The Merriam Webster dictionary defines misadventure as follows…
noun mis·ad·ven·ture \ˌmi-səd-ˈven-chər\
: an unlucky event or occurrence : a bad experience or accident that is usually minor
The newly updated Maaike VanderMeer dictionary defines misadventure as
: walking three hours on June 13 in sweaty heat without water to go to a play that won’t show till July 11.
It all started Friday night. I was waiting for Skype folk and googling weekend events. One site suggested eighty ways I could fill my Saturday in Chicago. Links kept offering themselves to my happy mouse, and I soon found a discounted price for tickets to an Anne of Green Gables play.
The unfortunate thing was that it was far. The good news was that my friend was passing in the hall right when I found the tickets, and agreed to join me.
Back history: My siblings are infamous for planning that happens (or doesn’t) on the fly. We call it spontaneity and blame our MK upbringing.
A by-product of this ill-planning is getting lost.
My friend has already experienced this. As we set off on our route, she asked to see the instructions. I handed over the green index card with an explanation, “I wrote the second half as I was Skyping my family…”
“Right to Morgan St., left, right, left, right…etc??” It was more of an ejaculation than a question.
Morgan St, it turns out, has quite a few tricky lefts and rights. That’s where we got lost. Which is why we were half an hour late. At a theatre with locked doors that won’t open till July…because I totally did not pay attention to the date.
I was ready to collapse on the grass and cry, but we sat on benches instead and tried not to think of how much our legs hurt.
“I’m really not mad at you,” my friend offered.
I realized how much I love her.
“And now, we can go inside that church we passed,” she added.
The church was a soaring cathedral (or, as soaring as Chicago gets with her cathedrals) and there was a beautiful Catholic wedding taking place inside. We watched from the back for a few minutes.
Then we lugged our dead legs to the nearest CTA station. It wasn’t very near.
Sore legs, dehydrated systems, a street that can’t make up its mind on left or right, and a locked theatre. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the new definition of misadventure.
Peradventure, it will turn out better next time…
(Besides, walking saved us $2.50 each in train fare.)