Soft-Served
Yesterday, I was taking advantage of a rare quiet moment to enjoy watching some of the game when two girls got up, turned around, and started swearing at the entire section above them that they were all "fucking douchebags." This interrupted my quiet moment, and as I started to assess the situation (something I learned that the professionals all do), I realized that one of the shouters had chocolate soft serve ice cream splattered all over the back of her shirt and in her hair.
Though she was about seven rows away from four guys enjoying some beers, she accused them of soft-serving the ice cream in her direction. They were the culprits, she decided, because they were the ones laughing at her.
She told me she would like them to be escorted out of the park, only not in those words. I told her that I would have security look into the situation, only not in those words. She then told me I must really like one of those guys since I didn't want them ejected, only not in those words either, and I told her to go fuck herself, only not in those words either.
I tried to reason with her by telling her that it was virtually impossible that a guy seven rows back would throw an ice cream and have it hit JUST her, and not splatter over anyone within the seven rows between them. She wasn't really in the mood to reason. I tried to show her the evidence - the empty cup of ice cream right behind her of which a nine-year-old girl had claimed ownership, telling me, "I didn't throw it, someone kicked it walking by me, and now I have no ice cream." She wasn't really in the mood to see any evidence.
"I want some Yankees tickets," she said to me.
"Uhh, you have tickets."
"Right, I want some for tomorrow," she said.
"Well, I can get you a new shirt, but I can't get you Yankees tickets."
"I want some Yankees tickets."
"I know, but unfortunately, I can't do that. I'm sorry you have ice cream on your shirt, but it was an accident that the ice cream was spilled on you. I'm happy to get you another shirt."
"No."
"Okay, well then, I'm sorry that this is the best we can do for you."
"I hate you and the Red Sox."
"Well, I hate you and the Yankees," I said. Just kidding. I said, "And chocolate ice cream, probably."
This she didn't find funny. So she told me to go away and that she was leaving this lovely park and probably not going to come back for a while, only not in those words. But she left, and that's what matters. (This reminds me of a year ago, when I was training a new employee who saw a fan swear at me on her way out of the park. "Oh my god," she said, "she just said f-you to you!" She was freaking out. "Uhh, yeah?" I said. "That's a good interaction. She said f-you, but she left." It's all relative, really.)
So I went back to my spot to enjoy my day of quiet and watch some of the game. As I went back, one of the four gentlemen whose honor I had just defended leaned over the railing and told me that if I really did like him, he'd like me too, only not in those words, and I realized that I shouldn't watch the game from that spot for the rest of the day.
Though she was about seven rows away from four guys enjoying some beers, she accused them of soft-serving the ice cream in her direction. They were the culprits, she decided, because they were the ones laughing at her.
She told me she would like them to be escorted out of the park, only not in those words. I told her that I would have security look into the situation, only not in those words. She then told me I must really like one of those guys since I didn't want them ejected, only not in those words either, and I told her to go fuck herself, only not in those words either.
I tried to reason with her by telling her that it was virtually impossible that a guy seven rows back would throw an ice cream and have it hit JUST her, and not splatter over anyone within the seven rows between them. She wasn't really in the mood to reason. I tried to show her the evidence - the empty cup of ice cream right behind her of which a nine-year-old girl had claimed ownership, telling me, "I didn't throw it, someone kicked it walking by me, and now I have no ice cream." She wasn't really in the mood to see any evidence.
"I want some Yankees tickets," she said to me.
"Uhh, you have tickets."
"Right, I want some for tomorrow," she said.
"Well, I can get you a new shirt, but I can't get you Yankees tickets."
"I want some Yankees tickets."
"I know, but unfortunately, I can't do that. I'm sorry you have ice cream on your shirt, but it was an accident that the ice cream was spilled on you. I'm happy to get you another shirt."
"No."
"Okay, well then, I'm sorry that this is the best we can do for you."
"I hate you and the Red Sox."
"Well, I hate you and the Yankees," I said. Just kidding. I said, "And chocolate ice cream, probably."
This she didn't find funny. So she told me to go away and that she was leaving this lovely park and probably not going to come back for a while, only not in those words. But she left, and that's what matters. (This reminds me of a year ago, when I was training a new employee who saw a fan swear at me on her way out of the park. "Oh my god," she said, "she just said f-you to you!" She was freaking out. "Uhh, yeah?" I said. "That's a good interaction. She said f-you, but she left." It's all relative, really.)
So I went back to my spot to enjoy my day of quiet and watch some of the game. As I went back, one of the four gentlemen whose honor I had just defended leaned over the railing and told me that if I really did like him, he'd like me too, only not in those words, and I realized that I shouldn't watch the game from that spot for the rest of the day.
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