So, the LHFDW (Long Haired Filipino Dog Walker) and I sat in the bleachers last night. We were at Bernie’s for a pre-game beer, and I think I accidentally gave the impression to the girl I sold some Saturday tickets to that I was single and ready to mingle. Maybe I just flatter myself.
We sat in the section that was previously the family section far down the left field line, and I think the closest bathroom to us was the john by my box seats, and I think the bleacher ticket holders can go into the grandstand, but not vice versa. We didn’t try it.
The metal bleachers are going to be hot in the heat, and they certainly were cold in the 39 degree weather last night.
The reason that the bleachers don’t seem as full, I think, is the very large congregation space. They allow a huge area for smokers, and other areas include counters, so you can eat and drink without the game disturbing you.
They do have more womens’ bathrooms, but the same men’s bathroom as previous. Maybe there is another men’s room down the right field side, as the new women’s bathroom is in on the left field side.
The Old Style beer shack at the top of the ramp is gone, and the two women that manned it those many years were nowhere to be found. You can still find Old Style at other concession stands, and there seem to be a bunch more of those stands.
So, anyway, we were drinking our beer and freezing our balls off, and three girls sat down in front of us. They appeared to be in their early 20s. At some point, the least attractive girl started repeating the things I said, to some comic effect. She later confirmed this to me, so I whispered, “who wants a blow job?” Of course, she said it, not screaming, but louder than my whisper.
We started conversing back and forth, and she told us she was sassy. I told her people can’t describe themselves as sassy, so her friend confirmed that she was sassy.
We eventually found out that she (and her pals) went to the University of Dayton. We discussed the Ghetto, burning of couches, and the bar that opens real early on Saint Patrick’s Day.
I asked them what northern suburb they were from (an educated guess), and the sassy one told me, "I am from the City"…meaning Sauganash. Turns out she went to Regina, and the other two were from Loyola. Class of 2001. Yikes.
It was then that we discovered this was the first time we had seen Loyola girls drinking beer at Wrigley. They asked what year we were and then started mentioning Irish sounding names of guys who I didn’t know, but said I did. Jim Dooley? Brian McCarthy? Sure, I know them. They asked what year we graduated, and we told him 1988. They asked my name, and I told them...Chris O'Donnell. They didnt buy it.
And, the Cubs won.
Cold, but a fun night at the ballpark, and a welcome distraction.