Was thinking about spring training recently (go figure).
I made a trip to Florida in 2000 to check out the Rangers in a little Grapefruit League action. It was a great trip. I went bananas for baseball, just taking in as many games as I could. I saw the Reds, Pirates, and of course, the Rangers. I had a lot of contemplative down time as well.
And baseball is everywhere down there. MLB, minor league, whatever. I was in a restaurant one night, a down-home sort of place where I probably grabbed a burger or some such while reading the local paper.
And these two guys came in who struck me as being ball players. Better dressed than anyone in the place; shorts and flip flops were certainly the norm, and they were in slacks and button-up shirts, wearing real shoes. Athletic, and probably Dominican or Puerto Rican. They sat down across the aisle from me and went unnoticed for a while.
A waitress stopped at their table abruptly.
"What are you guys doing here?"
They just stared at her blankly.
"There's a sign up there that says 'Please wait to be seated.' But no, ya'll can't read that, can you? Ya'll aren't supposed to just walk on in and sit anywhere you want. I cain't do nothin' to help you. This is AMERICA, and we speak English here."
Her tone was clear enough, and two quiet, well-dressed young baseball players from another country bowed out and left without a word.
***
In the middle of all that I briefly considered stepping in to try and use my so-so Spanish to help these guys get a meal. But there's something about stepping into the middle of a big ugly scene that I just can't come to grips with sometimes. I felt guilty about it after they left.
***
Amanda was here this weekend, and it was good to see her. She and Kelli went to see Duran Duran, and they had a grand time for sure. They'd both seen the band before, and they said that this was far and away the better show.
Mark Lowry's review the next morning in the Star Telegram didn't thrill them though. Kelli wants to write an angry letter. Ah, 20 years after high school and I've got an angry, letter-writin', review-bashin' Duranie on my hands.... some things never change.
***
So it's back to work. Blech. And I've got a sore throat.
***
Heading into Wal Mart last night to get groceries, I was carrying THEGIRL and holding THEBOYs hand, trying to get us safely into the store. As we shuffled through a crosswalk, a man in a red car kept coming and coming. He was moving slowly, but he was not going to stop. He had his window down as he came within two feet of us, and actually honked as we dared to expect a pedestrian's right of way.
"Hey EINSTEIN," I yelled into his window. "I'm here with my KIDS you idiot!"
He didn't even turn to look.
***
I can't be proud of a display like that in front of the kids, but being angry at him was justified, of course. The guy on the crutches behind me echoed my sentiments.
***
Desperate for a UFC fix Saturday night, I rented some sort of compilation of greatest knockouts. It wasn't nearly as enjoyable as watching real bouts I'm afraid. That actually felt somewhat barbaric; at least while watching real bouts I'm into the competition and the skill. Just watching someone sustain a serious injury isn't something I can take a whole lot of pleasure in (as I learned).
***
A Lightnin' Hopkins documentary is in the works. Cooooool.
***
It's Monday. If you go postal, please email me first so I can send you some names to add to your list...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Let me guess, your waitress' last name was Crow, right? And her dad undoubtedly went by Jimmy. I hope you left that %&#%@ a penny or less for a tip.
It's probably best you didn't get involved in that whole scene, because a place like that is not going to serve those guys anything properly prepared. Better they eat where their money goes to supporting a business that realizes the Civil War ended 140 years ago and the rest of the world has moved on.
Wal-Mart: there are few places on earth I despise more. Perhaps that cafe in Florida and a hand full of others... I despise them for different reasons, though.
No corporation has done more to single-handedly destroy small business in small town America, exploit the hourly wage workers of America with 29 hour work weeks that keep their families tidily uninsured and locked in poverty and lure the bargain hunters of America into their ailes with cheap prices paid for by those who have passed beneath the Wal-Mart streamroller.
Can you tell I have a little Wal-Mart rage going on here? Sorry, but being subjected to that place monthly on shopping trips for my grandparents who can't afford to shop anywhere else just knaws at me. My cousin and her husband work for that beast and have been locked in uninsured poverty for years now. It is an unsettling irony that Wal-Mart is able to offer cheaper prices on the groceries bought by my mother's side of the family by not offering health insurance to my members of my father's side of the family. A tidy little scenario for Wal-Mart, I'd say. Let Americans screw each other while they and their shareholders laugh all the way to the bank.
OK. Sorry to take your blog down such a politically charged path today. I just can't help myself sometimes...
Post a Comment