Chicago Mayor-elect Rahm Emanuel and Governor Pat Quinn today met for the first timesince Emanuel won the mayor's race outright. Reporters weren't given the opportunity to ask questions at the photo-op event, so WARD ROOM blogger Edward McClelland imagined how the meeting might have gone.
Pat Quinn and Rahm Emanuel had lunch on Friday in the Governor’s Suite at the James R. Thomson Center, and Ward Room was invited! Here’s how the meeting went.
1:40 p.m.: Emanuel arrived 10 minutes late. “Sorry,” he told Quinn. “I jogged over here from my campaign office. I swam six miles at the East Bank Club this morning, but I was still feeling sluggish.”
“No problem,” Quinn said.
“I really appreciate you coming up here from Springfield to meet with me.”
“It was only a three-and-a-half hour drive, and this is where I keep my underwear, anyway.”
1:45 p.m.: Quinn tried to order a deep-dish with sausage and cheese from Edwardo’s. Emanuel gently took the phone away from the governor and hung it up.
“Now, Pat, Pat. I know you like to eat a lot of pizza, but I’m not a big pizza guy, I’m not a big eater, and I can’t mix meat and dairy, especially on Friday.”
“Oh, right,” Quinn said. “It’s Lent.”
“That and other reasons.”
“I’m sorry. I was just trying to make you feel at home. There’s nothing more Chicago than deep-dish pizza.”
“Pat, we’re not here to argue about what makes a real Chicagoan, or what we’re going to eat. We’ll just order a couple spinach salads. I don’t think anyone can object to a spinach salad, can they?”
2 p.m.: The spinach salads arrive. Quinn chews miserably on the leaves.
“Now, Pat, you know what I really want to do as mayor is expand the sales tax to cover mango facials for dogs. I want that to be the signature accomplishment of my term in office. But I can’t do that without the legislature’s permission.”
“We already raised the income tax last year. The people aren’t going to accept another tax increase, even if it’s just a tax shift.”
“Listen, Mr. Accidental Governor, do you have a dog?”
“I have a 13-year-old terrier named Bailey."
“Well, do you want to wake up with Bailey’s head in your bed? It won’t be a mango facial all over your sheets, either.”
Quinn turned even whiter than usual.
“I’ll look into it,” he said.
2:15 p.m.: “O.K.,” Emanuel said. “We’ve agreed to tax mango facials for dogs, to move the state capital from Springfield to Chicago, to build a suite of offices for the mayor in the new capitol building in Englewood, and to reopen Meigs Field for the private jet of any donor who contributes more than $10,000 to my political action committee. And, of course, the governor’s plane, as long as there’s not a conflict. There’s just one other thing.”
“What’s that?” Quinn asked wearily.
“I talked to my brother Ari. He can get you a job in Hollywood in four years, after I take over as governor. You’ll love it out there. You could use some sun, Pat. You look awfully pale."