Baseball, Digital flags and Footlongs
Arriving a bit early to the Red Wings game today, I thought I would take the opportunity to grab a quick bite before the start of the game. Although not a fan of baseball, I do enjoy the atmosphere of the American pastime and the spectacle of people watching.
I cut a path right for the Hebrew National Footlong cart, cause I'm down like that. Within seconds I am eighth in line for the glorious wiener. I wait patiently, cash in hand, a slight turn to the rear establishes my superior proximity to the kosher beef as the line has grown to twenty or so. The clock ticks closer to the first pitch, like I care, but nonetheless the clock is ticking.
What is taking so long? I studied the process of dispensing the meat and quickly became irratated. You see the keepers of my prize would take an order, place the dog on the grill and wait. Wait to cook it and wait to serve it before addressing the next customer. Tick, tick, tick. I have now been standing, waiting, desparately wanting to pace for fourteen minutes. What the fuck is going on? Thinking quickly I yelled to the man who stood before the meat peddlers, "Hey buddy, order me two footlongs and I'll pay for yours." He appeared shocked by my proposition and returned with simply, "No."
Are your fucking kidding me? Idiot. What a deal. A free meal for two extra words. Stupid baseball dick.
Now only one couple, portly and disturbingly dressed alike, are stepping up to the plate, so to speak. "What do you want, honey?", Fucktard One says to Fucktard Two. Time is of the essence, order you dumb fuck, they only sell kosher hot dogs. Your only choice is Über or Econo size. What is there to think about, your Rubenesque figure? Don't play coy and try act as though you really want the footlong but you're watching your weight so maybe I'll get the standard size. ORDER! "Should I get sauerkraut?", Fucktard Two asks Fucktard One. This asshole has been in line just as long as I have yet they have no idea of what they want. I can't imagine how they function on a daily basis.
My turn. No pleasantries. "Two footlongs, pronto. And by the way has it every occured to you to load the grill with hot dogs as that is all your serve?" A vapid blank stare. Could this be a business model they have never investigated? An epiphany of sorts? The more you sell in a given period of time, the more you make. Note: On out latest trip to Manhattan, in front of the Museum of Natural History I ordered two hot dogs, two pretzels and a water and I am not shitting you when I say tell you I walking away with food and change within thirty seconds. Finally I get my prize here at home. The damage was $7.50 and I flip a ten spot in her hand. My change was given back to me and I'm off to Section 202.
A calculator was used to make change.
We are fucked as a nation.
Just in time for my favorite part of the day. The National Anthem. The chorus from my kid's school was performing today. While I scan the crowd I notice that a real flag was flying at half staff in left field. On the Jumbo Patriotron in center field was a slo-mo digital closeup of Old Glory waving in the cyberbreeze. Spectators and players, not all but some, were standing, hats removed, mouthing the words to the Anthem, desensitized while facing the overproduced digital representation of Our flag. The real flag, tiny and insignificant in the LCD shadow of the bigger is better new found Glory, seemed motionless.
Play ball!
Seats on the first base line proved to be a lovely vantage point to observe both the game and fans. Except, the kids in front of me standing the whole time and yelling they are going to shoot each other with their nuclear war guns. Perhaps the effects of the 42 inch flatscreen Patriotron at home. In high definition of course. Or perhaps just an homage to J. Robert Oppenheimer's birthday. Ah, serendipity. The father, sat uninterested, in his white velcroed sneakers and black dress socks. You know the type. What can I do? The wandering security guard is dressed in bright yellow adorned with a mini flashlight and a walkie talkie like my kids use to play Homeland Security Roundup in the backyard. I don't want to bother him while he's making me feel safe. Maybe I'll just eavesdrop a bit.
As the next batter emerges from the dugout, his image in all its postmodern Glory is displayed with the musical accompaniment of the groovy opening of Rage Against the Machine's Testify. The sound ends as he approaches the plate and just before the lyrics were to begin:
The movie ran through me
The glamour subdued me
The tabloid untied me
I'm empty please fill me
Mister anchor assure me
That Baghdad is burning
Seventh inning stretch and time for God Bless America. I'm outta here. I read in the today's paper, the real one that you can burn to provide warmth for your family, that City Mattress is have a SALE!. Or was there a tribute to the victim's of the Virginia Tech slaughter. Surely shopping will make me feel better.
A new mattress should make me sleep in peace, shouldn't it?
posted by sconsetmonkey @ 4/22/2007 04:54:00 PM
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6 Comments:
I've noticed the inability to count change in one's head all over the country. I can do it in a snap and I'm no algebra lover. We're dependent on machines, others to do our bidding, others to tell us where to stand (behind the yellow brick line please, single file). I have also noticed people will stand in line at the movies and then get up there and not know what they want to see. Meanwhile I'm missing the opening credits.
Brilliant. Simply brilliant writing.
It's a huge pet peeve of mine when people wait in line without bothering to do any decision making. I'm not sure where that comes from, probably just a general lack of curiosity that keeps people from thinking, generally. Actually, this peeve of mine is the worse because I have a friend that does it, but that doesn't shed any new light on why.
Thanks for the kind words Tom.
For the most part people have become numb. Perhaps they weren't aware they were actually waiting in a line, looks like fun let's see what at the other end. Just like staring at a digital representation of a flag. Desensitized to the surroundings and what's shockingly right in front of your face.
Awe ...I didn't know you did this blog, I wouldn't have did my dog one. What kind of fool would say no to free food.
I hate waiting in line and then the person before you has to write a check and it takes forever.
I read somewhere that the ability to do mental math is a sign of higher intelligence and doesn't begin until you cross over the 120 IQ level, so try not to be too hard on your inferiors!
Corrin Strong, Editor,
I do not consider this person to be an inferior.
Let's look at the transaction another way.
If the cost of my goods were .75 instead of $7.50 and I handed them a dollar instead of a ten respectively the change would be one quarter. I doubt a calculator would be needed to perform this calculation.
To further my point, calculations are made in the head when the actual change is made. The total amount of change maybe given by the calculator, however, the addition of the actual change is using "mental math" as the calculator does not give the quantities of the denominations to be returned.
If the hot dog slacker was out of quarters I find it hard to believe that a calculator would be needed to figure out how many nickels to give in its place.
A quick quiz: I just asked my nine year old 3 different hypothetical cash tranactions. All performed in the head without hesitation and correct on each count. (pun intended)
This was a cultural observation, much like my digital flag rant. They both lack effort and for that we are fucked as a nation.
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