Hooky
One of my favorite guilty pleasures of summer is the midweek day baseball game. Sneaking out of the office to sit and watch baseball while drinking beers and eating sodium-rich snack foods is not just fun - it's part of the rich tableau of American Life. It's your heritage, I say! (I'm assuming here that Flying W Things has not picked up too much of an international following.)
At my last place of employment I would regularly schedule "doctor's appointments" on the day of such a game, and then slip away around lunch time with the promise to return "if possible." But it turns out target="_blank"my boss is a co-conspirator. So today's trip to the stadium showed up on my calendar as an "Off-Site Management Meeting." Excellent.
Today was a good day to go to a game. It was clear and sunny - hot, but not too hot. Shade was available to sit in. The Dodgers put up a good fight until the seventh inning, when Hideo Nomo threw the ball away on a sacrifice bunt, allowing two runs to score. That turned out to be the break the Cardinals were looking for, and they went on to win 9-2.
So that's how that went.
Whenever I sneak off to the ballpark like this, I can't help but think about a similar trip from four or five years ago. I had arrived at the park and was waiting out front for my co-conspirator to arrive. I could hear the PA start announcing the visiting team's lineup inside the stadium. Just then my pager went off.
Of course, it's the office. Hmm. Can I just ignore it? My conscience bothered me too much for that, so I found a pay phone and called in.
It was the project lead I was currently working for, and he had some question that I don't remember. As we're talking, the PA announcer finishes up introducing the visitor's team and starts in with My California Angels. (You should know that the Angels, like many teams, shoot off fireworks when they introduce their lineup. And yes, I know that they are now the Anaheim Angels. I will always think of them as the California Angels.)
So I'm talking on the phone, muffling the microphone as much as I can with my hand and desperately trying to wrap up the call, when the shells start exploding. I'm probably 50 yards from where they are being launched. Unsurprisingly, they are loud as hell. Unsurprisingly, the guy on the other end of the phone asks "Where the hell are you?"
Thinking fast, I say "Oh, I got your page while I was still in the car - I pulled over at a gas station to call you. Looks like there's some construction across the street."
Just then they finish up the intros and launch a nice multi-shell salvo. Even louder. Great. The guy says "You better get out of there! Sounds like they're knocking down the building." I agree and hang up. Whew. Crisis averted.
It goes to show you that most people will believe a plausible story told with a straight face.
(Oh, and the Angels lost that day to the Oakland A's. Bummer.)