This post was submitted by Jean

Although I am a stubborn advocate of city living, I have to acknowledge that there are still a few circumstances that we urban dwellers face that render us to a sort of adolescent state. One just example of this arrested development comes in the form of our complete and total reliance on public transportation to function in society. Suburban and rural/country dwellers know what time they have to be at work/church/Jonas’ 2^nd birthday party, assume the distance that must be traveled, factor in some potential traffic or a celebratory card pick up, and then climb into their automobiles and drive there. Occasionally, they might wake up a few minutes late, get stuck in line at CVS or have trouble getting the kids off to school, and then they are the proportional amount of time late for their destination. (Wake up 8 minutes late = arrive 8 minutes late to work).

Urban folks who commute by public transportation are not allowed the confidence of hopping into the car to begin their journey to their destination. Their lives are governed by a time-table created by The Man that is often seemingly impossible to find and reference. This reliance on trains and buses to get us to and from our destinations has its benefits. No sitting for hours in traffic, for instance. We can also sometimes accomplish work or catch up on sleep on the train, adding more hours to our days. What we lose is our adulthood. Our independence. The simple ability to be the master of one’s own schedule. Living in a city consists of a diverse array of restaurants, access to unique cultural experiences, and grown people in heels and ties running at top speed with sweat pouring from their faces to make the train. Each morning that I hit snooze one time, or splash a little coffee on my white shirt before exiting my apartment, leads directly to me running down a busy street, ducking and dodging oncoming pedestrians, spilling more coffee, dropping change (and occasionally my necessary train pass) only to arrive panting and sweating on a train platform in time to watch my train pull away. Thus resulting in my being late for work. It’s like being in 7^th grade again, at least 3 times a week.

The loss of transportational freedom is one sacrifice many of us city folk have to deal with, but I think we deal with it bravely. We create flexible work schedules, and try to memorize how many minutes it takes to get to jog or run to our train stop. We try to adjust to the inflexible world of public transportation.  A more embarrassing challenge for city folk is the Urban Walk of Shame.  It used to be that the Walk of Shame was only for gals and guys who got to drunk at a party and crashed in someone’s dorm room in undergrad. Hundreds of students would then spy that unlucky person on their walk to the cafeteria Sunday morning, as he or she stumbled through snow banks in bar clothes, most likely having left his or her contacts on someone’s bathroom floor. After college, sleepovers (planned or not) are often on the down-low a little more, as you can often pull on yesterday’s clothes and hop in your car for a private Drive of Shame. If the sleepover went well, and you don’t have your car, there’s a good chance your host will crawl out of bed and offer to drive you home. It’s just polite.

In a city, where car ownership is much lower, the original, collegiate Walk of Shame re-emerges. Suddenly, when a Tuesday night dinner date leads to the bar, which leads back to someone’s apartment, the consequences must be considered. When your sleepover buddy gets up for work at 5:30am, are you prepared to walk the seven blocks back to your apartment in your dinner date outfit? Are you comfortable walking through Wicker Park or Dupont Circle at 6am in last night’s skirt or a pair of borrowed PJ pants well into your early 30s? Does walking past a crowd of commuters who are waiting for the bus carrying a plastic grocery bag full of clothes in your hand (including the undergarments they can surely tell you are not wearing) make you feel uncomfortable?

If this instance only happens rarely, it’s probably not unheard of to catch a cab home and avoid the Walk of Shame, however if you and your City Sleepover become an item, this scenario may repeat itself night after night—or, perhaps, morning after morning. In this case, the 5-7 dollar cab fare begins to add up and you are right back where you started from, in flannel pants and heels, thong in your back pocket, unbrushed teeth, and two hours to kill before your day usually begins.

If you are even more unlucky it might be too far to walk home after your sleepover. You might have to ride the train back to your own place in the morning. In that case, let’s hope your morning schedule isn’t too strict, because the only thing worse than watching a grown professional running to catch the train to work at 7:30am, is some slob hoofing it up the platform stairs in last night’s make-up like catching the train is life or death.

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