Tourist in Your Own Hometown

Despite the corny “Possibility City” advertising campaign, I love my hometown of Louisville, Ky. I was born and raised here. I went to college here. I’ve worked at two Fortune 500 companies here, and yet I still apparently look like a tourist.

That was the unfortunate feedback I received during a recent family lunch outing in Louisville’s east end. We were at Logan’s Roadhouse, which is a place we don’t typically frequent. As a result, we spent a little extra time with the menu.

That fact, coupled with what must have been overly casual attire for a Sunday afternoon, spelled just one thing to our waitress: T-O-U-R-I-S-T.

“Where you from?” she said.

“Um, from across the bridge,” I felt like saying.

Instead, curiosity got the better of me. I began to query the waitress about why she so readily identified us as tourists. She danced around the issue delicately, perhaps fearing loss of tip. She pointed to the menu confusion. I sensed something deeper.

I was placing my bet on Kim’s colorful ensemble. She, in turn, was quick to blame my golf shirt, which, by the way, she happened to pick out. Or maybe it was Trent’s chronically unkempt hair. Or perhaps the corndog that Clark ordered. We’ll probably never know for sure.

Either way, maybe Louisville really is “Possibility City.” If you wear the wrong thing, it’s quite possible you’ll be mistaken for a tourist.