Take Me Out...

On Tuesday, about fifteen minutes before quitting time, I went to the restroom. Right as I closed the stall door, I heard, "Green?!" Le grande sigh. I hate talking to people while peeing. "Yes?"

Voice of non-grandma who works on another floor: What are you doing tonight?
Me: Going to Trader Joe's.
Non-grandma: So... you could do that tomorrow. Want to come to the Giants game with me tonight?
Me: Sure!

So that's how I wound up going to see the Giants Tuesday night. Winnie had gotten four tickets from her boss and was determined to sell the extra two in order to pay for food at the game. This was like the fifth baseball game I was going to in my life. I knew nothing about selling extra tickets, or scalping or any such things.

As we strolled down the Embarcadero, we kept passing groups of men. One man would be holding a sign that said "I Need Tickets" and the other man would be trying to sell tickets. Winnie kept asking them why the guy who needed the tickets didn't just buy from the guy standing next to him. They were not trying to buy tickets to go to the game. They were hustling. Guy A bought the tickets as cheaply as possible, and then Guy B sold them for as much as possible. They were working together.

Winnie told me she hates bargaining. It reminded me of buying a car. I loved it. Didn't love how it didn't feel legal, but I loved sauntering away from the Guy A's when they wouldn't offer us enough. We had a parking pass and everything! We could sell the tickets outside of the ballpark directly to people who wanted to watch the game, cutting out the middle man, thus making us more profit. Those are the lines I was feeding the guys when they'd say "Aww, why ya gotta be that way?" I gotta be that way because I want to get us more money. Duh.

Ultimately we sold the two tickets and parking pass for plenty of money for dinner, but not nearly as much as they were worth. I felt a bit awkward about pushing to get more money since Winnie just wanted dinner money and didn't care about making a profit, not to mention that I was her guest.

We got inside and Winnie wanted to get food first. I found a Hebrew National stand and got a hot dog and bottle of water from there. Who'd have thought - Hebrew National in San Francisco! I tried to forget everything my brother taught me the day he came home from seventh grade and started that night's dinner conversation off with, "Guess what I learned hot dogs are made out of!"

Sitting behind us was a couple on a date. The man sat down and promptly put headphones attached to a radio in his ears. He then proceeded to do the Nod and Smile at his date for the next two hours. During those two hours the woman didn't shut up about excercise. First she talked about all the excercises she does. Then she talked about her friend Chuck's workout routine. Then it was on to a friend's routine that involves toe extensions. Apparently the Nod and Smile wasn't fulfilling enough to her, so she listed her weekly schedule of pilates and yoga and whatever else. Finally, she whipped out a printed schedule to show the man. Pardon me while I make a note of what NOT to do on a date. Unless I want the guy to never ever ask me out again. Ever.

At one point there was a foul line drive right into the face of a woman sitting right near us. Everyone around her stood up to see if she was okay, and I saw her touching her face. Then I saw her sit down, then pass out. Two sections of people were shouting, "Get a medic!!!!" and the ushers who work the games were just looking around with lost looks on their faces. When somebody screams "Get a medic!" you don't radio your supervisor to see if you should - you just GET A DAMN MEDIC!

Some older guy who looked like he might have been doctorly ran down to the woman and futzed over her. Eventually (really, it took WAY too long) a medic arrived, and he and the doctor started escorting the woman up the stairs to leave. Two entire sections of people stood up and clapped and cheered for the woman. I wonder if after all that, she got the baseball that slammed her in the face.