catfish 14

Fridays are typically a slow day at The Institute, so I am just going to relate a phone adventure and toss out another chapter of Catfish.

Was ordering some medicinal tablets for my aging kitty and the only way to go was Amazon who I hate and despise but nobody else had this stuff.  Website is like a trap and by the time I was about to put in my order I had somehow also ordered amazon prime, and some worthless gift, and somehow a gift card for $25.  On the way to trying to clean up that shit my phone rang and it was Amazon telling me somebody had ordered a $99 something for Manhattan and they were wondering about that.

What the hell?  I said it wasn't mine and as long as we were talking I tried to bring up my order but she wasn't interested in that, she wanted to know if I had a computer, and if it was on and whether it was Apple or Windows and then she wanted me to do something with my cursor and HEY, I realized she was not an Amazon at all but some crook.  I guess the foreign accent and the phone calls in the background should have been a clue, but that's what you get when you call up any big company these days.

I slammed the phone down, kind of worried, why had those crooks called me just as I was making an Amazon order?  I searched the Amazon webpage for a phone number and went all over and finally got into some chat thing, but they wouldn't let you type in anything but just check through options none of which had anything to do with my problem and finally I got to a phone number, but once again I had to go through all those irrelevant options and finally got a chipper southern belle, I assume, who when I informed her of the phone call laughed her sweet magnolia laugh and said Oh Sweetgum those were crooks.  Happens all the time.

Anyway it took about half an hour but she straightened out my problem, as for Amazon Prime she said I can have it free for a month and they will just not charge me afterwards, don't worry about a thing  Hon.  I had my suspicions about that but she was such a sweet thing that I know she doesn't hold a grudge against any old grumpy Yankees.  And that fake Amazon call, right when I was making my order, I will have to rack it up to coincidence.

And now it turns out that with my free Amazon prime I can now watch the first season of Scrubs for free, so pretty cool huh?

Monday morning again.  Kind of a reality time for me because that was when I headed out to the union hall.  A month and a half now I'd been back in Champaign, spring had turned to summer.  Summertime and the living was easy, getting up late and heading down to The Great Wall at noon to catch the opening crowd, then back to the bunkhouse for a nap, then back to The Great Wall for the five o'clock crowd, and then maybe get something to eat, and then back to The Great Wall to end up the night, which was all fine, fine enough, good times hanging with old pals and swapping stories, but truth be told the stories were getting old, and I hate to say it, but so were the pals.  The same old guys I'd closed the bar down with the night before, and well none of us had done anything since the last time we'd seen each other, and so the first few beers we just sat in our stools staring straight ahead at the bottles behind the bar, grunting at each other.  Once we got into our beers the old stories weren't so boring, we were all a bunch of great guys after all, back slapping and back to the bunkhouse and one last beer run and then deep down into our couches.

 I was headed for California remember?  This was going to be just a stopover, just a time to reconnect with old friends, have some good times and build up a little grubstake.  Well the good times weren't all that good, and the grubstake, hell I'd run through the Seven Eleven money from LaCrosse and was just getting by on the occasional odd job and bumming beers.  This truth hit me in the morning, but the answer was always that I was just waiting for the big job to come through.  I was hauling my ass out every Monday morning wasn't I?  And rumor was sector five was going to open up this week, and if not then, then for sure the next week.

 Anyway this particular Monday morning, right on the edge of sector five opening up, because talk in the hall was almost certain that this would be the week, and I have to say, much as I dreaded joining the shovel army, I was almost hoping to be called out for the big job, just to be going somewhere, and was kind of tossing and turning on that back-breaking green couch, wondering what had gone wrong with that Gina and feeling a little guilty about stopping by Claudette's old apartment and sort of looking forward to getting called out of the union hall, there was that thunking again.

 Diamond Dan walking between the couches and slamming that softball into the mitt.  "Don't forget guys, practice this afternoon."

 Practice?

 "Softball practice, this afternoon guys, look sharp." and then Dan flipped the ball behind his back. then turned around quick to snatch it in his glove on the way down only he didn't make it fast enough and just knocked it a little so that it took a little bounce on the floor and hit Ted, just rousing up from under his blanket and rubbing his knuckles into his eyes flat in the nose and dribbled back into the center of the room where Dan scooped it up like he'd always meant to do that and repeated, "Look sharp," and took his exit.

 Well shit was that coming up? It'd been a big triumph getting  George

  to sponsor the team and all, but after that it had slipped my mind.  Doing a little calculating I realized that opening day was just three weeks away, but you know I had never figured on practice, I thought we would just show up and do whatever.  Practice, shit, it sounded a lot like gym class. 

 Almost got on the shovel brigade that morning.  Guy came in and looked at us like we were a sorry lot of recruits which I guess we were, went down the line, this guy and this guy and just before he got to me he was done. 

 Back to the bunkhouse for a nap, sure was grueling getting up that early, and sitting in the hall for like three hours, but the nap was refreshing and then out to The Great Wall for noontime beers.  Beers went on kind of late for me because of that practice thing, instead of heading back for my after lunch nap, I might as well suck up beers until we headed out to the field.  Truth be told I was rather hoping it would rain, but no such luck.

 Itch, behind the bar, was strangely into it.  Around five o'clock he shut us off sharp.  "No more guys. Out to the ball field."

 The ball field?  "Is that what you call it?" I asked snatching my glass which was still maybe a quarter full from his grasp.

 "Indeed I do Natty," that stupid nickname he'd stuck on me, which I might say I didn't like a bit.  "Because the ball is what rules the field, until it leaves the pitcher's hand nothing happens, just a bunch of guys standing around looking stupid, but once released, twirling in the air then it is in play.  It may be a ball, it may be a strike.  It may be that the batter swings and should he make contact, maybe a hard grounder to third, maybe up the middle, maybe a..."

 "Maybe a line drive right at the first baseman's head," I cut in knowing that he would be the first baseman.

 He looked at me a little funny.  Hell I hadn't meant anything, was just trying to cut short his speech, finished my quarter beer and shoved the glass towards the bar.  "To the ball field," Itch announced and off we marched. Well we bought a few tewelve packs, one for first base, one for third base, and one deep into center field. Dan wasn't too happy about all that beer lugged out onto the field, but we had showed up, what more could he ask?

 I hadn't been too hot about interrupting that cozy early afternoon drinking session, but I have to say that once I got into that fresh air I perked up a bit I staked out my claim in centerfield, and it just felt alright, felt just fine.  Of course that twelve back just behind me had something to do with it, but still when Dan ran out and tossed me my glove and I snagged it in the air and slipped it on well I was ready to go, hot to trot.  Played a pretty good center field way back in high school, wasn't that long ago.  Actually it was, fifteen years ago, doing some quick numbers in my head, but still felt as fresh as that green grass underneath my feet. 

Maybe seven, eight guys out there.  Dan took the mound, pretty drunk guy doing the catching, Itch at first, noticed he claimed it right off, just like I had claimed center field, no second baseman, young guy at shortstop, no third baseman.  Just me in the outfield, lot of ground to cover, but that didn't matter because nobody was hitting anything out there.  Dan wasn't much of a pitcher so the batter had to swing at almost anything, so it was mostly just slow rollers in the infield.  I kept moving in further, dragging that slowly emptying twelve pack behind me. 

I passed up my time at bat because I wanted to stake my claim in center field, and the truth was I wasn't that great a hitter.  Oh when I smacked one, I smacked it good, but I didn't smack that many, mostly I whiffed.. Problem was I closed my eyes just as the ball was coming in.  Coach was always on my ass about that, and I saw his point, I agreed with his point, but I don't know, I always did it anyway.  The ball always looked like the full moon coming in, and I just wanted to hit it so hard that I squeezed my eyes shut for the extra power, and there it would be strike one, strike two, and strike three.  Damn.  You know I had gotten into it to impress the babes, not that there were many girls showing up for baseball games, but a few, and what they liked were the guys who got the hits, who put the runs on the boards.  I had my share of over the shoulder running out and running in diving catches, but a glove man, you know, just not the same as the guy at the plate blasting them out of there.