Skyway – Poem (By Wendi Rank)
Just a few weeks ago, I was strolling down Nicollett Mall, a bustling street in Minneapolis.
Bruce Springsteen’s Born to Run pulsed from an outdoor speaker, further up the Mall.
The Wendy of that song sweats in the streets.
This Wendi was sweating, too.
And shivering.
Why I was in Minneapolis is a long story. Abbreviated, it goes like this:
It’s my husband’s adorable version of a romantic getaway.
Why I was strolling the Mall, well. That’s why we’re here.
Lingonberry jam is a specialty in Minneapolis. Two jars beckoned me at the American Swedish Institute.
But a thought struck me in the night. My lingonberry jam was too large to pass through security in my carry-on.
The solution followed quickly on the heels of my panic.
The Skyway.
From the second floor of Minneapolis’ hotels and office buildings juts a network of enclosed pedestrian bridges. Known as the Skyway, they connect these structures like veins to a heart.
The Skyway connecting to my hotel held a tiny UPS. I could ship my lingonberry jam – and Swedish pancake mix – home.
The next day, I set out for that UPS.
And discovered many, many places are closed on Saturdays in Minneapolis.
That bakery with the yummy croissant? Closed. The café with the refreshing iced tea? Also closed.
That UPS, mere feet from your hotel?
Yeah. That’s closed, too.
Everybody might be on the run tonight in Bruce’s world. But in Minneapolis, not so much.
I texted my husband my dilemma.
We rarely – so rarely – see each other on our romantic getaways.
“There’s a FedEx in our hotel,” he texted back.
Huh. Did not know that.
I hoofed it back to our hotel, finding the FedEx so close to the Skyway entrance, I could have tossed my lingonberry jam to the clerk.
Had a clerk been on duty.
Because, yes. It was closed.
Another UPS was open until four – four! Are we the E Street Band? – in what is called the City Center.
The City Center is a fifteen minute walk from my hotel.
So I set out once more through the Skyway.
The Skyway has floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s fun to observe residents below, wandering the streets. The Scandinavian architecture. Try to figure out where you are.
“You lost?” one fellow traveler on the Skyway asked.
“City Center?” I asked. And in true Midwestern fashion, he pointed me in the right direction.
Each leg of the Skyway is managed by the building to which it attaches. Meaning some are delightfully climate controlled.
And some are freezing.
I vacillated between sheens of sweat and violent chills. Traversing the Skyway feels a lot like having the flu.
I was halfway to the City Center when I encountered a locked arm of the Skyway.
Its managing building – apparently closed on Saturdays – keeps its Skyway locked, too.
Bruce tells his Wendy someday, we’ll get to that place.
I kind of think I want to be that Wendy.
Now, the Skyway does have stairs to the street. Of course it does. But I didn’t have a coat.
Because, you know, Skyway.
My phone assured me the City Center UPS was a seven-minute walk outside. But given how this day was going, I trusted nothing.
Bruce wants to die on the street with his Wendy. This Wendi just wanted to ship her lingonberry jam.
I trekked back to my hotel room, retrieved my coat, and hit the street.
My walk was actually pleasant. The music played. The Mary Tyler Moore statue tossed her hat. I found the UPS.
The clerk there was so helpful, I asked him where in the building I could find the Starbucks.
“Oh it’s three stores over,” he replied.
“But it’s Saturday,” he said.
“It’s closed.”
