I went to the Sox game last night with Angela, for my birthday. She has a friend with season tickets (bleachers 36, right behind centerfield) and so she bought the seats from him. We had a good time, even though they lost 7 – 3 (dammit Wakefield!) and I was underwhelmed by the new catcher’s performance after Terry pulled Varitek out. Johnny Damon was playing, so it seems he wasn’t hurt badly on Tuesday. He made some good snags.
Anyway, I think the best part of last night was being called “a true Bostonian,” albeit by a drunk asswipe (apparently for quiet bookish types, you’ve got to live here for almost 7 years before you really count). Here’s the story.
Halfway through the second inning, a group of five comes in and sits in the row behind us. They have been separated from a couple that was with them, and waited down at Gate C (their pre-designated meet-up point) for about 45 minutes into the game. Then they gave up on waiting and came up to their seats — a perfectly logical thing to do, given that the two lost people had their tickets. Around the fourth inning they call the cell phone of the lost guy. He does not answer. At this point the speculation of the 5 behind is us that the other 2 scalped better seats and are sitting somewhere else. There are indignant rumblings about how rude it was that they can’t even walk over to say hello and inform the group of their change of plans, and how the two empty seats could have gone to other people who wanted to come to the game.
Bottom of the sixth, I think it was, and the lost couple finally shows up. They are both a king-size sheet set and comforter to the wind. They sit down behind me, and commence to explain themselves to the group leader. They claim that they walked back and forth from “the gate to the corner” (never specifying which gate or what corner) five times looking for the group (this later changes to three). They are very repetitive and loud when arguing about this. Then someone (Damon, I think) hits a pop fly up into the third base nosebleed seats and the drunk guy says “That went right where we were sitting.” The drunkards realize their slip and the story changes to how they had to scalp a ticket for the girl since they the group leader still had hers. Drunk girl keeps saying “I had to pay even more money to get into this game.” Not nearly as much as you paid to get drunk while supposedly outside walking back and forth, honey.
As they argue about this, Angela says to me, “Hm. Smart people send the person with a ticket in to get the other ticket and bring it back out to the gate.” Another hole in their story, but group leader doesn’t bring this up. So, the drunk guy and the group leader are yelling and arguing about Gate C versus Gate D vs Gate EE (a gate that doesn’t exist at Fenway) and who had the tickets when and where everyone was meeting and how long people waited and who is impossible to miss in his ugly purple coat.
Let me explain the seating arrangements while this is going on. Drunk late girl is sitting directly behind me. To her right is group leader, to her left is drunk late guy. The guys are leaning forward yelling at each other. My head is in their way. Eventually the section stands up, and so Angela and I stand so we can see. At this point they have been yelling and arguing (by arguing I mean that the drunk late guy keeps repeating himself and is not making any real points) for a while and I am really annoyed.
Given the atmosphere (Fenway bleachers) and the audience (drunk asswipes), I figured asking nicely or glaring wasn’t really going to cut it, so I decide to do my best to speak a language that these jerks will understand. I let them go for a while more so I can get angrier, and finally I turn around and lose my shit on them (and in a random Boston accent that came out of nowhere and was unplanned, but surely helped my cause):
“F**ing sort this out later! I don’t f***ing care who wasn’t where when! Shut the f*** up!”
Side note: Those of you who know me know that “Ally losing her shit” isn’t anything impressive compared to when other people lose their shit. However, I have been told that if you do know me and are around when I lose it, it is generally impressive just based on the fact that I don’t get angry that easily, and that I don’t often do anything about that anger. So, when I do start yelling around folks I know, I find that things happen. Decisions are made, people get a move on, etc.
Anyway, group leader looks a little surprised at my outburst and sits back in his seat. Drunk guy tries to congratulate me by saying “Oh, yeah a true Bostonian blah blah blah.” Yes, drunk asswipe I just yelled at, I want to be your buddy. Please. I ignore him. He and drunk girl decide they don’t want to sit with their mean friends and so they leave. Drunk guy pats me on the shoulder (or uses me as leverage to haul his drunk ass off the seat, you tell me) and I tell him not to touch me.
The group of five stops complaining about their drunk friends for a while. Towards the end of the game one of the women in the group (a few seats down from Angela and I) starts whining about the situation. I turn around, make eye contact, and give her my best librarian glare. It was less impressive than when I have glasses on, but still effective. She sat down and shut her trap.
So anyway, I was a little surprised at my own effectiveness. Clearly this is my Mom’s Irish side coming out. I was wondering today if I would be that effective if I were dressed in a more feminine way (I was wearing my Sox cap and Mirabelli tee shirt over long sleeves). Maybe they thought Angela and I were a couple and I was a butch lesbian who could throw them over onto Landsdowne.
Either way, it got the idiots to shut the hell up. 🙂
*Irish: noun Informal Fieriness of temper or passion; high spirit.