Thursday, March 17, 2011

Take Me Home From The Ballgame

Happy Pretend To Be Irish In the Pursuit of Getting Wasted Day! (Or alternatively, Happy For Once Being Irish Doesn't Mean You'll Be Stereotyped as A Drunk Cuz Everyone Else Is Drunk Too Day!)

So there's this baseball stadium down the street from school. Generally, it's just for minor league games and they do two dollar game days for us po' students so we can go and heckle the players and occasionally throw someone's phone number into the dugout using a length of dental floss as a fishing line (it's a long story). But a couple major league teams use the stadium for Spring Training so during March the place goes crazy and suddenly there's a bajillion freaking people in attendance. Why am I telling you this?

Because it's National Baseball Awareness Month. Stupid.

If you actually looked that up, I can't be seen with you anymore. I'm telling you because I got a job at the stadium working for some tire company that advertises there and like most things in my life, it tends to be rather bizarre. So my job is flier bitch, which entails me standing at the front gate, attempting to get people to take fliers and discount cards from the tire place and enter into this text message contest thingy that I don't fully understand the workings of. Yup, I'm one of those people now. I wear an obnoxiously yellow jersey and I'm supposed to be all like this:



But after several soul-crushing hours of people taking the fliers and throwing them on the ground right in front of you as if you're not even there, it's more like this:



Now, don't get me wrong. I know people don't want the bullshit I am attempting to foist upon them. If I was in their position, I wouldn't want it either. And I appreciate when people take the time to at least say "no thanks" when they walk by, as opposed to the dickwads who roughly shove past me as though if they take even half a second to take a damn card or at least, ya know, acknowledge my existence, then they will miss all the baseball. Because it's only their for the next four hours, you'd better hurry! That kind of rejection starts to wear on you after awhile.



Although, sometimes it IS preferable to be ignored when the other choice is dealing with people who are completely insane:



This happened. I am not exaggerating.

And then just this week there was an especially memorable instance when some old dude fell down on the sidewalk just outside the stadium and two stadium-worker peoples had this exchange:



All right, eventually they got a first-aid guy to him, but still!

So yeah. Apparently I am incapable of getting a normal job, or at least one that doesn't put me in the line of fire with ass-hats and crazy people. At least it gives me interesting stories to tell you people, cuz I do it all for you.

ALL FOR YOUUUUU

This is Sugary Cynic, bypassing the peanuts and crackerjacks for some green beer. 'Night!

Brian: "I already wore my green shirt this week, I have no green to wear"

Liam: "Drink green beer and then throw up on yourself. Done."

2 comments:

  1. Maybe if you added a baseball bat to the jersey, just for "authenticity" of course; people would be more polite?

    Unfortunately, dealing with asshats is the primary definition of the word "job." I'm not kidding, check a dictionary....

    Great post as always!

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  2. I would suck so hard at that job. Because apparently I mumble when I talk, and when you can hear me, my voice is all flat and sounds sarcastic even when I'm serious. Also, I suffer no fools. I've been told. By me. Just now.

    Brave girl, you.

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