Don't Mess With Old People!

For reasons unknown to all of humanity, there are certain individuals and organizations on this earth that are so damned irritating that they're a constant source of embarrassment and anger.  As I've gotten older over the years, I sometimes have days when I'm holding a stick and these folks look like a pinata!  Once a source of aggravation begins to grate my nerves, I start plotting ways to get paybacks and sweet revenge.

A few years ago when I was working as an usher for the Double-A baseball team here, there was a pitcher from New Jersey playing for the team and he was a very nice looking young man in his early 20's.  His name was Steve and during the season, my job as an user was to ensure he was not disturbed during the game while he was in the stands working.  When not on the pitchers mound, Steve was in the stands right behind home plate with his radar gun, stop watch and stat sheet keeping records on where and how fast the other pitchers were throwing over home plate.

To generate extra revenue for the ball teams owner, they promote $1 beer night on Thursdays and this obviously brings in people that are more interested in cheap beer than they are a game of baseball.  I call these nights Trailer Trash Thursdays and the majority of people who come that night are either college kids or the refugees from every trailer park within a 40 mile radius of the ball park.  I nicknamed the college kids as Three Beer Commando's because they drink a beer, spill a beer and take a beer home with them.  On these thursday night games, there are so many damn rednecks in attendance the smell of fried Spam and collard greens permeates the air.

Long about the bottom of the 5th inning one thursday night, I saw five young college girls with beer in their hands gathered around Steve the "cute pitcher" trying their best to get him to talk with them.   I had already ran these girls off twice before in previous innings and told them to leave Steve alone, because he was working and they needed to go back to their seats.  OK, now they've flicked my switch for the last time and enough is enough.  I sat down next to Steve and asked them point blank why they continued to bother the man while he was working.  One of the girls said, "all we want is his cell number" and I replied "OK.  If I give you his cell phone number will you promise to go back to your seats and not bother Steve anymore tonight?"  Everyone of the girls shouted "Yes" instantly.

I told them "Get your cell phones out and punch in these numbers.  Everybody ready?  OK, here we go it's 555-6969.  Alright, everyone repeat it back to me because we're only going to do this once and then your butts better remain in your own seats for the rest of the game."  And being the good little girls they are, they repeated the exact numbers back to me.  After I escorted these girls back to their seats, still holding their beers I might add, Steve motioned for me to come to his seat.  He said "Jim, that's not my cell phone number and besides, I've never given you my number."  I replied "Steve, I know that's not your cell phone number.  It's the number to a porno hot line and every time those drunk girls call it, they'll get charged $5 on their credit card for talking to Monique."  There's more than one way to skin a cat besides starting at the ass!! Sssswwwweeeettttt!