Rate Me on BlogHop.com!
the best pretty good okay pretty bad the worst help?

Open links in new window




No more format wars!

No More Petitions!

Retriever Weekly Articles

Movies I Wanna See! (UPDATED! Recently!)

        LINKS AHOY!


 What did you expect, Jeeves?                DVD/FILM        


  Roger Ebert on the Movies

[Roger Ebert on the Movies]


                   HUMOR                  (oft inappropriate, natch)        

[Something Awful]



 The Onion, America's Finest News Source[The Onion: This link required by law]






24 Forum


FSHB ;-)


Wil Wheaton      

Brooks's Site

UMBC: Homepage




Want your link here? All you have to do is ask...

[Blue Ribbon Campaign- STOP CENSORSHIP!]
Join the Blue Ribbon Online Free Speech Campaign!

This page is powered by Blogger. No plagiarism, buster, or I'm callin' John Ashcroft!

Sunday, August 18, 2002


I went to the O's game yesterday, for what is I'm sure the last game I'll see this season (maybe ever… if greed gets in the way of the game.) Some noteworthy incidents, though regrettably no drunks directing traffic:

We pull into the parking garage at 4:58, because the lots are already full. I'm charged $5 as I pull up to the window, after which I have to find a parking spot. As we walk out of the building, the ticket giver calls over to me, "Did I just give you a ticket for 5 dollars? It's 6; gimme one more, d'you need change?"

You're kidding, right?

"I forgot, it's $6 for Oriole games."

Well, you just told me $5.

The board to the side says, "$5 Oriole Games (After 5 O'Clock.)" I point this fact out to the kind lady… *ahem*.

"That's only for weekdays."

Uh-huh, sure. Nowhere on the board does it say that. OK, I hate to admit it, but I'm such a spineless bootlicker that I finally relent and give her that oh-so-important last greenback. Never, never, never should you be asked to shell out more for something you've already paid for. The customer, it seems, is rarely right anymore.

So after that embarrassing interlude, we walk the half-dozen blocks to Camden Yards, shag fly balls for the next hour and a half, then make our way to the seats. I forgot what I was going to say here. The game was… not bad. The home team won, convincingly, I'd say…

Oh yes… I decided to get a little something to wet my whistle after a few hard innings of cheering. The line was long, but definitely worth it for a refreshing Sprite. Or so I thought. So after waiting about 10 or 15 minutes to get a nice soft drink, I am utterly, absolutely disappointed, because instead of Sprite, the bubbly liquid inside the cup happens to be seltzer water.

For most people under normal circumstances, this is no big deal. But you don't understand; this is me, the one who's too timid to stand up to the parking witch when she demands another dollar. But to make matters almost unbearable, the guy manning the soda fountain is deaf. Don't you just love it?

So I work up the nerve to tell the guy I need another Sprite, which is kind of hard to do when the person you're trying to communicate with usually responds to hands pointing to the merchandise being requesting, AND with 20 or so hungry, thirsty fans wondering why in Cal's holy name this whippersnapper thinks he's allowed to butt ahead in line and badger the poor hearing-impaired gentleman. Stuff like this makes you glad to be alive, doesn't it?

I came through it all just fine. I have to agree with people who think that sometime life seems like a test, with lots of extra credit thrown in for those lucky few.



Post a Comment


Want more coagulated brilliance? (And who doesn't?) Then go to the archives and read the oldies to your heart's content. Don't like this blog? Click here to move on to another... Come on back now, ya hear?