Story of the Day 8/ 16/ 2012 - part 1

Sarah and I were in a rush. Tonight is the first post-Olympics WNBA game.
Well, really, games. I think there are 5 of them , altogether, so 10 teams are meeting in 5 cities- getting back into the season in a rush.
But the important one is the one that is taking place in downtown Indianapolis, and for which we have tickets.

Our home town team- the Fever- is playing against the Washington Mystics.
I put my wallet, camera and cell phone in the purse I always take to the games. It is a purse that my friend Harriet, who is known far-and-wide ( as long as far-and-wide means our neighborhood and also parts of California) as the purse-queen, gave to me.
It has the ideal configuration to be my "take to the game " bag.
It has a pocket for the cell phone, a pocket for the camera, and a pocket for the tickets.
Oh, and it is just the right shape for the program to fit in without getting bent.

So, I put those things in, then I go to the envelop that has our parking passes and tickets for the next couple of games, and take out the ones for tonight , and put them in the purse. And , being well-organized- I also take our MVP necklace passes. Once we are at the game, if we want to go and get a drink of water or use the bathroom ( that last one is me, Sarah NEVER uses a public restroom) , we can stick a ticket into it and not have to carry anything.
Sarah, meanwhile, is eating a snack, and then there is thunder.

I am thrilled.
It has been a long, hot, dry summer.
We are in the midst of an " extreme" drought.
It was a wet spring, then a dry start to summer which quickly turned into a sought, and then a severe drought, and , finally, an extreme drought.
This means that the corn aint' growing, and the grass is yellow and goes crackle-crackle if you walk on it; and when it is only 85, it feels almost cool.

Thunder seems to promise something, like .....dare I say it? rain.

And, soon enough, there are real live honest to gosh drops of water falling- and I am hoping it is more than just a 5 minute deal that teases the plants and the people.

It is not.
The rain comes down harder, and there is more lightning and thunder.
And now, Sarah tells me that she thinks we should not go to the game.

What? Why?
I can't believe she is afraid of getting wet. I explain that we are parking in the covered parking building attached to the arena.
It isn't' that. She has decided it is dangerous to be in the car during a storm....

I do what any intelligent mother of a teenager would do.
I do not argue.
I turn to God. I mean to Google ( which God was kind enough to create for the this purpose) and pull up a scientific article ( but one that is written for a 6th grader- meaning me) that explains why it is NOT dangerous to be in a car when it is storming.

And it is not for the reason that I thought.

Somehow, I believed it was safe because of the rubber tires insulating you from the electricity of the storm- but, in fact, that is not true, it has to do with something like the car dispersing the lightning or deflecting it or something.
Anyhow, it doesn't matter, because Google said it is safe, so it is.
And without my needing to argue with my teenager.
Thank God!
I mean Google!

And so we are off, but a bit late.
And that is not good because the cars are backed up from this accident and that lane being flooded, and because the visibility is not great and the roads are slick and.... I am not becoming popular parent.
That is because it now looks as if we will be arriving late.

And then my phone rings.
My cell phone.
And I let Sarah know.
That is because she is deaf and cannot hear it ringing.
And then we both ignore it, because I have a rule. I do not answer or talk on the phone when I am driving.
I also do not text, or read texts ( a fine point of distinction for one of my children....which caused an argument. The argument might have been avoidable , but we were in the car and Google wasn't readily available.)

And we drove and drove and drove, and arrived.
Late.

We parked the car, after a detour that ate up a few more minutes- there was construction- and took the escalator down to the lobby.

While we were going down, I pull out the tickets to present to the ticket taker, and
I realize that I have grabbed the wrong tickets.
They are the tickets for August 26th or 28th or something.
And they are not the ones for tonight.
And now I have to tell Sarah.

I am definitely not anyone's favorite parent.

She says, "We will go home!

I tell her, "No, I will buy two more tickets."
That is expensive...especially since we got our tickets at a bargain rate and now we will have to take whatever is available, at a not bargain rate, and have paid twice to see the game.
But I tell her this, because being late is bad enough.

Then I see a staff person I have met several times and know to be friendly.
Instead of going to the ticket window, I go to her and I explain the situation and ask what we should do.
She tells me to go to the window and explain, and if they can't just print new copies of our original tickets, to have them call the person we got them from.

Sarah and I go over to the ticket window- where there is no line, because most people have alread gone into the game.
The woman takes my information.
She tells me that people do this all the time.
They do?
I am not a unique idiot, it seems, just an idiot.
And she gives us the freshly printed replacement tickets.
I have been standing and waiting and have stuck the necklace thing around my neck, so, unlike before a typical game, I stick the tickets into the holder, now, instead of after we are already taking our seats.

We go past security, they do not seems to think we are as dangerous as the airport people do and they take a glance in my purse and smile at Sarah and wave us through.
Then the ticket guy scans our tickets and we go up the stairs to pick up programs for the game.


At the top of the stairs are two very young staff-tshirted women.
They have clipboards.
One of them says something to me about court.
A basketball court?

She has a quiet ,polite voice.
She is very cute, she loosk about 17 , and I tell her that I don't hear well and would she mind not being so polite and talk loudly....
She asks if we want court side seats.

Not the row that is on the "floor", but the cushy two-seater thing that they invite two season ticket holders to sit in at each game.
Appparently, they invite two season ticket holders who are wearing their neck chains - which we never do ( except to go to the bathroom)- but I happen to have put on, while waiting for the new tickets to be printed.
I am not even sure why, except that I was standing with nothing else to do.
And they must also have been looking for two ticket holders who...show up late.

All of the sudden,miracle f miracles, I am no longer in trouble with my teenager.
It is amazing what a difference good seats make.


We get to our seats.
I put my purse down and pull out my cell phone.
I am curous to see who it was who called me while we were driving here.

It was Aaron, my middle child.

Boy, he didn't wait for very long after we had left the house to call. A little less than ten minutes, I guess.
I push the button to hear the message. At its loudest, I can't hear anything. I text him to tell him that. I ask if it was anything important.

He texts back,
"I think u left the tickets here."

He is right.