Milwaukee, Doan'cha Know

Looking at a three day weekend with at least a day's worth of work to take home.  No matter.  I am still so grateful to be employed - even if this is the most stressful sales job I have ever had.

My company is in change mode.  We are introducing a lot of new product which should go far in changing the trajectory of our business, but transition is always tough.  Like trying to turn a ship on a dime.  Still, I get to travel a bit.  To far off and unknown places.

Like Wisconsin.  Preparing for the trip was easy.  I have packing for business down to a science now.  It was depressing to see how beat up my beautiful, expensive, not-yet-a-year-old suitcase is.  It does not pay to buy attractive luggage.  By the time I got to Wisconsin, the airline had further damaged my bag by breaking the collapsible handle - offering evidence to support my suspicion that airlines are cutting corners by employing monkeys to handle the luggage.  By the way, airlines won't guarantee wheels or handles.

Anyway, I was in Wisconsin for a literacy conference - taking place at the same time that major snow storm was blowing through on its way to Boston.  Having been warned that I couldn't possibly imagine the cold I was about to endure, I brought my black wool car coat, my heavy-duty London Fog trench coat to wear over it, and even borrowed a good ski-coat from a friend.  As it turns out, the hotel I stayed at had a skywalk to the convention center so the only time I was outside was the 10 seconds from airport terminal to cab to hotel to cab to airport terminal.  The only time I needed my coat was to roll it up and use it on the plane as a pillow.  True, I missed much of what Milwaukee has to offer - which I'm certain is measurable - but then again, you know, so what?  I was able to see the snow from the skywalk and from my hotel room - and it was glorious, but I also saw scores of people, heavily bundled with oversized shovels doing what looked like the very hard work of clearing the sidewalks.

Better them than me (she said selfishly).

I did not have to walk outside to get a bit of Milwaukee native flavor though.  I was there representing my company, one of many vendors exhibiting to educators attending.  Exhibiting from one of the universities, right across the aisle was a very likeable woman named Pat.  Pronounced "Pey-at".  It is spoken in nearly two syllables.  Pat told me she has "lived mii whohle life in Wiskahnsin" (lived my whole life in Wisconsin).  She had a delightful Wisconsin accent and was very friendly.

"Whey're ya frahm?" she asks me.

"Thousand Oaks", I tell her.

"Ooh.  Wheyre's that?"

"Between Los Angeles and Santa Barbara - just over the Santa Monica mountains from Malibu", I explain.

Immediately she crosses over the aisle laughing.  "Ooh mii gaad", she says.  "Heh-av yah ever seen the Caalaforneeons" on Saatarday Niight Liive?  They aare sooooooooooo funnee."  And then, in her heavy Wisconsin accent, she attempted a California surfer accent and I won't even try to spell it phonetically.  Hilarious.  

And don't think that just because I never left the confines of the hotel/conference center I didn't experience some real Milwaukee pride.  The hotel (Hilton) offered the the kind of experience that many travelers are looking for - comfortable rooms with enough old-world luxury to make you feel you were somewhere special.  But lest you forget where you were, among several places to dine in the hotel, they offered "The Miller Time Pub".  I had forgotten it was brewed in Milwaukee.

But the most noteworthy experience of my trip was walking through the austere hallways of the Hotel, with its lush red and gold carpeting and beautiful crystal chandeliers to one end of the sky walk, across to the other side where an escalator ran, taking you to the convention center.  Along the wall of the escalator, as you descended, were large, framed black and white photographs (circa 1970s) of Milwaukeeans - large and small, young and old - reveling in the Polka experience.  And because, to the foreigner, these images alone might appear ridiculous - even eliciting a condescending chuckle at the sight of joy with beer and accordions, those responsible for the choice of decor installed a sign at the top of the stairs which read "Push to Play Polka".

So, of course, I did.

And for the short ride down, looking at the photos and hearing the rousing sounds of a professional polka band, I let me feet go: one, two, three - and, one, two, three - and..." on my step - all the way down.  And it felt just great.

Indeed, I think I would like to visit Milwaukee again.

In the Spring.

Oh-kee Doh-kee, then.