The Author and I were overdue for drinks so we decided to meet up on Sunday. I offered an Uber to take us out of our neighborhood and closer to Lincoln Square.
"Where do you want to go?" He asked.
"I'm sure we can find something. There are a lot of places there."
In the Uber we talked to the driver about politics and the modern American phenomena. Outside of the Uber we talked about my love life.
"If I were a 40 year old man no one would even blink."
We had a good Italian dinner, excellent wine and then were back to our neighborhood for a drink.
"Nightcap? Usual bar?"
"We could go to this other bar in the neighborhood."
"Shit. I just realized it's Superbowl Sunday. The game will be on."
"The game will be on in all the bars."
"The other bar?"
"I've heard it is a bit insular. Local place, you know."
"Then let's go to the usual bar."
The usual bar is lightly attended but the game is on all screens. We managed to get seats in the back by the pizza kitchen for talking, and laughing, and high fiving and general amusement. It was still in the third quarter as we sat down.
Suddenly, on the screen we see Mike Pence, the newly minted vice president.
I don't think either I or the Author would have noticed, but suddenly the bar erupted in boos.
The gay couple at the end table booed. The lesbians having dinner together booed. The jocks eating chicken wings booed. The waitstaff, the owners, everyone, all booing. I wanted to stand up and hug the entire bar. I was suddenly in love with them all. With Chicago, with our mutual outrage.
"Yeah, Mr. Vice President, welcome to Chicago," the Author says.
The resistance is everywhere.