A couple of weeks ago, due to some strange circumstances, I found myself alone at Dodger Stadium. Now, this circumstance has always been one of my greatest fears. All my life I’ve gone to Dodger games and seen the guy across the aisle, all alone with his headphones, popping beach balls like it was his job.
Anyway, having recently gone through some STUFF, I decided to invite two people to join me whom I knew would not be able to go, one of which is my bff of 16 years, while the other is my (still) newest friend.
When they both, predictably, couldn’t go, I realized what my ulterior motive had been, and that I was, in fact curious about what would happen to me if I dared sit at a Dodgers game alone. So I did the unthinkable and went solo.
The first thing to know about being a young lady at a sporting event is that people will talk to you. All the people will talk to you. All the time. Even if you are clearly there with someone.
I pride myself on how unapproachably rude I can seem, but this does not apply when you are sitting butt to butt with someone, be it a bored and uninterested in sports wife or husband, or a scout for the Red Sox.
But now, on to the most importantly weird parts of attending a baseball game on your own:
- It’s hard to pee: the best reason I can give you for going anywhere with anyone is that they can watch your stuff while you slip off to peetown or purchasing beers from beertown.
- So I had two seats. I was hell bent on making use of them, if only for my bag to have a nice home. However, once the lady next to my bag’s comfy seat grew wise, she was hell bent on taking some space for herself. She didn’t pay for that seat, so I did not allow for even the slightest, falsely casual sweater placement. Manifest destiny has no place in box seats.
- Did I mention that EVERYONE WANTS TO TALK TO YOU? My intentions were questioned many times. People wanted to know if I’d been stood up. People wanted to know if I was dating one of the players. The 6 year old sitting behind me wanted to know about everything ever but mostly was curious about the impending fireworks. And no one believed that I was there because I actually enjoy the sport. I was vaguely familiar with this terrible phenomenon having previously arrived a few minutes before my game’s companion, but boy oh boy, nine whole innings changes shit. But really, the main reason people want to talk to you is that they doubt your sports fandom because of your lady-ness. It’s actually the worst from people who are just there out of obligation, because they have the most time to kill.
- And then there were the fireworks. That was the only time I truly felt weird because they have never been very interesting to me and it seems like a thing that is improved by shared experience. But hey, my anti-fireworks attitude worked out brilliantly because I got out of that parking lot SO FAST because everyone else was so busy staring at the sky. Though I do love John Philip Sousa.
All in all, it was one of the best nights of my life.