The Chicago Chronicles I: "Winter Night"

          The Bulls were 14 and 3 in the early stages of a lockout shortened season. It was their best start since Michael and those great teams of the 90's taught the City of Chicago how to fly. On this particular night, the Bulls would win handily. Years down the road, however, I'll remember it for moments before the game rather than the game itself.

          Trudging through the CO2 saturated slush, Mitch, Javier, and I made our way down Madison Street towards the Billy Goat Tavern. We had about an hour to kill before the Bulls tipped off and decided that the soggy shoes and cold feet would be well worth the opportunity to put some food into our systems before heading into the United Center. The salivating smell only a good burger joint can emit enticed all of us as we crossed the final intersection of our trek. We entered to a packed eating area and crowded bar. A time-hardened worker behind the counter was relaying orders to his comrades who manned the crackling, stainless steel grill. From under the shadow of a ball cap, he greeted us with an unshakeable grin that had emerged through a mask of dark scruff.

          With every order, the man behind the counter enlightened both the workers at the grill and the rest of the establishment that another customer had ordered a Cheezborger, Cheezborger, Cheezborger. He didn't so much ask you what you wanted; he told you. Two words were all it took.

          “Double Cheez?” he questioned.

          “Sure...,” Mitch replied.

          “DOUBLE CHEEEEEZ,” he bellowed for all to hear this time.

He was catching his stride.

          “Double Cheez?” he asked Javier.

          “Uhh, yeah, with fries.”

          “DOUBLE CHEEEEEZ,” once again echoed throughout the bar.

He was a man possessed.

          “Double Cheez,” I nodded.

          “DOUUUUBLE CHEEEEEEEEEZ,” he added extra authority.

          After paying the woman at the end of the register and pouring toppings on our burgers, I volunteered to grab the first round. I returned from the bar to find that Mitch and Javier were standing at the counter. All the seats had been claimed by other Bulls fans. The man working the counter, now just feet away, continued repeating customer's orders at the top of his lungs like a parrot on steroids.

          “DOUBLE CHEEEEEZ... DOUBLE CHEEEEEZ,”

He seemed to bark and chirp at the same time.

          Tipping back Coronas and Coors Light, we instantly became part of the atmosphere. Like everyone else in the tavern, the Bulls grasped our focus. We began to churn out thoughts on all the hot topics pertaining to the city's hottest team. We discussed the impact of recent injuries and score predictions, but, somehow, comments on snowfall, burger quality, and girls we currently were and weren't interested in wove their way into the conversation. The vast majority of all Chicago barroom conversation amongst groups of 20-some-year old males falls into those very four categories: sports, greasy food, weather, and women.

          “DOUBLE CHEEEEEZ... DOUBLE CHEEEEEZ,”

He filled the gaps in our debates. He had a thick Mexican accent. When he had a moment he turned to us and proved the fact that he was capable of using an “inside voice”.

          “Hey, how are you guys?” he asked us.

          The line at the counter shortened as game time approached, which gave us the opportunity to get to know the man behind the counter beyond his booming war cry. We polished off beers and he rattled off orders for the next fifteen minutes, all the while joking back and forth and making small talk. I consider the interaction we shared with him to be of the highest quality. I will spare the details of the conversation, but it probably would have sounded something like this to the casual observer:

          “Sports,”... “Greasy Food,”.... “Women,”... “Sports,”... “DOUBLE CHEEEEEZ,”...   “Weather,”... “Women,”.... “DOUBLE CHEEEEEZ,”.... “Greasy Food,”... “Women,”... “Sports.”***

***(note: we obviously managed to touch on all four categories)

          At it's surface, I must admit; it lacked depth. But, it was one of those rare authentic interactions with a complete stranger that our smart phones and iPods continually deny us. It's situations like the one on this winter night that one realizes that the city is overflowing with interesting people worth learning about and sharing your thoughts and time with.

          After exchanging goodbyes with our new friend, we were on our way. We zipped our coats and braced ourselves as we walked out the door and exposed ourselves once again to the harsh Chicago winter. He could still be heard shouting orders as we crossed the intersection, but his voice quickly dwindled in competition with the sounds of the street. The rush of the wind and travel of cars over moist pavement filled our eardrums. The scents of beer and burger soon surrendered to those of exhaust fumes and the only “DOUBLE CHEEEEEZ” we heard were the ones that continued to echo within our heads.