In Chicago, Everyday Is A Saturday During The Summer
Last Sunday I hopped out of bed at 8:00 a.m. and met my parents at their hotel about two miles from my apartment. We ate breakfast, chatted about my plans for the rest of the day, and then they took off, my dad completely uninterested in sticking around for a few hours when he could be on the road, doing what dads do best - making good time on the return trip.
I made my way back home, where two of my roommates were whingeing about the number of drinks they had consumed on Saturday night.
I myself had a low-grade hangover after drinking wine for four or five hours with my mom and dad, and in the winter or even early spring this situation that I’m describing - three of us on a couch bitching about headaches and empty stomachs - would mean takeout food and a four hour, commercially interrupted action movie on TNT.
But this isn’t winter, spring, or fall - we’re now in the thick of summer, and it’s amazing what a beer can do for you the morning after a night out on the town. I parlayed that Sunday morning hangover into an all-out assault on neighborhood bars and shops.
I hit Lululemon and Arcteryx and had a nice time at the latter imagining what it would be like to own an eight hundred dollar windbreaker.
I ate pizza, one donut, and one third of a charcuterie board. Following that, I sat down on a patio around 4:00 p.m. and started hammering Aperol Spritzes, which turned into Miller Lights, a cheeseburger, and some motherfucking sweet potato fries at another place down the street. I had myself a day on Sunday, and then I woke up Monday morning and went to work to go about my business.
That story simply doesn’t happen in March or April. There’s just no way I’m getting off of the couch with a hangover if I have to put on a jacket to walk around outside. I change my tune frequently on how often I go out. I’m a flip-flopper, but right now I’m just really basking in the opportunities that present themselves when it’s warm.
The days are beginning to morph together as they so often do in June, July, and August. The general disposition at offices around here is cheery and lighthearted. I think it’s like that in most places of work around the country (except in California where inclement just doesn’t exist). Right now jobs are a minor inconvenience, something that we’ll all tolerate because it’s paying our bar tabs.
I am not one of those people who claim to not get hangovers. Those people are liars, and I won’t hear anything to the contrary. But a hangover is inconsequential during this time of the year, a minor hiccup that can be solved with another shot, another beer, or a bloody mary and something greasy.
In a place like Chicago, I know that it’s important to make the most of these warm days because in the blink of an eye I’m going to be ankle deep in snow again and violently depressed at the prospect of cold weather for six months.
People are out on patios sipping Mai Tai’s and vodka sodas every single night of the week and I can’t say I blame them. No one cares that they have to be in to work at 8:00 a.m. Everyone is just risking it all.
People are going out four or five times a week and it’s fucking incredible to see. I’ve only really started noticing it since moving back to place that has snow for a majority of the yar. The weekend no longer exists. The weekend is seven days long and no one is pressuring you to go out, but you feel an internal pressure to not waste a single day with the sun shining and the temperature rising. It’s your prerogative, of course, but what’s a hangover at work in the grand scheme of things when it’s heavenly outside?