CHICAGO

Part of a series of stories I wrote while living in Wisconsin in the 80s

This country mouse visited the city last week.  Chicago!  And I didn’t see anything “toddling” about it even though Sinatra’s tune played in my mind’s ear all day long.

No, Chicago doesn’t toddle any more.  It takes full, confident strides, as if it has a life of its own.  My mission on this, my first trip ever to Chicago, was to become semi-skilled at moving from point A to point B without getting mugged.

I took my kids there on the first day of their spring break.  The event my teenage daughter longed for finally happened, but not until after we had visited the Shedd Aquarium, the Art Institute, and the Sears Tower.  Finally, I said the magic words:  “All right.  Let’s go for lunch.”  I wondered what Hardrock Cafe was like, but I had received good advice before leaving home that it was a safe place to go.  Earlier in the day, a taxi cab driver had told us it was so expensive they had valets there to park your car for you.  I gasped.  He apparently thought we were out of our minds because it was just a hamburger joint with $5.00 hamburgers, and didn’t we know that we could get a hamburger cheaper at McDonalds?

Upon arriving at Hardrock Café without a car and therefore without having to worry about how much you are supposed to tip a valet, I gasped again.  The place was decked out in my language – 50s memorabilia!  Platinum records on the walls.  Old fashioned pinball machines clanging everywhere.  Fifties music blaring. Waitresses dressed in 50s uniforms flitting to and fro across the room.  The focal point was a motorcycle perched on a ceiling beam. 

The hamburgers were indeed delicious, but the cabbie was wrong.  They cost $6.00 instead of $5.00.