By Mario Kladis
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“Wow,” I said, turning to the guy next to me. I was going to say, “Hey, look–Mayor Daley!” But it was Bill Kurtis. The mayor headed over to him and said hello. To someone who grew up watching local TV and who had never seen either of these guys in person–and who was already a little drunk–it was like seeing the Shedd Aquarium shake hands with the Field Museum.
I hovered beside them for a few minutes, trying to eavesdrop on their conversation, but I couldn’t hear over the piped-in music. Also men with earpieces in overcoats were walking around talking into their hands. I moved away from the mayor because I didn’t want the overcoat men talking into their hands about me.
After the speech dozens of people rushed the stage to meet the mayor. He signed a book for someone, which gave me an idea: it would be perfect if I could get the Irish mayor with the great gay-rights record to autograph my pink cocktail napkin.
I turned around and Daley looked at my back, which I later noticed was spattered with dried slush from riding my bike. “That’s OK,” he said, laying the napkin on his palm. “It was a nice show, wasn’t it?”
I smiled and put it down. But when he walked away I stuck it in my pocket. I don’t know what I’ll do with that napkin, but I used the pen to write this story.
