I met Mr. Baseball in the subway. Meeting someone underground is something that everyone should do once in their life. It may not be the greatest idea in practice, but it will certainly make for a fantastic story during Sunday brunch.
My subway card was causing anxiety. Those things never seem to swipe when you’re going full force into the turnstile-- it’s almost like the turnstile decides, “You’re going to push me!” and then it pushes back. I was rushing from work, saw the open turnstile, swiped my card three times, and still no luck. The guy behind me rolled his eyes.
I’m not sure he even looked at me as he handed me my card, slid his through, and then nodded for me to go ahead of him. He was probably just annoyed and in a hurry, but I swooned. He didn’t notice my attempt to say “thank you;” lucky for me we both got on the same train headed to the baseball game. Better yet, our baseball hats pledged allegiance to opposing teams.
When our sub-way inappropriate gaze clicked, I threw out a lob-toss: “I guess I can’t give you a hard time for being a Team X fan the whole trip. Thanks for the subway help.”
Mr. Baseball: “Or does that give me a chance to give you a hard time?”
Nice pitch, strike zone for sure. Plus the whole half-smile, dress shirt, baseball cap combination was working for him.
“I could just get you a beer at the game.”
Done.
Lucky for Mr. Baseball, I was only one section away. During the fifth inning, I pay the beer guy and send him over, but don’t say hello so that I have the home team advantage. He brings me a beer in the eighth inning and tells me that we should go (somewhere L.U.D. Locationally Un-Desirable) after the game. As always, I explain that I can’t but maybe another time.
Mr. Baseball is not happy. And he’s outta there!
-- M.G.
