Jennie Smash

…like, say, when I first got back from my trip, but I loved Chicago. Everyone was so friendly there! For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like a weirdo. (In Boston, the fact that I say “please” after every separate item in my sandwich order is considered somewhat strange and maybe a little creepy. “With tomato, please. Yes, please. A little mayo. No, thank you, not toasted.”)

The first thing I did after arriving was run out to a dive bar around the corner and eat an astonishing amount of meat and watch a Bears game. Then I called up my cousin Rolfe, who is from Chicagoland originally (although, if you want to get persnickety about it, Deerfield is just as close to Milwaulkee), and tortured him over it.

“You can smoke everywhere,” I hissed into the phone. “And everyone leans on their vowels for half an hour. Come hooome, little Hubley, come hooome.”

Which brings me to my next point, which is that Rolfe has been trying to tell me for years now that I’m essentially a Midwestern person who sprang up in New England by mistake. After my trip, I think he’s right. Although, then again, big hotels are their own sovereign nation, like Luxembourg or Monaco. We were at the Hilton, and we could have been in Chicago, Atlanta or Kuala Lumpur. People bring you things and clean up after you. I love it. It makes me think that I’d make an awesome rich person.