Tuesday, we all celebrated a new year and folks in Illinois rang in one that will be smoke free. This is in contrast to my home state of Michigan when, a few months back, we stopped for gas at mile 1 and the gas station attendant lady was smoking behind the counter. This struck me as odd in two ways. First, who still smokes at work? Is this 1955? Second, who smokes at work when work is a gas station? Don't they blow up? Haven't they seen Zoolander?
Even though the law is only a few days old, changes can already be seen in Chicago. Two blocks down, we have noticed Miller's Pub (the real drinkers bar, packed Sunday's at 11am) actually has an interior. It's not pretty, as we suspected, but the people that enter the bar don't enter into a new ethereal world of smoke and booze as we had previously thought. People enter at 10am and disappear until 2am. Where did they go? A magical place with rivers of beer and wine? Unicorns and stallions? No...an ugly hole in the wall bar.
The other change we have noticed is now that the smell of smoke has left the clubs it has been replaced by another. People. Hot, sweaty, smelly, people. Last night, we went to a bar called Danny's and while it was hip and fun when you put together a hundred people in a cramped hot space they begin to sweat. And when a hundred people begin to sweat it starts to feel like you're drinking in a gym locker room.
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