My First Big Money Gig... and I ALMOST Didn't Make it!

I have been a lifelong resident of the Chicagoland area. I love almost everything about it. I am a southsider, through and through, from my baseball team, to blues music and soul food. When I cross State and Madison I feel somewhat like an alien, out of place and definitely under dressed. No knock. I love all of Chicago. There are places North of Madison I really enjoy. I love Navy Pier, Oak Street Beach, Lincoln Park and the zoo, and even though I've done it a hundred times, I still get a rush when I navigate the slow curve at Lake/Oak, on Lakeshore Drive. Rush and Division our Bourbon Street, "City Style". I have performed at a lot of clubs on the North side, but they often don't enjoy the brilliance of my south side humor.

I had to got to a wardrobe fitting and run through for the automotive commercial I am filming tomorrow. I am really anal retentive, leaning towards O.C.D., about some things. The list is long but here are some of the major qwirks.

1. I have to have something to drink with me at all times. God gave me a big mouth and shorted me on the saliva to lubricate my mouth for the crap I spew. 2. I smell everything! This is not limited to food. I feel the need to smell all the world offers. If I scratch my head, sniff-sniff. Smells pretty clean. If I hug or kiss someone sniff-sniff. It gets more neurotic than that. But for the sake of common decency, we will leave the smell thing there.
3. I obsess about my wallet and keys. When I lock my car door someplace. I stand there saying to myself, "door is locked, key in hand," "door is locked, key in hand," 10 times staring at the key.
4. I wear sunglasses on sunny days or won't drive. I have sun sensitivity. There are dollar pairs of shades all over my house and car.
5. My number one neurotic habit, that is really not so bad, is I that hate to be late to anything except my own funeral. I have an uncanny ability to calculate time, distance and arrival, taking into consideration wind, barometric pressure and sun conditions. This used to fascinate my wife but with the introduction of GPS my talents were robbed from me by technology. Like the ice and coal delivery men, my once unique skill has become obsolete. I am not afraid to ask for directions when lost. This too has lost it's chivalrous novelty when only a few button strokes can get you anywhere you need to be.

As I mentioned before, I appeared in several episodes of "The Chicago Code," and "Shameless," along with 2 feature films. These opportunities were exciting and I will continue to do them. The pay is decent, the experience invaluable, but it's not enough for a condo on the Drive. A major no-no is being late. It can be fatal to the actor or comedian, or a factory worker for that matter. I planned my journey with the precision of Lewis and Clark navigating the Ohio river.

I decided to take the train from Joliet to Lasalle Street Station and arrive with 71 minutes to spare before my final wardrobe fitting and call time review. I carry a small writing pad with me to jot down comedy and writing ideas or to remind me of something I need to do. Yesterday, as I reviewed the project details with the wardrobe coordinator, I carefully wrote the address in my notebook and sat back smugly. I was proud of my attention to the details of the shoot, at which my appointment location and logistics were logged.

The address provided was 15 N. State Street. My many years of college and  adventures around the city of Chicago should have screamed "timeout" when I took the address. I arrived with my 71 minutes to spare. I prepared for my journey North of Madison and State, the dividing line between two clans living in one village. I shot from the train bundled and accompanied with a wardrobe menagerie for whatever look they wanted for the "Angry Man."

Before heading out I purchased my return ticket home to prevent any delays on my departure and bought a roll of antacids to calm my churning tummy. I was off to 15 N. State. I headed North on Lasalle cutting through the Board of Trade. I crossed over to Washington Street and was frozen solid. Note to occasional travellers to this amazing city: streets named after presidents and lakes run east and west. It is simple and well designed. I made it to the corner of Madison and State crossing into the north side, unaware that I was on a collision course with my acting destiny.

I tread gingerly to the north side of State and suffered no ambush or sneak attacks from the northern dwellers. The first building I came to was 10 N. State. Easy only 5 more buildings to go. I ventured past what will always be the Marshall Fields Store to me and noticed it was 17 North State. What? I retraced my steps. There was no 15 N. State Street. Panic set in as my 71 minutes had shrunk to 30 with walking time. I returned back over Madison to my comfort zone thinking maybe it was 15 S. State. No such luck. I pulled out my phone and dialed the number of the wardrobe coordinator and went straight to voice mail. I was sunk. There goes my Oscar or "Weeney of the year" award.

I called again, knowing if I was late it would be. Ball four! You're out! I searched my mind for some timely solution to the dilemma. How could I have made such a touristy mistake? The curse of the north side was weighing on me and I had to think fast. I breathed in a deep gulp of the frigid air and muttered to myself, "What would McGyver do?" I immediately found a pen, a gum wrapper and a paper clip and began to fashion a compass! No! Not enough time! I remembered that my phone had Internet capability. My pride could be trampled on with no permanent injury to reach my date with destiny. This gig paid real dough and the baker was gonna get there on time.

I had remembered the name of the ad agency that was handling the account and entered the name and State street in the magic answer box of the great and powerful Google Oz! Boom! The address popped up. I was only five hundred blocks off with 22 minutes to showtime. I sprang into the street and hailed the first eager cab. "515 N. State Street and step on it." I always wanted to say that to a cabbie and my chance had finally come.

I arrived at the address and paced in the elevator waiting for my number to chime. I blew my nose of the cold and smelled the tissue. Sorry! I told you. I then gave my hair a quick comb through. I put my game face on and my panic in my pocket. With the style of George Clooney I pulled the clear glass door open like I had just dined at a cozy bistro just down the block. "Are You Tommy Connolly?" The reception asked me. "Yes,yes I am." "Right this way sir". I had made it with 5 minutes to spare. I wasn't late. I looked completely in control as I strode toward the room filled with directors, wardrobe, technical staff and interns. "Hello, I'm Tommy Connolly, the Angry Guy."