ChgoRed, Girl Editor

Jewel Store/Saturday/9 A.M.

Woman talking on her cell phone while shopping:

"Engorgement? What's that mean?"

Some conversations, I don't want to hear the rest of.

Actual Conversation

So my mother calls me at work yesterday. It's a long story, but she wants me to e-mail her supervisor some information. My mother does not have an e-mail account at work, allegedly due to company policy. I'm thinking there might be more to it than just that.

(Names changed to protect the innocent.)

Mom: Her e-mail address--have you got a pen?--her e-mail address is jane-dot-doe.

Me: OK. What's the rest?

Mom: That's it.

Me: Uh, are you sure there isn't an "@" in there?

Mom: No, I don't think so. Just jane-dot-doe.

Me: Mom, every e-mail address has an "@" in it. There's usually an "@" then a company name and dot-com.

Mom: (Genuinely surprised) Oh. Hold on; let me check. (To her supervisor) I need the rest of your email address. Is it jane-dot-doe@dot-com? Jane-dot-doe@xyz.com? Oh--jane-dot-doe@xyzgroup.com. Oh, well, you didn't tell me that last part before. (Back to me) OK. It's jane (pause) dot-doe (pause) @ xyzgroup-dot- (pause) com. Have you got that?

Yes, mom, I got it.

Newsstand, 7:30 A.M.

(ChgoRed sets bottle of mocha Frappuccino™ on the counter. Clerk is doing something on lottery machine.)

CR: I'll take this and two Illinois lottery tickets.

Clerk: For tomorrow's game?

CR: Yeah.

(Clerk pushes various buttons. Lottery machine chugs and chugs and chugs over bits of paper. ChgoRed starts to wonder if clerk misheard and is now ringing up 10 or even 20 lottery tickets. How much money is in her wallet again...?)

ChgoRed (slightly nervous): Heh heh. Guess I came at the wrong time, huh?

Clerk (nonchalantly): Nah. I'm just running the list for this one customer. She plays about $40 a day.

Bravery Wears a Parka

I have a lot of mixed feelings about overseas adoptions. While I would never begrudge homes to orphans, I never liked the idea of people swooping in to take a child out of a foreign country when so many kids here go wanting. So, when a co-worker told me last week that she was going to Russia to adopt a little boy, I put on my most polite smile and wished her all the best. I kept to myself any comments about adjustment problems, hidden medical conditions, and general ethical concerns. She already has one adopted son; I figured she knows what she's doing.

I talked to her again today, and learned a little more. She's never been out of the U.S. before, but is prepared for a trip that will take her first to Milan (layover) and then Russia. This is only the first visit. The second trip, when she actually gets to bring the boy home, will require her to visit central Siberia. In December. And she's going alone.

There is no imagining the places love will take you.

Heebee Jeebees

So I'm standing at the little convenience store/newsstand in my office building, waiting to pay for my Frappucino and buy some lottery tickets. The guy at the front of the line (2 people ahead of me) is getting his stuff bagged. He's got your standard construction-worker-in-Chicago outfit: work boots, painters pants, backwards ball cap, etc.

Then he bends his head down, and I see what's tattooed on the back of his neck: a bar code.

I'm dead serious. A UPC code like you would see on any product, except it's on him. I'll assume it was voluntary & maybe he thought it would be funny. I hope.