I remember reading “Catch Me If You Can” and thinking well, thank God, his horrible consequences for years of fraud were adequately detailed. Otherwise, I may have felt the prankster in me want to try a few of his schemes and some schemes of my own. Then, I came to realize… I live the life of a Chameleon. I show up to events after being fed two or three taglines and am then expected to represent the company as if I’ve been employed for a decade or more.
This week, I was offering shareholder information and representing a company that deals with investor relations (to the insiders, they call this “I.R.”) and financial marketing. In between this two day stretch, I spent the night hours assisting a concert for the All American Rejects and became an “expert” on the Samsung a727. Finishing my nine-day-stretch of work, are my days spent at my father’s church, also known as Shea Stadium. I love this job. It pays a day rate and I have to work no more than an hour. I spend the time commuting there on the ethnically-diverse, oft-overcrowded, 7-train and drown out the other straphangers with music in my ears and a Sudoku puzzle in my hand. It’s really peaceful.
Now, I absolutely have to get a photo of my favourite Shea Stadium attraction. See all the ticket-collectors and program sellers and ushers are senior citizens. Yes, the Mets are an equal-opportunity employer. I am often paired at the same gate with this cranky old man who resembles a snapping turtle sans claws. The first day I made the mistake of standing within five feet of his moving program stand, at which point he growled at me a series of vowels that translated to “Miiiiisss… moooove…. mooove it.” David Wright could come and stand by his booth and he would swat him (literally) out of the way. It’s hilarious. When he’s not yelling at people from behind his mobile stand, you can find him talking to himself, rolling his beady eyes, and flipping over garbage cans as he rifles through them to presumably find his lost mind.
So, here we are eight days into the promotion. While I’m peddling my swag for a corporate sponsor, the Mets promo team will often have giveaways. You want to watch grown men turn into whining babies? Deny them a kid’s giveaway, such as a Build-A-Bear, and you’ll see what I mean. Even my dad, who’s just a needle shy away of having the Mets logo tattooed on his forehead (it’s already marked on his soul), doesn’t act like that. He’s smart enough to buy an extra ticket and pay some kid to go through the turnstile twice to get one.
My dad, me, and sister enduring the Dodgers beating the Mets.
Today was a giveaway for all attendees, but only until supplies ran out. It was a beautiful, sunny Saturday at the end of the season. They were bound to run out. Once they did, the Mets promo staff decided to disappear and leave us with our sweepstake giveaways to be hounded by the thousands of patrons who didn’t receive a free fleece Mets blanket. It gets old… real fast. You know what my solution was? To send every whining, demanding adult to… the old cronie behind the program stand. Suddenly my sleep-deprived, agitated being was trembling with guffaws as time and again I would send some obnoxious patron over to the old man and he would scream at them, he would swat at them, and try to run them over with his stand. Haha! The tears still stream down my face upon reliving it. I probably could’ve sent the old man into cardiac arrest and the fools who asked him for a fleece blanket luckily didn’t come back to find me. If only I had a video camera, it would be on Youtube and I guarantee Program-Man would be an instant celebrity.
I wonder what kind of karmic repercussions will come of these instigations. Frankly, they’re worth it.