A Parking Lot Nazi's Guide to Love...

...but only, not really.

The stadium hosted their 4th of July firework show last night, selling about 1100 tickets in advance. It was also game two of the White Wings, a feud that was still fired up from the night before. Needless to say, we won. And even though I don't understand the fans' obsession with baseball, I was happy to see that we won. Why? you wonder. Because White Wing fans are the most insulting, rude and downright despicable people. And it's not because they're the other team, but because they are and it's a downright fact after last night. No offense to the good ones, however. Like most groups of people, this is just a hasty generalization.

I was suppose to start out at lot 2, but Super had a change of heart and put me in 3 when I made my case. While Javi is a good worker, I was fearful that he wouldn't report the cars who "get smart" and drive by him. I, at least, take down plate numbers and call them in if I can. I'm also going to start asking university police if they can give out citations to those vehicles I listed. Truly, I am a Parking Lot Nazi.

Later on, Javi was sent to help me out. Now, it's hard to forget the kid's ten years younger than me, and he probably doesn't see me as much older than him. During the span, a group of girls - probably ranging from 14-16 years old - passed us by. Javi was quick to note them and made a comment on hot they were. I, of course, made an uncomfortable smirk and didn't say anything, though I could've said, "Dude, they're just kids," but again, he's their age.

And I get that a lot with the parking lot quartet (meaning, just the men as the ladies didn't join the team until later on in the season). The guys are your typical man's men. They're oversexed, constantly checking out women, talking about sex and picking up chicks. And it's humorous seeing them in "action," which, I believe, is mostly show for the rest of us. However, when the subject turns to women, I normally walk away or start doing something else on my own. I don't know how to talk like they do. Even when Super and I were picking up the horses the other night, he and I were having a serious (as serious as a conversation about parking can get) conversation when he just turned and said, "Not so bad, eh?" I looked up and saw a girl who was walking across the street in front of us wearing short shorts and a tank top. I grimaced and muttered something in hopes that it sounded positive, though my first thought was, "Aren't you married? Don't you have girls? Would you like that to be said about your daughters?"In a sense, I guess, I'm more respectable to women - keeping the bedroom stuff in the bedroom. It's not that I'm a prude - I used to write porn for side cash (no joke) - but I don't feel comfortable because the truth is, I'm not into girls/women. I already have something I love and that's all that matters to me. Everyone else is just simply invisible.

And that makes it hard on the girls with the tiny tops and short skirts who attempt to flirt with this parking lot Nazi, in an attempt to get in for free. Of course, out in parking 3, they're a rare breed. Most of them are college students who I instruct if they don't want to pay, they can just park on the other side where my jurisdiction ends (man, I am a Nazi, aren't I?)

And because I'm in the lot that everyone wants - lot 3 is just across the street from the university rec center - I disappoint others when I don't return with a horde of phone numbers in my little black book (a mini marble composition book I take with me everywhere I go to make notes on thoughts and ideas that come to me - I also write down conversations).

Most of the time, I feel like just telling them I'm gay - which I'm not - so they can get off my back about it. Of course, if I say that, then I'll either be shunned or they'll start asking me about guys.

As the night progressed, Javi again started talking about girls. After a while, I attempted to join in. I am, after all, a would-be writer, so I can make up lies on the spot. But I noticed his part seemed a tad forced, leaving me wonder if he, too, was just doing it to be one of the guys. Who knows.

And yeah, the title to this post will be rather misleading.

Sky Flowers in the Sky & Other Zombie Comparisons

Ever since watching Land of the Dead every time I see fireworks in the sky, I can't help but to think about sky flowers. I know that at times the "of the Dead" series are used as social commentary, but I can't compare baseball goers to zombies, could I?

Ennui Prayer (the Hunger Writer) presents:
The 7th Inning Stretch of the Dead

I suppose we should get off on a good start. Today Chik-fil-A sponsored something or other at the game. It was a good thing and the commentary isn't about them - however, when they started tossing out free soft balls and toy cows at the audience, things got bad.

I already had about five hours standing at the parking lot, bringing in a nice bundle (I sold about 170 tickets), before being put on guard to make sure the children didn't get onto the field or on top of the dug out. That was only job I had to do. When the cow and his girls started tossing out the freebies, pandemonium broke lose. I knew that the kids were going to pile up, but men too? C'mon, gimme a break. The thing that worried me most was that these men all had a couple of beers in their systems and they were no holds bar on attempting to get the freebies. I half expected on of them to punch a kid in the face and take the goods. Luckily, for me and the for the kids, that didn't happen.

But seeing the hordes of people surrounding the cow and girls, I started to think any minute now, and someones arms will be ripped off and a zombiesque howl will echo throughout the night. I'm a little zombie crazed, if you haven't guessed.

Another prime example of baseball goers as zombies is the parking lot. When I told them it was two dollars, half of them looked at me with this vacant stare. I half expected one of them to lurch out at me and pull me in, ripping the flesh of my throat as I struggled for freedom. Not to mention the ones who just looked at me, nodding their heads and passing by. Not zombiesque, unless of course, they saw me as one of them.

In Addition: I failed to mention consumption in this post. Like the undead, baseball fans have this violent urge to consume more than they need. Watching them feasting on crap that would kill them (and possibly make them into real zombies) is downright nauseating. And much like their undead counterparts, baseball goers leave behind a trail of gutted watermelon, sucked dry bottles and pieces of half eaten food on the floor.