This weekend was the kind of weekend that leaves you absolutely drained come Monday. Between the Phillies game, NYC, and a weekend of crew races, I dropped into my brand new jersey sheets for bed by 8 pm on Sunday.
On Friday I got to Elle’s house at 5 and immediately started on shots. Now Elle, as I’ve mentioned before, is moderately wealthy. Her family owns a chain of restaurants in the area that dominates the sports-and-beer industry of restaurants. I was wearing jeans and a tank top with my Phillies hat, she was wearing designer shorts, a Phillies shirt she cut, a Chanel ring and bracelet, and carrying a YSL bag. This will all come into play later, I promise.
We had planned ahead to take the train, knowing full well that we would be sipping vodka cranberry and 7 and 7s the entire way there. I was drunk by the time we reached the stadium. We bought the sixteen dollar tickets, stayed for one inning, and under the premise of getting beers (well, actually getting beers) we snuck down onto the first level. As the guard turned to check the screen, we snipped behind his back. “Now where?” Elle asked, as I casually looked at my ticket hoping the guard would think we were lost.
“Girls, we’re over here!” I looked over to three moderately cute guys pointing at two open seats next to them. The guard watched carefully as we slid into the seats, pretending that we had just been lost. An old cougar down the row scowled at Elle, who was now in her prime. We fell into our roles instantely: her as the hot but ditzy girl, me as the cute and smart one. She was interested in the tall guy, I was interested in watching Pat Burrell hit a homerun.
I wasn’t really listening to what they were saying, but when she got up to get two more beers the tall guy leaned over towards me. “So she’s not fucking Einstein,” he laughs. I shoot daggers, implying that he needs to choose his words carefully. “I don’t mean it like that,” he says, backing up, “So what are you girls doing after this?” I’m already getting annoyed by him, but I think that Elle is into him so I tell him that we’re heading to her dad’s restaurant for some beers. I should have seen it then, the glint in his eyes. “Oh yeah? Her family owns [restaurant]?”
Elle came back with the beers and there was a snap in the guy’s behaviour. He suddenly was interested only in her and I could tell she was taken aback. An inning later she leaned in and whispered, “did you tell him about [restaurant]?” I nodded, but saw where she was going with this.
As the game ended, the guys were quickly trying to make plans with us. One of the friends kept trying to throw his arm around me until shrugged him off and told him I had a boyfriend (side note: this is completely believable, as T, the guy from class that I had a date with, had been texting me all night, telling me how he’s been into me since the day he met me. “You’re perfect, you’re exactly everything I want in a girl” he wrote).
We weaved our way out of the stadium, with the boys planning on how we’d get to the bar. The tall one was offering to drive us there, and then said “as long as you guys buy us drinks when we get there.”
The other friend started laughing, and goes, “So they’re all lies, right?” Elle and I look at each other and ask the same question- What lies? “Her dad doesn’t own those. She wouldn’t have bought sixteen dollar tickets if her dad owned [restaurants].” Now, Elle and I had just been talking about how she’d be getting behind-home-plate-first-row tickets in a month, and how we were going. I instantly grabbed Elle’s arm and pulled her away, walking in the direction of the train station.
“That happens all the time,” she said. “Guys find out about my dad’s company and suddenly it’s all they think about.” It makes sense, but it was the first time I’ve seen it happen. “It’s been a lot worse than that- a guy once dated me for a month until I found out he was going to the bars and demanding free food because he was my boyfriend.”
I’ve still got to go over NYC and how we almost got killed on the E, the shizz going on with T, and the races and how I almost quit coaching.