The little shit stuck his tongue out at me. I gave him the look my mom gave me when she’d ‘about had enough.’ Even Greg flinched at that one. It had been ingrained into us to realize that when we got that look, we better stop whatever we were doing and become little angels.
“I do have some questions about these.” Brook pointed at a series of pictures later in the night.
“They’d had too much to drink and began to let their hands wander. That’s when I decided I needed to go home,” I explained.
“David was good the whole night,” Chuck said from the front seat.
Chuck just made up for the few times he wasn’t the perfect security. He’d made me face danger on more than one occasion. I still got nervous whenever I saw Brook’s mom with a wooden spoon. Maybe that was Paul.
“What are all these comments about your hands?” Phil asked.
This time I was happy to answer.
“They’re making the correlation between having big hands and being big down there,” I said, pointing to my crotch.
“I call BS. My hands may be smaller than yours, but I’m just as big,” Greg boasted.
I rolled my eyes because we both knew he was full of it. Fortunately, I kept my comments to myself because Greg had caught my mom’s attention.
“Maybe you should prove it,” she chirped.
Leave it to my mom to end that conversation. Greg didn’t appreciate that both Angie and I about fell out of our seats from laughing so hard. All I needed now was for the ghost of my first girlfriend to appear and announce that I was hung. Some things you never live down. I can still remember my mom’s comment on the way home: “At least they aren’t calling you ‘pencil dick.’”
If my mom did force us to prove it, I worried that Greg might win. Mr. Happy would be horrified and try to crawl into my stomach to hide.
◊◊◊
We got off at the Addison exit on Interstate 94/90, and from there, we had to make about a three-mile trek to Wrigley Field. Even though we were two-and-a-half hours early, the area was swarming with fans.
“Did you see how much it is to park?” Greg asked as we passed a lot.
“I hate to even imagine how much all this is costing,” Phil said.
“My grandmother has a saying for situations like this. ‘If you have to ask, you can’t afford it,’” Brook shared.
“If I forget to say it, thanks, man,” Phil said.
“What?” I asked, acting confused. “Didn’t Caryn send you all bills for your portions?”
“She normally sends them out after the event,” Dad said to help me tease my little brother.
“I have plenty he can do to work off his debt,” Mom chimed in.
I figured someone would let him off the hook. Surprisingly, even Angie didn’t rat us out. But Phil obviously didn’t care. He was going to a Cubs World Series game. I wouldn’t have either if I were in his shoes.
VIP parking was a godsend. They weren’t thrilled with the large travel vans we’d rented to get everyone to the game, but we weren’t the only ones. Dad tipped them up front to make sure they didn’t bang them up. I would have done it after the game if it were me.
My group all left to go into the stadium and find the suite. Mr. Carl’s instructions directed me to find the players’ entrance and tell them I was there to meet Dan Palmer, the Home Clubhouse Manager. There was a crowd waiting to see players as they arrived and get their autographs.
“I need to see your ID,” one of the security guards informed me.
He gave me a double-take and smiled.
“Apparently, you’re a VIP, and I’m supposed to escort you,” he said good-naturedly after he confirmed my name on the list.
I shrugged and fell into step beside him.
“What makes you a VIP?” the security guard asked.
How should I answer that? If I said I was a movie star, it wouldn’t sound right. I guess the best answer was the truth.
“I know Bill and Elinor Carl. They arranged for me to do this.”
I then had to explain what ‘this’ was. The security guard seemed impressed that I would get to be a batboy.
I briefly met Mr. Palmer, then he sent me to talk to the equipment manager about getting a uniform. Once I got dressed, I quickly took a selfie in my Cubs gear and posted it on social media. You’d be surprised how many haters there are out there. I came up with a few witty comebacks, but Frank had threatened that if I did something like that, I would lose my access to my own social accounts. I left my phone in my locker so I’d be able to concentrate on having fun.
Mr. Palmer sent me to meet with the girl in charge of us today. Immediately, I was in lust. Not with the bossy one who let her power go straight to her head, but with the other VIP who was going to be a batgirl, Heather Carl. She was Bill and Elinor’s grandniece and a sophomore at Harvard. I learned this when we had to introduce ourselves.
She was the epitome of what you fantasize a tomboy will grow up to look like. Heather was tall, athletic, and had her shoulder-length brown hair up in a ponytail and sticking out of the back of her cap. I loved that she hadn’t worn any makeup, unlike Bossy Pants, who had overdone it a touch.
