My Dinner With Carlton

I knew I had to look and act like an adult.

After all I don’t go to aldermanic fundraisers everyday.

In the scheme of things, an aldermanic fundraiser is not on par with the Spielberg, Geffen & Katzenberg dust up they’re having out west for Senator Obama.

Nonetheless you do have to actually put your money where your mouth is and support the candidates that you actually respect.

Few politicians pass that litmus test. Fortunately for me my alderman does.

No I don’t have a case of idol worship but I do think she’s aces.

So off I tripped to her campaign kick off at the Seven Ten Lanes in Hyde Park.

There were few people that I knew but hell I’ll go anywhere but a white separatist’s meeting. Not knowing people in a crowd doesn’t really faze me.

My alderman was working the crowd and giving everyone the glad hand.

I actually started putting faces with names, generally behaving and chewing with my mouth shut.

You know---grown up stuff.

When I finally got a chance to steal a moment with my alderman to thank her for a job well done, that’s when I saw him.

I guess the fresh flowers dying should have been a sign.

There he was in the flesh, the title character of I Hate My Developer---Carlton Knight.

I continued my conversation with my alderman---slyly throwing in a “Why didn’t you tell me that he was here?”---during a pause in the conversation.

“Now Woody calm down.”

“Why does that man have the nerve to show his face here?’

I went to the bar to go get another drink.

A big drink.

I later found out that he is a regular on the black aldermanic fundraising circuit. Naturally everyone has to play nicey and not make waves in public. From some thinly veiled conversations with those in the know, he’s about as welcome as a case of the clap.

Then of course they could be feeding me a big load of bullshit as everyone knows my feelings for the man.

Hell it’s in the title of this blog.

I went for another drink.

Hopefully he’s still persona non grata in my ward and won’t be “developing property” anytime soon. Now for the rest of Chicago---Lord help them.

No words were exchanged between us. No glares. Glasses remained intact and knives were not thrown.

I was a perfect lady who was cussing under her breath.