Now if you have been paying attention so far, you may remember Ann and Kim, whom we met during the Oz Experience trip from Adelaide to Melbourne.  

They were a pair of American design students who quickly became Caro's posse as they bitched and cackled about the other members of the tour during our time on the road.  Sadly, by the time we arrived in Chicago, Kim had completely disappeared, despite promising to keep in touch. (I do not wish to dwell on what that means she really thought of us.)  Ann, bless her, did keep in touch and even sent us little updates on how they had been getting along in Australia.  

She returned to Chicago in early July, so it was inevitable that when we got there we would hook up. Unfortunately, she was just leaving for a family holiday in Florida when we arrived, so we only saw her for one day, but a jolly good day it was.  She guided us to a diner called Ed Debevnik's for lunch, which seemed to be the retro-50's sort of place that we love.  On arrival Ann asked to be seated, and they indicated a booth which we went to sit down at.  

"HEY!!!!" the guy yelled at Ann, "WHERE DO YA THINK YOU'RE GOIN!!??  GO TO THE END BOOTH!!  THE END BOOTH!!!  JEEZ, GET WITH THE PROGRAM WOULD YA????!!!"

Ann explained to us that this is all part of the special treatment you get when you eat at Ed's, where the motto is "Good Food And Fresh Service" and the waitresses greet people like Ann with, "Okay Blondie, so waddaya want?" This was amply demonstated by a sign on the wall which read:

ED'S RULES
1.  Gimme your name and order.
2.  If you're not complete you don't eat.
3.  Don't abuse the staff.
4.  Wait 'til you're called.
5.  Don't ask, "How much longer?"
6.  Eat and get out.

A waitress with huge pink hair, wearing white glasses and chewing gum then arrived and announced, "Hi! I'm Frenchie and I'll be ya waitress.  Yeah."  She then openly giggled at my English accent and brought us drinks.

It’s a fabulous place. You should definitely go when in Chicago. By far my favourite part was when "Carwash" blasted out from the speakers and all the staff (including a rather overweight woman wearing a Mouseketeer hat) climbed onto the bar and did the dance in a somewhat perfunctory fashion.  The food was good too, of the American comfort-food sort.   I had the meatloaf and mashed potatoes, and made sure Frenchie got a good tip before we ate and got out.

Ann took us to the House of Blues for drinks.  I should start by saying that the drinks there are HIDEOUSLY EXPENSIVE.  Then again you are mainly paying for the atmosphere which is very cool, with live blues bands and funky décor which I can best describe as Moroccan-Bohemian-something-or-other.  Sadly, we were unable make full use of the free buffet since we were still full of diner-food.  The other notable thing about the House of Blues was the toilet.  Oho!  Do you think it’s time for another episode?   I think it is!

TOILETS OF THE WORLD Part 6:  The House of Blues Toilet in Chicago
The notable thing about the House of Blues toilet is not that unusual for American toilets.  However, it was the first time I encountered the horror that is the Toilet Tip Guy.  You know, the bloke who does things like squirt soap onto your hand and pass you the hand-wipes.  I mean, it's not as if I don't appreciate all these things, although I am capable of squirting my own soap thank you so very bloody much.  It's just that I feel like The Toilet is a man's Ultimate Bastion.  A Man's Toilet Is His Castle.  His Fortress of Solitude, if you will.  

And I don't like the pressure of knowing someone is in there, watching – and perhaps more pertinently LISTENING to all the comings and goings.  It's enough to make it go back in, if you know what I mean.  Fortunately my bowels know no shame so I squirted out a size 12 shite, but I fear for my brethren who suffer from bashful bladder syndrome.  They could explode in a place like The House of Blues.  Have I said enough?  Okay, I’m backing away from this subject now.

It was cool seeing Ann again.  She seemed delighted to see us, as she was suffering from a post-Australia low.  "It's like therapy hearing non-American accents again," she told me.  

To cheer her up, we bought her "Muriel's Wedding" as a present which didn’t really work at all because she rang us the next day to tell us that, "I did not find it to be a comedy.  It was very depressing."  

I knew we should have gone for “Strictly Ballroom”.