Great news: Alpena has two people who do Uber now. And as responsible adults who don’t want to get arrested or hurt ourselves or others, so we took one to the bar.
Bad news: Neither of those people are working now. We are semi-drunk and 2.7 miles away from our home. So we walk.
USA. A Mexican restaurant. We had not yet ordered anything, and the food was already arriving.
Chips. Salsa. Unrequested. Free.
I stopped the waiter. "We have not earned these."
"They just come with the table, man."
They come with the TABLE. In my land, hospitality is a debt. Every gift creates an obligation, weighed carefully, returned in the proper season with interest of feeling. Here, the gift arrives before you have even proven you can pay for dinner.
This is not an appetizer. This is a declaration: we trust you. Eat.
I ate with the gravity the moment deserved. And then — I must report this calmly — the basket emptied, and a new one appeared.
"Did we…?"
"Refill," the waiter said. "It's bottomless."
Bottomless. They have wells of salsa. The supply lines of this nation are beyond anything my ancestors imagined.
My friend warned me. "Don't fill up on chips, dude."
Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man.
I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy.
Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived.
I know the rule now. I have made my peace with the basket. One basket. Two at the most.
Who am I deceiving. There is no number of baskets I would refuse. The trust of a nation is in that salsa, and I intend to honor all of it.
Oh you want out so badly that you gave us three whole teams, two of which already win all the Cups plus one with no assets left to make a decent offer? Cool, you have five years left on your contract, see you at practice.
From 250 miles above Earth, most of the United States blurs together into a continental mass of brown and green with no obvious landmarks. Then Michigan appears and the confusion stops completely. The mitten shape of the Lower Peninsula surrounded by four of the five Great Lakes is one of the most distinctive geographic features visible from the International Space Station, a natural outline so clean and so recognizable that astronauts have confirmed it repeatedly as one of the clearest views of any state from orbit.
The Great Lakes are what make it work. Superior, Michigan, Huron, and Erie create a water to land contrast that defines Michigan's borders with a precision that no cartographer could improve on. The mitten sits in the middle of all that blue like it was placed there deliberately, which in geological terms it essentially was, carved out by glaciers over thousands of years into a shape that somehow ended up being both geographically functional and immediately identifiable from the edge of the atmosphere.
Michigan residents have been using their right hand as a map their entire lives and that same gesture works from space, which is not something any other state can say. Astronauts have photographed Michigan more than almost any other state passing beneath them because the view rewards it every single time. For a state already sitting on the greatest freshwater system on the planet, being unmistakable from 250 miles up is simply Michigan being exactly what it has always been. Impossible to miss. Even from space.