The decay of "My Fair City" (names have been replaced to protect this planner)
My Fair City is becoming seedy. There is no denying it any longer.
The quiet southwest suburb that recently landed the prestigious honor from BusinessWeek magazine as "America's Best Place to Raise Your Kids" is on the road to ruin.
You could hear the horrified gasps up and down Oak Park Avenue last year when Mayor xxxxx and the rest of the village board gave their blessing for a pawnshop to open. The owner also runs a pawnshop in that slum xxxxxx (<----Mendleman's town
Yes, that's right, a pawnshop. In My Fair City. The kind of place where people sell things like old jewelry and electronics so they can get a few extra dollars in case they're in a bind and need to pay some bills.
That sort of thing doesn't happen in My Fair City.
Not when the good people can go on Craigslist and allow strangers to come into their homes and hand them a few dollars for their old junk.
Upscale stuffy xxxxx city, according to a cursory thumbing through the Yellow Pages, is home to at least three pawnshops.
The effect of such moral turpitude is obvious.
Just ask the people who file in and out of the jammed restaurants in downtown Upscale Stuffy xxxx city restaurants Friday and Saturday nights, paying $150 for a bottle of wine.
"We don't go to upscale stuffy xxxx city anymore," they say before walking into parking garages of stained glass and climbing into their Cadillac Escalades. "Too many pawnshops."
Upscale stuff City was dragged so deep into the mud by its pawnshops, a fondue joint was allowed to open.
One more pawnshop in Upscale stuffy City might mean an end to the community's distinction as the No. 1 overrated suburb that all other suburbs privately desire they could become just like.
Keep it up with the pawnshops, My Fair City. The editors at BusinessWeek might ask for their award back.
Pawnshops are bad enough by themselves.
But the My Fair City fathers seemed bent on trashing the town and driving property values into the ground.
They also had to give the OK for a tattoo shop to open.
"There goes the neighborhood," said a Gated Subdivision soccer mom sporting a tattoo of a small flower on her ankle.
"The nerve," replied a neighbor in the same cul-de-sac with a dolphin inked on to her lower back.
There are no tattoos on this fantasy island of My Fair City. Residents still do it the old-fashioned way, by driving to Chicago's North Side and dropping a few hundred bucks to get their body art.
My Fair City seems intent on making a pact with the devil. And we know what happens to places that make pacts with the devil.
My Fair City also has become home to - cue "Dragnet" theme here - a teen nightclub.
The opening of "The Club" is a calamity of such grave consequences, a resident might want to phone Speak Out and declare his disgust.
Before you know it, local teens won't be hiding out and drinking in the forest preserves.
They might have something to do with their free time.
You already can hear the Wurlitzers blaring past 9 at night.
The boys will grow hair below their ears.
The girls even might start wearing long pants.
This slippery slide into decay needs to end soon.
If My Fair City isn't careful, a Wal-Mart might want to come to town.