The Saline Reporter
A Heritage Newspaper
Weekly Publication
Happy with change
Jerry Hinnen
PUBLISHED: January 10, 2008
I was reminded New Year's Eve about some of the differences between life in Michigan and life in my home state of Alabama.
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And no, I'm not talking about the foot of snow Mother Nature dumped on us, though it's true that if a foot of snow ever gets dumped on Alabama the National Guard will have to be called out to make sure people aren't strangling each other over the Wal-Mart's last gallon of purified water and last package of flashlight batteries. (Also, schools wouldn't reopen until February and you'd get your end-of-year mail sometime in mid-April. But I digress).
No, the reason the gap seemed so wide that night was because the Chick-Fil-A Bowl was being played, featuring my beloved Auburn Tigers, and I really, really wanted some Chick-Fil-A.
Chick-Fil-A, for the uninformed, is a fast-food chain started in the 1960s just outside Atlanta that has become near-ubiquitous across the South. It specializes in the very best breaded-and-golden-fried chicken sandwiches on the market, sandwiches by the end of my college years I felt only slightly less dependent on than oxygen.
Unfortunately, the chain hasn't spread to Michigan. But because Auburn was playing in it, I was going to have to watch the Chick-Fil-A Bowl. And because it's the Chick-Fil-A Bowl, I was going to be subjected to Chick-Fil-A advertising and images of those delicious, delicious sandwiches each and every timeout. It was going to drive me insane.
So I decided there was only one thing to do: go get some Chick-Fil-A. Some searching on the company Web site showed that in a 100-mile radius of my apartment, there were precisely two Chick-Fil-A's: one in the food court at Oakland University (not much use on New Year's Eve) and one at the mall in Toledo.
So after wrapping up work that afternoon, I met a couple of friends and we drove to Toledo. We got in line just a few scant minutes ahead of their early 6 p.m. closing time, bought an enormous bag of Chick-Fil-A sandwiches and waffle fries, and headed home to watch Auburn pull out the game in overtime.
Turns out that if there's anything better than watching your college football team win a bowl game in dramatic fashion, it's watching your college football team win a bowl game in dramatic fashion while eating a sandwich that you missed like a long-lost brother. Was it worth it? Oh my, yes, a thousand times yes.
The only problem was once I'd eaten all my sandwiches (including the two I saved for my next two lunches), I was left with the sad reality that, even to myself, I can't justify another Chick-Fil-A specific run to Toledo for months. (Also, my job doesn't exactly require regular business trips there, either.) It's going to be a long, long time before I have another savory Chick-Fil-A sandwich.
That's life in Michigan, I suppose. It's just one of many little differences I sometimes wish I didn't have to deal with, like no seeding for district-level high school sports tournaments; like no sweet tea available at restaurants; like the pothole epidemic now that the snow's thawed; like the fact that so many drivers here, while no less sane than in any other part of the country I've experienced (and considerably more sane than those from, say, Atlanta), just seem to enjoy following more closely than I'm comfortable with. (Forgive me.)
But here's the thing: those are all, as I said, little differences. There are no big differences. For all of the "Southern hospitality" stereotype, I've found in my almost 18 months here that the people of Saline and Milan could not be more gracious. The athletes, coaches and administrators of our area schools could not be more accommodating. I couldn't feel more welcome.
If there is a big difference I've noticed, it's that the people of Michigan are willing to actually fund projects like nice schools and nice libraries, and that's a point in Michigan's favor rather than the opposite.
I guess the other big difference, and the one people ask me about most, is the weather. But I'm not worried about that, either. New Year's Eve, after the game was finished, I went for a walk in the snow. It was amazing, the way those soft flakes make even the cold light of a halogen lamppost look haunting and dream-like.
I stood outside longer than I should have, until reminded by my dampening coat that snow is, in fact, made of frozen water. It's just been one more thing I've been happy to learn about this remarkable place.
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