Sucker Punch!

Man: Hey, can you tell me, if I want to catch the train to O'Hare, am I going in the right direction?
[Points in the very wrong direction.]
Me: Oh. Oh, no! Um ... well, you can go to the Logan Square stop, it's ...
Man: ...
Me: So, go this way. [Points in direction of stop.] So you just walk for a few blocks until you see the theater on your left, and then you'll see across the street, well, sort of across the street ...
Man: OK, OK, so ...
Me: [Pauses.] Why don't I just walk with you for a little bit.
Man: Would you? [We start walking.] You are so nice!
Me: It's not a big deal; I'm just turned around. Where are you from?
Man: Me, oh, I'm from Vegas!
Me: Cool. How long have you been here for?
Man: About three weeks. And seriously, this is so nice ...
Me: No, really, it's not a big deal. I just moved to this side of the city, so I know what it's like to feel lost.
Man: [Enthusiastic] Oh really? Where were you before?
Me: I lived on the North side, pretty far in Chicago standards.
Man: [Glances left to right; leans in conspiratorially; drops voice] Well, there sure are a lot of Mexicans.

You can test ride my wheelchair anytime

It is very possible on Saturday that I had an ambivalent and yet clumsy fluster flirtation with a boy much, much younger than I am. Let's give me the benefit of the doubt and say he was 19. He was scooping my ice cream, and I was fiddling with my wallet, and we kept locking eyes and dropping things: the check, his pen, my napkin, followed by nervous, stilted laughter. When he came around the counter to pick something up for me, I saw life flash before my eyes: Me at 75, Botoxed lips and cracked skin, egging on my teenaged waiter with a wink and a gravely voice: Go on, handsome, no one will notice the vodka.