wore our best angry-postadolescent-black-man outfits–oversized, droopy Girbaud jeans, T-shirts with the face of Malcolm X, and Air Nikes with neon shoelaces. This, we thought, would complement the prevailing style of the other guests–elderly, white-haired socialites in Ann Landers coifs and Adolfo two-pieces and 30-ish men sporting dark suits and ponytails.
We decided that subtlety would not work. “We’ll give you a $20 tip if you can get us some Trix with our coffee!” we whispered, waving a $20 bill fresh from the Cash Station. The waiter looked around, pocketed the bill and the coupon, and disappeared into the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later a box of the brightly colored cereal was on our table, along with a pair of bowls and a pitcher of milk.
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“Do you mind standing up?” asked the salesman, a Brooks Brothers type who reminded us of Miles on Murphy Brown. He crouched down in order to appear less confrontational. “It doesn’t really add to the…ambience.”
…get a city employee to bend the rules in your favor?
