Michael D. Davis.

Alright, I’ve been putting this off for a while. I went to Chicago a few weeks ago.

I know what you’re saying, “Hey, Mike, what the chestnuts? You don’t travel unless there’s a funeral, so who died?” The answer, my friend, is my sister’s taste in music. Ya see she got these tickets to a Pink concert in the big city and me and my Ma tagged along.

Now, I ain’t gonna go over the entire trip cause then we’re gonna be here all day cause, frankly, I haven’t quite recovered yet. I mean, I saw more people in the first five minutes than I’ve ever seen in Tama-Toledo. I could talk about being astounded by the Van Gogh exhibit at the Art Institute or the any of the thousand things that amazed me, but I’m not. I’m gonna talk about bein’ a country yokel in the windy city.

Ya gotta understand that I’ve never really felt this before cause one, I’ve never been to the big city, and two, I’ve always lived in Toledo. I’ve never lived on a farm or anywhere that isn’t thirty seconds away from Casey’s. So, in Tama-Toledo here, I kind of feel like a “town” kid.

We weren’t even in the city limits and a big low flying plane went by outside the window of the car and I said, “Did ya see how low that plane was? And it wasn’t even a crop duster.” So, we were off to a good start.

Skip to the hotel, we get our key cards and are directed to these tiny closet-like elevators. Ma and my sister decide to take the luggage up while I sit my fat butt on a bench across the way. They get into the elevator. I see them hit the button for our floor, seven, and I watch the number atop the doors. 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…

The doors open, this guy gets off and I hear the voices of Ma and my sister. I asked them if they dropped off the luggage and they said not yet they didn’t get to the floor. So, the elevator doors close again, and I watch the numbers again. 1…2…3…4…3…2…1…

A couple of women get off this time. I can still hear the voices of Ma and my Sister. Some guy gets on with them, and the doors close again. I’m still sitting there on the bench when another woman comes along and gets into the other elevator. I watch her as she swipes her room key at this thing in the elevator before hitting her floor. “Oh Lord,” I think.

So, I call my sister. She answers somewhere around the tenth floor. She immediately starts chewing me out for calling her while she’s on the elevator. When she’s done, I inform her about using the key card to get to the proper floor, and they finally drop off the luggage. All in all, Ma and my sister rode the elevator for a good twenty minutes in Chicago.

Then there’s this bit. Now, my Ma doesn’t have the best eyes. I mean, she can see, and she can drive and all but eh, they are kind of Coke bottle like.

So we get settled in the hotel room. My Ma looks in the cabinet and sees a little coffeemaker, a microwave, and a minibar; and informs us of such. My sister runs off to her concert, and I start figuring out room service.

Me and Ma eat some supper and save a burger for my sister for after her concert. Around midnight, after what seemed like a million sirens had bellowed outside the window, my sister returns.

I say, “Hey, we got you a burger, there’s a microwave in the cabinet.” She says, “Sweet.” She grabs the burger, leans down, opens the cabinet, and says, “Hey guys, this is a safe.” Suffice to say we are still waiting for the burger to warm up.

As much as I’d like to completely blame my Ma’s bad vision on this one, I gotta take some of the blame here. I had looked in the cabinet earlier in the night. But, hey ya see this big black thing with numbers, and a little display, and someone had said it was a microwave, and it’s kind of in shadow.

So… uh, yeah, Chicago. Fun was had.