The Southwest - Part 2

Part 1 found here.

August 20 - En Route

You know what happens when you book your flights four days in advance?*  You get five hour layovers in Chicago.

*see travel tips 1 and 2

We landed in O-Hare with several hours to kill (thank YOU expedia). 

Rather than make forced conversation with the 'rents (No, I still don't know what I'm doing with my life) I decided there was only one thing to do: eat an authentic, Chicago-style deep dish pizza.  

Now we had a plan, all that remained was to set it in motion. 

There was only one problem.  My father (travel tips 1 and 2).  This is a man who finds every single airport employee, piece of art and ikea lampshade undeniably interesting.  Seriously, he is attracted to random shit like a moth to a flame.  A moth with a heavy duty (4 piece set) Nikon camera who needs to take 80 shots of a bottle-shaped recycling bin (I wish I was making this up).

I am now thoroughly convinced that the digital camera is the most heinous invention of all time.  With these new 8000 gigabyte memory cards, one could snap away for hours if one were so inclined.  And he is so inclined.

But fear not, Readers.  There is nothing that can stand between me and delicious pizza(seriously I will bite through your calf, just try me).  As we exited (you fall behind you get left behind) I quickly ascertained that the airport is apparently an hour away from everything.  Way to go, Chicago.  You're on notice.

Undeterred, we jumped onto a subway train where a drunk man was positively assured that I and everyone else on the train were somehow racists, and told us so emphatically.  Which reminds me, I haven't been to Toronto in a while...

While on the train my father politely suggested we go visit the Sears Tower instead of getting pizza.  I politely suggested he leap from the moving train (tuck and roll!).

An hour on the subway and a short cab ride later we arrived at Pizzeria Uno, where we were informed it takes an hour to cook a pizza.  How deep is this dish?!

That's two, Chicago.

"Bag it!" I said.  "We'll eat it at the airport."  My father again proposed we check out the Sears Tower.  I proposed that he "sit down before you fall down."

We got our pizza to go and jumped back in a cab, then the subway, finally arriving at the airport with less than an hour to spare before our flight (uncanny).  In line for security we scarfed down our culinary treasure and let me tell you, it was SO. Worth it.

Chicago has officially ruined pizza for me.  I may never love again like I loved this deep-dished masterpiece.

As we reached the metal detectors, the security woman "randomly" selected me to go through the body scanner (read: naked machine).  She totally digs me.