Let the games begin

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

You know, I have behaved like an idiot most of my life. Now don't fret - it's rather a pleasant position to be in as you are usually blissfully unaware of the moronic things you are doing until well after the danger has passed. Let's face it - I thought my family calling me Sterling Wallace for 30 years was a compliment!! (See 'What you thought you knew' post if you don't know who Sterling Wallace is)

So today I added another chapter to the novela of 'Rocky's Dumb Adventures'. Oh yea I did. See, World Series tickets went on sale at noon CST and I was bound and determined that I was going to try everything possible to get some tickets. In true, obsessed maniac form, I postponed our staff meeting until 3:00 p.m., spewed swear words at the computer and at poor Richard the computer guy, and then promptly at noon reminded myself just why exactly it is I hate Ticketmaster. I had the computer, desk phone and cell phone going all at the same time - it was the one time in my life I really wished I had three or four more arms. It was a fruitless endeavour, however; I will be watching the World Series on the tele like everyone else.

It's really not so retarded to want to go to a baseball game. Especially a baseball game that probably won't be here in Chicago for at least another 46 years. But I sat here and wasted an hour of my (and my staff's) time redialing and click click clicking to the exclusion of all else for naught. To add insult to injury, I later learned that all tickets were gone within 18 minutes... The only thing I have to show for my efforts is a sore shoulder from leaning on the desk kind of funky and a callous on my finger. I'm not really too happy about that.

At least this monkey business of mine wasn't as bad as the time I unwittingly drove into the beginnings of an anti-American protest wearing my Navy uniform (I stripped down to my t-shirt in a jif while the mob filled in the streets making my car a useless form of transpo). It's not as bad as when I ran out of gas in downtown Gary, Indiana (and sadly, Gary isn't the same sweet city it was when 'The Music Man' was filmed) because I never even looked at the fuel gauge. It's not even as bad as the time when my poor Dad had to drive all the way up here to Chicago (he lives 55 miles from here) to jump start my car when the battery died - only to discover when he got here that the parking garage does battery jumps for free (oooohhh yeah, THAT was a bad one...). It still pisses me off, though, that I now have a sore shoulder and a bump on my finger. Friggin' Ticketmaster.

Oh well, I'll chalk it up as mental preparation for when I don't win the Powerball drawing tomorrow!

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