Friday, July 3, 2009

Two.

I got dragged to a Braves game last night. When I say dragged, I mean they poiltely brought me with them. We showed up a few hours before the game so we could dive into the cooler. When we pulled into the parking lot, I noticed the attendent had a gun in a holster on his hip. I guess this would make him an "urban cowboy" because people usually just hide their guns like normal Americans. However, the guy was really nice and the presence of his gun just made me feel more comfortable. I have a feeling that if anybody decided to try to steal our lawn chairs, for some reason, he would not hesitate to shoot them in the face. "Not in my lot!" he might yell. Then all we would have to do would be to flick the parts of the guys skull from the chair and sit back down. "As I was saying..."

We bought general admission tickets, which simply means you get to watch ants play baseball, but we decided to sit on the third base line. We sat eight rows back for the first five innings before the rightful ticket holders showed up. "You had a good run, but now it's time to go," the guy said to us. We simply shrugged and moved a little closer. Once again, the rightful ticket holders gave us the boot. And once again, we just moved closer. This ultimately resulted in an event worker basically telling us to fuck ourselves.

On our way to the summit of the stadium, we stopped to have a cigarette. Two girls approached us to ask for a cigarette, so we began talking to them. During this time I learned one of them dropped out of high school, so they were off to a good start. They came with us to the general admission seats where we were able to learn more wonderful things about them. The next thing I learned is that the high school drop out was a complete moron. She could barely hold a conversation so I resigned to sitting in silence and hoping she got bored enough to just walk away. Half of me was hoping a foul ball would hit her in the head so I could use her for a foot rest, the other half of me simply wanted to throw her down the stadium seating.

While I debated how to get the hell away from this girl, Ted was talking to the other one. I was sitting in silence, slowly hating the girl beside me, when I received a text message. "dude, the girl next to me is 17" This was when we decided to go try to find the other people we were with. The dumbasses followed us.

We found our friends sitting in a row with one open seat. Ted happily jumped in, leaving me to sit in the row behind everybody with my two new best friends. The game ended but we had to wait for the fireworks to show up and amaze everybody. Fireworks are pretty okay, but I would much rather have slammed my head into a speeding car then spend another half hour next to these girls.

The fireworks did their deal and I tried to talk to the girl sitting next to me. I was now sitting next to the verified 17-year-old. She was one of these young girls that dresses like she's in her mid-twenties. You have to try to stop looking at her cleavage long enough to realize that she's not as old as she looks. Either that or ask her if she has ever read a book for fun. Both of these things will help you realize that you should run in the opposite direction.

The fireworks ended and we started getting our things together. The two girls must have gotten the hint from how I was doing my best to avoid eye contact with them while trying to hurry everybody else up. They awkwardly looked back and forth at each other before finally walking away without saying goodbye. This is probably for the best, though, I don't know if they are actually able to form coherent parting words anyways.

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