Postcards from Glenview: A Week of Work, Wrigley, and Weird Mashed Potatoes
You know that thing where you sign up for a new gig, meet a whole new crew of people, and within a few weeks you’re all sitting in a restaurant together like you’ve known each other since third grade? That was this week. One full week in Glenview, Illinois — which is basically Chicago’s well-behaved suburban cousin — doing training, eating too much, and squeezing in just enough adventure to make the flight home feel well-earned.
The Accidental Summer Camp
Now, let me start by saying I hadn’t spent much time with this team before. I knew names, seen a faces for a month on Teams, but that was about it. Funny thing about being stuck in a hotel together for a week of classes, though — you start feeling like you’re in adult summer camp. Same people every day, inside jokes start forming, everyone’s half-exhausted and half-slap-happy by midweek, and next thing you know you’re swapping stories over dinner like lifelong friends.
It’s a weird but kind of awesome part of this job — these mini families you build on the road. I hope I get a deployment in Arizona so I can see some of my new friends again.
Glenview: The Land of No Postcards
Glenview itself? Listen — perfectly nice place. Clean. Safe. Lots of office parks and chain restaurants. But if you’re looking for something to put on a postcard… well, good luck. That became my side mission for the week: find postcards to send home.
I’ve got this thing now where I want to send postcards home from every deployment. It’s retro, it’s funny, the kids will hopefully get a kick out of it, and it’s way more personal than a text. Plus, I’m planning on getting a little creative with them — murder mystery by mail may be in the works. Stay tuned.
Anyway — postcard hunt: total bust in Glenview. Not a souvenir stand or a store with postcards in sight. I was starting to get a little discouraged, but as you’ll see, the story doesn’t end there.
Eating My Way Through the Company Credit Card
One of the great unspoken perks of business travel: the company picks up dinner for training.
We ate well this week. Really well. I mean, Chicago may have its deep dish weirdness (see the last post), but everything else? They know what they’re doing.
The standout meal was a place called Salsa 17, tucked into this cool little walkable pocket called Arlington Alfresco. Picture this: table-side guac, perfectly grilled tomahawk lamb chops, vegetables roasted with chilies, and these chipotle mashed potatoes that I still don’t fully understand but would gladly build a small religion around. I don’t know what chipotle mashed potatoes even technically are — but they’re important.
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If you ever find yourself near Arlington Heights, go. And go hungry. There are dozens of restaurants that I didn’t get to try.the entire area was really laid back and chill..
Wrigley: The Holy Grail
Now for the big highlight: Wrigley Field.
I haven’t watched a lot of baseball the last few years, but as a kid? I was all in. Watched the Mets, went to a few games here and there, and always dreamed of seeing the old parks in person. So, walking into Wrigley? That was a full-circle moment.
The ivy. The old-school scoreboard. The history baked into every square inch of that place. Wrigley’s one of those stadiums that feels smaller than you expect but bigger than life at the same time. You look around and think: “Yeah, this is why people love this game.”
Even the locals told us — Cubs could be having a lousy season, and it still sells out. Because it’s not just baseball. It’s Wrigley. It’s tradition. The cubbies are like a tribe.
Now, full disclosure: the game has changed a bit since I was a kid. Pitchers and catchers wear headsets now, there’s a play clock that speeds things up (thank you, honestly), and everybody’s got these sliding gloves that look like they robbed a Crate & Barrel oven mitt display.
But when they hit Take Me Out to the Ballgame in the 7th? Man, that part hasn’t changed at all. That’s still pure Americana.
Oh, and yes — I had a hot dog. It was phenomenal. As Abe Froman, the Sausage King of Chicago would say, “you’re in Chicago — you eat the sausage.”
The Postcard Mission (Finally) Succeeds
Here’s where the universe threw me a win: after a full week of striking out on postcards, where do I finally find them? Wrigley Field gift shop. Right there, practically glowing under the lights. Mission accomplished.
I stayed up way too late after the game, writing out every single one so I could drop them in the mail before my last day. Totally worth it. It’s weirdly satisfying to physically write something and know it’ll show up in the mailbox instead of a notification bubble.
Wrigleyville After Dark: Arcade Meets Chaos
Post-game, we wandered into Sluggers, one of those bars that tries to be twelve different things at once. The main floor was your standard packed bar — loud music, shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, the usual.
But then we discovered the upstairs.
Batting cages. Basketball hoops. Skeeball. One of those punching bag machines where guys who peaked in high school try to impress each other by seeing who can hit it hardest. And then — just when you think you’ve seen it all — you wander into a room with two guys absolutely butchering piano bar classics in full Dan Band energy. They knew exactly what they were doing — reckless, chaotic, and completely in sync with the vibe.
I don’t drink much these days, but honestly, just watching the circus was entertainment enough.
The Final Meal: Pierogi Countdown
With my flight not leaving until 6 p.m., I had time for one last Chicago culinary adventure: a Polish/Ukrainian spot I found that basically serves carbs on top of carbs. I plan on ordering pierogies, potato pancakes, and a few other starch-based life choices — and I regret nothing. If you’re going to eat heavy, do it on travel day. Gravity helps you stay in the seat.
Speaking of seats — this time I drew seat 20F instead of my old nemesis 23F (aka the “bathroom wall special”). Same narrow regional jet, but this one reclines. Progress.
Closing Thoughts
I don’t know if or when I’ll get back to Chicago again, but if this winds up being my one week in town? I did it right.
Great people. Great food. Legendary ballpark. And just enough absurdity to make it memorable.
That’s the best kind of business trip — the one where you leave with stories. The kind you’ll still tell even after you forget what half the classes were about.
Until next time, Chicago — It’s 15 miles from Glenview, I got a fully loaded Metra card, half a bag of postcards, it’s dark, and I’m wearing sunglasses.
Hit it!
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