But, sometimes, you have to be a tourist in your own city. You have to get a completely different perspective. You have to see a completely different view. I was game.
It was a foggy day so the "view" was hazy, clouded and left something to be desired. But, in the distance, I could make out the Rock 'N Roll McDonald's.
"Look!" I yelled and pointed in the direction of the golden arches. "McDonald's!"
I could feel the tourist in me screaming to escape all the way from the imaginary Keds on my feet up to the Windy City-lovin' hoodie on my head. What was I doing? I chalked it up to nervousness...and nostalgia for cheeseburger Happy Meals. The blonde, Eastern European waitress made her way to our table to take our drink order. I went with my signature drink...seeing as though we were at the Signature Lounge (see what I did there? That's called bad journalism). Goose dirty martini up with three blue cheese olives.
"Yeah...I'll have the same," nodded B. Huh, I thought to myself. I really expected him to go with a Labatt Blue draft beer but he was quite the fancy man, it seemed.
Let's back up for a moment.
B is a hockey player. And that really doesn't mean much one way or the other to me. I don't have a problem with it but I'm also not a fiend for it the way that some women are. They hear the word "stick" and lose their minds. I hear the word "hockey" and hope their car/apartment/room/jacket doesn't smell like a locker room. So, although B was wearing clean clothing and didn't smell like the depths of hell (also known as the inside of a hockey glove), his hair resembled a cropped version of a "business in the front, party in the back" 'do. And so did his vocabulary.
I'm the first to admit that half of the words I say are abbreviations, derivations of movie quotes and sometimes, just plain made up. But, acceptance is the first step. Or is it the second? Perhaps denial is the first. Wait, what? Yes. Denial is the first. And that's the river B was riding on. De. Nial. His incorrect assignment of definitions to words that didn't deserve them was both confusing and entertaining. I held back asking if he had always used "affluent" to describe people who spoke Spanish well...or just when referring to the VP in his office. On the flip side, I watched as he shifted in his seat uncomfortably when I used words with more than three syllables and let out what I can only describe as an incredibly bad, and not-at-all practiced, forced guffaw on five or six occasions.
As I reached my third blue cheese olive, it became clear to me that B and I weren't on the same level...of any floor...in any building. I could tell that he felt the same. But we both knew that if one of us ended the date at one drink, it would be more awkward than both of us pushing through a second one.
Helga stopped by again and we ordered two glasses of the Malbec. The fog cleared slightly. I pointed out the McDonald's again. I'm serious. Finger pointing. Childlike excitement on my face. Traffic copter announcing. B responded with, "Wow, you must really like McDonald's."
Our wine arrived. I asked if he grew up with any pets.
"Nah. I'm not really a pet person. I mean, dogs are alright, but I would never get one."
My childlike McFlurry-spotting excitement drained from my face as my eyes squinted into what I can only assume looked like a combination of confusion, anger and disgust.
"So...when you see a dog on the street...you feel nothing?" I asked matter-of-factly, in the most casual way I could muster.
"Nah. I'm not really a dog person."
At that moment, in the baritone vibrato of Dennis Haysbert, the voice inside my head said, "we're done here."
We blew through a few more questions that neither of us cared to know the answer to and finished our glasses of Malbec in under seven minutes flat. Helga was impressed. She dropped off the bill and scurried away with the evidence.
I faked a reach for my wallet and he faked not being annoyed to pay Hancock prices for a whole lot of nothing. Take my advice, people. Do not go on a first date on the 95th floor of a building. Because the ride down from a bad one lasts an eternity.
As we walked outside, each of our half hugs added up to a first and final goodbye. The Signature Room's Tagline is "The sky's the limit." But in the case of my date with B, it was 950 feet.
