Writer’s block

Scary stuff
Our writer put side his fears and visited what be believed to be the six most frightening places in Chicago

By Jeremy Schnitker

The American Girl Place on Chicago and Michigan if you’re anything but a pre-pubescent girl.
Hundreds of young girls excitedly bouncing around a doll store, screaming at aggravated parents who are none-to-excited about dropping $110 on a piece of plastic sounds like it would be hell enough. Throw in the fact that this three-story megastore has a salon where you can get your doll’s hair done (for about $20), a photo booth were you can get portraits with your doll (about $20 as well), a theater to watch short movies starring your doll and a wanna-be sophisticated café where you can enjoy brunch or an afternoon tea with your doll — and you’ll want to leave via its second-floor window.

If I ever have a daughter, I will go to C.I.A. lengths to prevent her from knowing that American Girl dolls exist.

 

A Bears tailgate if you’re a fan of the opposition, a full beer or an uneaten bratwurst.
Because you will get cursed at, drank and eaten with the utmost voracity. Experiencing Bear mania for the first time, following the Bills game Oct. 8, I saw that every stereotype portraying Bears fans held from people outside of Chicago is essentially true. There were fat people in Bears jerseys, speaking in thick Chicago accents, downing domestic beers rapidly and eating some of the most unhealthy fare ever imagined. About the only decipherable phrase I could here them saying was “Go Bears!”

By the looks on the faces of the dozen or so frazzled Bills fans I walked past after the game, they knew the proper routine: Put your head down, keep your mouth shut, walk briskly and disappear on a train before one of them punches you.

 

The Weiner’s Circle if you’re drunk and hungry at 2 a.m.
Even after warning my roommate that the African-American women who work at this hot dog stand on Clark and Wrightwood are extremely rude and will say almost anything to get under your skin, they still managed to piss him off. We walked in, and one of them immediately yelled at me to put $2 in the tip jar. We ordered two red hots, and a lady snapped at us, “Everything on it!?”

As one of the gals was assembling our dogs, my roommate reminded her to make them to go.

“I know! I heard ya!” she lipped back.

As my roommate muttered curses and quickly headed toward the door, irritated, I laughed, as in comparison to the stories I’ve heard about this joint, we got off easy.

 

Navy Pier, if you’re anything other than an uninspired tourist visiting Chicago.
One thing I’ll never understand about Chicago tourism is why so many flock to places like Navy Pier to eat and shop at the types of establishments they could see in any town in America. “Honey, let’s fly all the way to Chicago — arguably the culinary capital of America — and eat at a Bubba Gump Shrimp Company!”

Brilliant!

I took my parents here over the summer, and the onslaught of screaming children, restaurant chains, overpriced trinkets, bathroom lines, protruding guts and fanny packs sent us sprinting to the nearest exit in horror. There’s no reason for any human in general — let alone a Chicago resident — to step foot into this social quagmire.

 

Excalibur, if you enjoy a unique, original night on the town.
Rumor has it this building at Dearborn and Erie is actually haunted, but I can’t imagine the supposed ghosts adding anything to the fright of simply being there on any given night of the week. Arguably Chicago’s cheesiest, most clichéd club, this joint attempts to do it all for everybody: pool tables downstairs, a dance floor in the center room surrounded by oodles of plasma screens playing the game, a music venue and larger dance floor just off from the main level that usually hosts some hackneyed live act. You can drop $20 and head next door to dance to bad club music with the glow stick folk at Vision.

Remember that scene in “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,” when Raoul and Dr. Gonzo walk into Bazooko’s Circus and Johnny Depp says this “is what the world would be doing every Saturday night if the Nazis had won the war?” Walking into Excalibur has the same effect (minus the ether.)

 

Exit Chicago’s Bondage Night on Thursday, if you wind up getting whipped and chained.
With its sinister black and white skull and crossbones sign in the front of the fairly dilapidated structure, Exit Chicago isn’t the type of establishment you’d want to just casually walk into. That notion will be reinforced if you head upstairs on a Thursday night and the bondage girls get a hold of you.

Chicago’s longest running fettish night isn’t for the nonchalant.

For a nominal fee (starting at $25, and sometimes for free if the crowd is light), a team on dominatrix girls will tie you to a chain-link fence and whip you, smack you and pour hot wax on your back for about 10-15 minutes while an intrigued Jameson-sipping crowd looks on.

I’ve never been to a torture chamber, but the drafty, dungeon-esque confines of Exit were close enough.

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