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.