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Saturday, Jul. 27, 2002 - 1:49 a.m.

JESUS LIVES! At Gino's East

NOTE: Double-digits now: Part 10 of the trip recap. It�s like I�m recapping my own show for Television Without Pity only I�m not as funny as I�d be recapping a real show, if they�d only let me do it, but they won�t, so they suck, in a way, except that it�s a great site and Heathen is my friend. So I�m almost done, really. There�s this entry, then the Chicago-back-to-South-Bend entry, then the Wedding Day entry, then the Drive Home. I think they�ll be three separate ones, but who knows? Not me. To bide your time until then, go here. That�s the beginning. Read over it again and review it. There will be a quiz. Come to think of it, Part VI was revised slightly. The last two paragraphs, which are now the last three paragraphs, were updated to include an anecdote I�d forgotten but it comes up again later in this entry, so I went back to make it all work. Well, some of it works.

When Casey and I first arrived at the Palmer House Hilton in the Loop, the heart of downtown Chicago, we noticed the little bakery at the Wabash entrance had a neon sign in the window advertising Krispy Kreme doughnuts. But since Casey insisted there was a real KK bakery nearby, where we could get them warm, right out of the glaze waterfall, we awaited the day when we�d visit the Medill newsroom to see one of her former instructors. That�s when we�d hit the KK bakery for our sugar rush.

Today became that day. Then, in a way similar to yesterday�s Gino�s hunt, it slowly became another day.

We walk out of the Palmer House onto State and head west along Jackson. �It�s on West Jackson,� Casey says, �and that starts right at [she mentions some street one block east of us], so let�s go this way.� And we�re off along Jackson.

At each block, we look for the trademark green awning that will signal tasty, warm doughnuts. For each of us, our inner Homer (Simpson) drives us, forces us to continue westward in search of fertile conveyor belts of fresh, hot doughnuts. It�s our Manifest Destiny, a westward expansion of our waistlines. We�re on a Lewis and Clark Expedition for a Krispy Kreme route to the Medill newsroom, the Corps of Doughnut Discovery.

And, much like Lewis and Clark never found a water route from the Mississippi to the Pacific, we do not find the doughnuts. There is no awning. There is no Krispy Kreme.

�I could�ve sworn it was there,� Casey says. �The website wouldn�t lie!�

Defeated yet again in our quest for food, we retreat to the Medill newsroom where Casey chats it up with two instructors as I stand idly by, watching CNN on a TV in the corner. I spend time, too, imagining Casey there the previous summer, when we chatted through e-mail and IM and got to know each other. I try to picture her then, sitting there working, wondering about me the way I was wondering about her back in New Jersey.

When their conversation is finished, Casey and I sit down at two terminals. She looks up the Krispy Kreme locations (and finds there is no longer one listed for W. Jackson) and I check e-mail only to delete all the crap, which has prevented me from getting any new messages. Casey also checks when the Springsteen tickets go on sale, but it�s at noon on Saturday, so I hold little hope of getting tickets to either the single Continental Airlines Arena or Madison Square Garden shows. If I had computer access, I might have a chance. With only the phone, no way.

We leave the newsroom for Gino�s by hopping on the Loop El and circling around. We pass by our Wabash and Madison stop near the hotel and I take note of the location of the Eddie Bauer logo in the window we see because I�m planning on exchanging my bathroom kit for a larger model later that day.

We disembark at Merchandise Mart and walk up to the big newer Gino�s East, located in the old Planet Hollywood building across the street from Ed Debevic�s. I tell Casey that if this Gino�s is closed, we�re eating at Ed�s.

Gino�s � �The new home of the Original Gino�s East� the sign says, and I take a picture for Mom, the English teacher (new home of the original) � is practically empty at 11:30 on a Thursday. We�re seated along one of the back walls, near a few other occupied tables and one ominous sight: up on one platform several tables are placed together, plates set at each seat, ready for several dozen people.

A birthday party, we figure. It turns out to be a summer camp outing, and we hope that the table for eight next to us will be where the counselors sit. At first, that�s the plan. Then there are too many kids and they have to take the table for eight next to Casey and me while the staff sets up another table for the counselors.

We place our order at 12:09 p.m. and decide not to order appetizers since it is deep dish pizza and we�ll have enough with a medium pie between us. In the meantime, we peruse the graffiti on the walls. I wonder out loud if it�s all authentic, or if the staff got to paint it up a bit when the place first opened. Can you have a Gino�s without writing on the walls? One scrawled message next to us simply says, �JESUS LIVES.� He does. And He came to Gino�s.

The summer camp kids arrive around 12:30 and all of a sudden, they�re the most important thing in the restaurant. The hostess who sat us devotes her attention to getting them all seated � particularly by setting up another table for the counselors (and taking one of our unused chairs for it). On top of that, not only do they apparently need our waiter to help with the kids, but two others as well. There�s probably three-to-four dozen kids, plus the six or eight counselors. But they�ve already got their pizzas preordered (because there are no menus and nobody takes orders) and they�re getting pitchers of Coke, Diet Coke and Sprite brought to them. You�d think the logical thing to do would be to designate one waiter to cover the six tables of regular customers, and have two others cover the camp brats who are, as expected, loud and obnoxious. I notice one disturbed little girl at the table next to us eating her napkin. Not chewing on it, not sucking on it, full-out EATING IT. She picks it up, rips it into smaller (but still large) pieces, stuffs them in her mouth, and chews. She continues to have conversations with her friends as if she�s munching on appetizers. Eventually, there�s just a shred of napkin left on the table and a wad in her cheek as she masticates.

Now Casey and I went to Gino�s fully aware that it takes �half an hour to 40 minutes for your pizza.� We figured we could handle just that when we placed our order sans any appetizer or salad. But when 12:40 passed and 12:50 came and went, we began to wonder. It was obvious that the campers had placed an order before they arrived, and that it would be coming out soon. I then noticed a nearby table, where two men had been seated after us, get their pizza before we had anything in front of us. I was beginning to formulate my argument in my head, preparing to be all, �I�d like to speak to your manager� on our waiter.

And then he approached us, just after 1 p.m.

�I�m sorry to inform you,� he begins as if he�s about to bestow some bad news upon us not unlike a mechanic about to tell you you need a new transmission, �but we don�t know what happened to your pizza.�

Um, OK. I�ve never heard that one before. I�ve had food dropped in the kitchen, sent to another table, orders misplaced and never processed. But a flat-out disappearance? SCULLY!!!

�It�s possible it went out on a delivery.� Oh, so it has a second job? �Or it may have been given to another table by mistake.�

We ordered a medium pie with green peppers, and I�m pretty sure the camp kids next to us were all about cheese and pepperoni, and they probably had larges anyway.

�We�re rushing a new one out to you.� So maybe ours was on backorder? �Is there anything I can get for you in the meantime?�

�I need something,� Casey says, speaking for both of us without knowing it. So we order the garlic stick bread thingies and Waiter is off before I can emphasize that we shouldn�t have to pay for it (and it turns out we don�t, without my saying anything).

I also ask for another Coke, and to pass the time, Casey and I come up with theories on what may have indeed happened to our pizza. We made a list. We call it What Happened to Our Pizza?

DAN
Maybe it went to Ed Debevic's or Hooter's.

CASEY
Maybe it is getting a good seat for the Buckingham Fountain light show.

DAN
Maybe it is in a pizza race at a ballpark.

CASEY
Maybe it is stuck on a trolley.

DAN
Maybe it walked eight blocks in the wrong direction.

CASEY
Maybe it was eaten by a tubby kitty.

DAN
Maybe it got held up at a security checkpoint.

CASEY
Maybe it was eaten by Master Shake.

DAN
Maybe it went to the Gino's on Rush.

CASEY
Maybe it was eaten by Mo Vaughn.

DAN
Maybe it went to see Powerpuff Girls or Men In Black II.

CASEY
Maybe it lost a fight to a New York pizza.

DAN
Maybe it went to Kentucky with Tessa.

CASEY
Maybe it went outside to warm up.

DAN
Maybe it went to Long Island to console Mariah Carey.

CASEY
Maybe it is looking for Krispy Kreme.

DAN
Maybe it was eaten by the Rainforest Cafe frog.

CASEY
Maybe it went to get astronaut ice cream.

DAN
Maybe it was eaten by an Art Institute lion.

CASEY
Maybe it was eaten by Felix the cat skeleton.

DAN
Maybe it was invited to Julia Roberts' wedding.

CASEY
Maybe it was frozen with Ted Williams.

DAN
JESUS LIVES! Maybe He ate it.

CASEY
Maybe it was eaten by Berghoff.

DAN
Maybe it is looking for the Briar Street Theater (WELL?).

CASEY
Maybe it thought this was still Planet Hollywood.

DAN
Maybe it was eaten by Fat Oprah.

We laugh over it and share some of it with Waiter, but he�s not that amused. We try to weed out the inside jokes (my quick, unofficial count: 16 of the 27 have strong foundations in private jokes, but you readers are more familiar with our inner amusement than Busy Waiter was) but he doesn�t think the Art Institute lion one is that funny (admittedly, it�s not, but he�s working for a tip here) and when we mention the Closed For Renovation Original Gino�s East, all he can say is, �They�re not affiliated with us.� Oh yeah? Or are you not affiliated with them?

Anyway, our garlic bread/sticks come out quickly, and the pizza follows but refuses to tell us where it�s been. It�s just dawned on me now that next time I go to Gino�s, I�m going to say I was there earlier and my pizza disappeared and tell them to rush a new one out to me. It�ll be faster.

Surprisingly and yet, at the same time, not unexpectedly, the camp kids finish their pizza and pass around the cookie bowl (M&M cookies!) and stuff their faces and are gone before Casey and I pay our bill. We put out our hands for cookies but are ignored. Before leaving, we actually scan the tables for any un-mutilated remains, but there are none.

Ah, well. At least JESUS LIVES!

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