It’s hot. I mean really hot. So glad I brought my sunscreen and my souvenir hat from the last game. Anyone who knows me knows that I am here to have the garlic fries and beer and to do some serious people watching. I’ve already had my first cold one and a bag of peanuts. The shells are under my seat and under the seat of the person sitting to my right who hasn’t arrived yet. Here she comes with her huge husband. Oh, I hope she sits next to me rather than him.
I get lucky.
But before she sits down she swiftly sweeps my peanut shells from under her seat back at me with a couple hostile swipes of one tennis shoe covered foot. I guess we won’t be engaging in any small talk today.
Two empty seats flag the lady directly in front of me. The game has started and we are well into the second inning. She is plugged into her radio and oblivious to anyone around her. I figure she bought all three seats in a gesture of “Leave me the hell alone. I’m watching the game!” (I know lots of people just like her!)
By inning number three, lady-sweep-my-peanut-shells on my right and her huge husband are indulging in a very healthy lunch of homemade whole wheat sandwiches with lettuce, cheese and avocado. She also brought her own water, pistachio nuts, and fresh apricots. The healthy sort I’m guessing. Although not very smart.
She’s got some short shorts on and her white mid-western farmer legs are taking on a scarlet hue.
If she’d just been a little nicer to me when she first sat down I would have shared my sunscreen with her.
Her kind husband loans her his cloth handkerchief to shield her now crispy legs. A day late and a dollar short. (Who says that anymore?)
Lady leave-me-the-hell-alone has got some color going on at the tops of her shoulders. I could just reach over and apply my 50 SPF but she’d most likely call security.
The guy behind us won’t stop talking! Honestly, he knows everything about everything!
Even I know that too much small talk during “the game” is a no-no. Use your voice for the important things like “atta boy!”, “batter up”, “bad call Ref!” and “goo die!”
I think it’s time for some garlic fries. My purse has become a receptacle for everyone’s Hello Kitty souvenirs, my sunscreen, Dale’s wallet, his car keys, etc. When Dale kindly volunteers to make the trek over the 10 sets of legs in our Section 311, Row B Seat 12, I am more than happy to let him. There he goes. It looks like “the wave” from my angle as people rise and sit to let him pass. A minute or two later I go to find a tissue in said purse, only to discover Dale’s wallet.
Oh Lordy. I’m clearly not going to make any new friends today.
Off I go to find him, leaving my purse behind with Dale’s daughter and her boyfriend and my ticket that has my Section, Row and Seat number on it. (Anyone who knows me also knows that I can get lost in a paper bag.) I suppose if I cannot find Dale at least I’ve got the cash for the garlic fries and maybe one of those Ghiradelli sundaes.
Up and down like a wave they go, 10 hot sweaty spectators, while I dance by them holding up the wallet saying “He forgot his wallet, LOL!”
I find Dale and we head back to our seats with the edibles. It’s still hot and my appetite is gone. Dale devours the hot dog and most of the garlic fries and hands me the rest. I get one kind of stuck in my throat and while coughing I accidentally push the fries off my lap and into the tennis shoe of the lady on my right. She has conveniently changed into a pair of flip flops and she and her husband are off to the restrooms I’m guessing. (They couldn’t possibly be getting more food. They brought the entire harvest!)
I decide to leave the french fries in her shoe.
Oh boy, it’s now my favorite time of the game! The seventh inning stretch! I casually mention to Dale that I can tap dance to “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” (There are so many things he doesn’t know about me.) He doesn’t appear impressed. With limited space for dancing, I sing it with gusto because not only do I love this song but it also means that the end of the game is approaching.
Five hours in the sun. And no beach or mai tai in sight… sigh.
The Giants win and the crowd roars with excitement. (With the exception of the lady on my right who while changing back into her tennis shoes has discovered several random french fries.) We swiftly exit left with thousands of other fans through the food court and onto a cement enclosed switchback that takes us down several levels. I pray for no earthquakes.
Breathing fresh air now, I feel quite accomplished. I think I behaved myself and fit in nicely and no one is the wiser. We tarry to our car and discuss our dinner plans.
It’s been a great day at the ballpark! I hope someone will take me out to the ballgame again soon!