My week in Cleveland is coming to an end.

I had so much to learn at the Republican National Convention. For instance, I attended the Texas delegation breakfast each morning.

On Monday, I would learn from author David Barton the etiquette of wearing a cowboy hat, which is strangely intricate.

All of the gentlemen in the Texas delegation were wearing cowboy hats, you see, and he didn’t want them to embarrass themselves.

I would hurriedly scibble notes into my phone as he explained that a gentleman must doff his hat to a lady or remove it to show respect or patriotism.

Listen, that’s easy stuff.

What I didn’t know, though, is that a hat is to be removed at a private affair but should be kept on for a public event.

Also, and this is the most intricate point: the cowboy hat should be removed in times of prayer, except at a synagogue. At a synagogue, you see, the head is to be covered. At a synagogue in Texas, it appears Barton’s advice is to cover your head with a cowboy hat.

If you think Texans don’t embrace diversity, we’re diverse enough to embrace an ignorant fool such as yourself.

The breakfast was a common location for me to gather stories. On Thursday, three people texted me to say they’d seen me on TV while Ted Cruz was speaking.

One of my associates would send this screen capture with the message, “Scaia must not have gotten the memo on what shirt to wear.”

That was actually a good opener when I’d strike up a conversation with some delegates.

“You guys should have coordinated to make sure you didn’t wear the same thing!” And we’d all laugh. And then I’d say it to a different group of delegates five minutes later. And they’d all laugh. Politely. Like not every reporter in Cleveland had made the same joke.

But listen, this was a public event. Ted Cruz and I are the only ones not wearing hats! We’re totally breaking Texian Hatiquette!

After breakfast, I’d take a look around town. In the middle of downtown Cleveland, a large plaza looked quite majestic.

Except for the ping pong table.

As a reporter, I shouldn’t editorialize, but I feel like the Cleveland Ping Pong Table Authority could have chosen a better spot.

I’m from Ohio myself, and in Dayton, there would be some new plan to revitalize downtown every couple of years. They’ve got a minor league baseball team there and, as I recall, a pretty serviceable bourbon bar.

If I’m being completely honest, Cleveland, I don’t think ping pong is going to reinvent the town.

Here’s how I imagine this discussion unfolding at the Cleveland City Council meeting:

Councilman 1: Drew Carey hasn’t written a song about us in 20 years! We gotta do something!

[Council members stare blankly at each other]

Councilman 2: What if we put a ping pong table downtown?

Mayor: All in favor of Cleveland’s COMPREHENSIVE downtown redevelopment strategy, say “I.” All opposed? [silence]Obviously. Motion passes.

[Exeunt]

In Cleveland’s defense, I talked to some people on the plaza who said regardless of political party, it was nice to see Cleveland in the news for something good. “We won the NBA championship, now this,” was a common theme.

But this was, after all, a convention, so some of my time was spent at the Quicken Loans Arena. Each media outlet had a little place set aside. I went down to the floor a couple of times and started yakking it up with delegates again.

The teleprompter was turned on early one day so they could test it.

Delegates were just starting to make their way in. I sidled up to the first guy I saw wearing a Lone Star shirt and said, “I think people might think this speech was plagiarized, too.”

We laughed. And then I told him he should have coordinated with his seatmate to–wait. I absolutely did not say that.