21 down, 9 to go
last night, i spent the evening with 35,000 of my closest friends in southern california. only, i found out that these 35,000 aren't actually my friends...no, in fact, they don't like me at all.
the unforgivably named petco park in lovely san diego is the 21st active (#22 is the now defunct < sarcasm> wonderful </sarcasm> candlestick park in san francisco) major league baseball park i have been to since 1999. i was excited to go to this 15 month-old park and witness a game between two great pitchers (derek lowe(LA) vs. woody williams(SD)) and between two division rivals. (look for the actual review in a week or so.)
i've never felt more unwelcome at a ballpark in my life.
first off, there was the cab ride to the park. my driver immediately started in (without invitation, of course) about the difficulty of college. math, in particular. the 10 minute ride consisted mostly, no...ENTIRELY, of him complaining about learning algebra some 20 years after he forgot it. i didn't make much sense to me either. he drops me off after a slight detour and i run from the cab like he's covered in tomatoes.
i wandered around the ballpark a few times looking for the right window to pick up my ticket. once i finally got it, i entered through the gate at home plate. i handed my ticket to the lady and she looked at me oddly.
"just scan it right there." she said sternly, pointing to a scanner mounted on the turnstile.
i think to myself, "has the long-suffered job of ticket-taking finally gotten the reprieve it needs? these people can now just stand and point instead of laboring through the rigorous task of scanning or tearing the ticket manually. it's about damn time these people's lives were made easier!"
onto the game itself. i find my section and am forced to go around to the next aisle after the woman on the end stares at me blankly and unflinching from her seat for a solid minute upon my request to pass by. apparently, i was out of line. the night is playing out oh-so well.
my seat, is one of the few highlights. section 300 row 12, upper deck, right behind home plate (literally, DIRECTLY behind it.) i settle in between a woman who speaks no english and a 14 year-old "couple" who apparently see baseball as the perfect reason to paw at each other incessantly.
4 innings in, a drunk man about 5 rows behind me starts letting the dodgers know just how much they suck. every batter...after every pitch...at top volume. then he takes on the dodger pitchers in the bottom of each inning...after every pitch...from the 4th inning on. i eventually fashion a sort of filter to ignore this man, but by the middle of the 8th, i'm done. the padres are up 2-1, (it really HAD been a great game) and i decided to get up and take in the last inning or so from different places in the park, just to check it out. as soon as i stand up, i hear from my loud buddy behind me:
"that's right! go home dodgers fan!"
i pause. turn around. and mutter "do i LOOK like a dodgers fan?"
"then where are you going?"
"over there."
after a moment, he concludes our little encounter with the very astute: "dodgers suck!" i walked away, sad that this was the closest thing to an actual conversation i had the entire night.
the last inning was the only hint of excitment in the whole game. trevor hoffman came in and shut LA down, but not before giving up 2 walks. the place actually came alive. and i'm sure it had nothing to do with the "get loud" graphics flashing all over the scorboards.
i left the park, a little bewildered, and hailed a cab. i was secretly praying not to get my "college" friend. no no. on the ride home, i was treated with a man listening to some npr-style radio show about space and reincarnation and how "fate brought my husband and i together at a sub shop." cabbie laughed at every lame joke the host made. at one point he asked my opinion on something, but i just stared at the passing buses and cars. back at the hotel, i threw him a twenty and bee-lined for my room.
i think one more conversation this evening would have been one too many.
the unforgivably named petco park in lovely san diego is the 21st active (#22 is the now defunct < sarcasm> wonderful </sarcasm> candlestick park in san francisco) major league baseball park i have been to since 1999. i was excited to go to this 15 month-old park and witness a game between two great pitchers (derek lowe(LA) vs. woody williams(SD)) and between two division rivals. (look for the actual review in a week or so.)
i've never felt more unwelcome at a ballpark in my life.
first off, there was the cab ride to the park. my driver immediately started in (without invitation, of course) about the difficulty of college. math, in particular. the 10 minute ride consisted mostly, no...ENTIRELY, of him complaining about learning algebra some 20 years after he forgot it. i didn't make much sense to me either. he drops me off after a slight detour and i run from the cab like he's covered in tomatoes.
i wandered around the ballpark a few times looking for the right window to pick up my ticket. once i finally got it, i entered through the gate at home plate. i handed my ticket to the lady and she looked at me oddly.
"just scan it right there." she said sternly, pointing to a scanner mounted on the turnstile.
i think to myself, "has the long-suffered job of ticket-taking finally gotten the reprieve it needs? these people can now just stand and point instead of laboring through the rigorous task of scanning or tearing the ticket manually. it's about damn time these people's lives were made easier!"
onto the game itself. i find my section and am forced to go around to the next aisle after the woman on the end stares at me blankly and unflinching from her seat for a solid minute upon my request to pass by. apparently, i was out of line. the night is playing out oh-so well.
my seat, is one of the few highlights. section 300 row 12, upper deck, right behind home plate (literally, DIRECTLY behind it.) i settle in between a woman who speaks no english and a 14 year-old "couple" who apparently see baseball as the perfect reason to paw at each other incessantly.
4 innings in, a drunk man about 5 rows behind me starts letting the dodgers know just how much they suck. every batter...after every pitch...at top volume. then he takes on the dodger pitchers in the bottom of each inning...after every pitch...from the 4th inning on. i eventually fashion a sort of filter to ignore this man, but by the middle of the 8th, i'm done. the padres are up 2-1, (it really HAD been a great game) and i decided to get up and take in the last inning or so from different places in the park, just to check it out. as soon as i stand up, i hear from my loud buddy behind me:
"that's right! go home dodgers fan!"
i pause. turn around. and mutter "do i LOOK like a dodgers fan?"
"then where are you going?"
"over there."
after a moment, he concludes our little encounter with the very astute: "dodgers suck!" i walked away, sad that this was the closest thing to an actual conversation i had the entire night.
the last inning was the only hint of excitment in the whole game. trevor hoffman came in and shut LA down, but not before giving up 2 walks. the place actually came alive. and i'm sure it had nothing to do with the "get loud" graphics flashing all over the scorboards.
i left the park, a little bewildered, and hailed a cab. i was secretly praying not to get my "college" friend. no no. on the ride home, i was treated with a man listening to some npr-style radio show about space and reincarnation and how "fate brought my husband and i together at a sub shop." cabbie laughed at every lame joke the host made. at one point he asked my opinion on something, but i just stared at the passing buses and cars. back at the hotel, i threw him a twenty and bee-lined for my room.
i think one more conversation this evening would have been one too many.
posted by cade at 10:51 AM
7 Comments:
Eric, I didn't know you were a Dodgers fan.
Dodgers Suck!
O'Doyle Rules!
The ticket scanner broad made me think of something funny: The next time you go through a toll road that actually has a live person to take the money, ask them how they feel about their job slowly being taken on by a basket.
I don't have the guts.
the arrogant ticket taker reminded me of a story.
a few years ago, when i had a pastoral pass to the red sox, i had an usher expel me from a previously unoccupied seat with the following exhortation: "get a real job."
to which i immediately replied: "take a good look at yourself, asshole."
probably not the most pastoral response...but i can't say that i regret it.
Gentry, I usually end rants like that with a "God Bless!" shout out at the end.
Cade, "...I run from the cab like he's covered in tomatoes." Thank you for his imagery. ;)
dave-
i didn't either. i guess i have to buy dodgers crap now. hello ebay.
I know ASL so I'll ocassionally pretend I'm Deaf and sign things to people like the cabby... either one actually. I've noticed that most people are so into what they're saying that they forget you heard them well enough when you first got into the cab. ;)
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