Sunday, August 19, 2007

In which. . .

I get fired. On my last day of work. Ha!

Here's something I'm learning. Don't argue with men in ties, with men with earpieces, with men who are taller than you and who are getting paid more than you. These lovely beasts like to power trip. Wowzer.

Story: Other girl and I are sent to the front gate to take pictures, and we ask for the free lunchboxes they are handing out. They nice people oblige and we stash them behind the planters. Maybe 15 mins later some "security guards" (not the ones who look like security guards, but the ones who look like they think they're Secret Service agents) come by, and one spots the lunchboxes (very cute little things, by the way) and picks them up. I go over and say, "Scuse me, those are ours." The taller security guard, whose name I don't manage to see, says, "Do you have a ticket for them?" I go, "No. . . do we need them?" He goes, "Yes, and if you don't, it's stealing. What this is is stealing." So I go, "Okay, and turn around and mutter (which is where this was my fault), "All real generous."

Two things: First, this is DODGER STADIUM second only to DISNEYLAND-- a hot dog is $5, a beer is $11. Seats- don't even ask. An illustration- even down in field level (the seats closest to the field) when the suits come down to deliver things to the blissful fans in the box seats, they walk straight down the aisle, and only when they enter the box seats area do they crouch down so they don't get in the important people's way. So when I muttered about the infinite generosity, I was referring to the establishment, not the specific guards. Second, as I'm sure you all know, if you get riled up, you get riled up. A man who decides to be patronizing from the start it not going to be making many friends. I've got a terrible temper, perhaps exacerbated by my background? My mother is Taiwanese, and the island is known for a governing body that has brawls on the floor all the time (that's the way to do it- look at those ladies in cardigans). Then we've got the New Yorker/Southern Irish-American (I specify that because it's a step apart from the plastic paddy thing when you're qualifying it as a group, "Irish American," within the American landscape) Catholicism, drinking, and flaring tempers. Wouldn't hold up in court, though.

So by that point, it's clear this isn't about the lunchboxes. Security guard 1 turns around and goes, "Was that sarcasm?" [This is where it becomes their fault. As professionals and as the ones in charge of the situation, they should have dropped it.]

Me: [eyes wide] No.
SG#1: Because if that was--
Me: No, it wasn't.
SG#1: [Starts to give me a talk on how it's stealing. Again. And then this is where it got weird. He puts his hand up and goes-] You hafta understand.
Me: [When he doesn't say anything] What? Understand what?
SG#1: That it is stealing, Bridget. [I hate having a name tag.]
Me: Well, the lunchboxes are back in your hands so I don't see why it's an issue anymore. [He's not gonna get an apology for originally asking for them.]
SG#1: You hafta understand. [Again, goes nowhere with it, just stands there. It was like he wanted me to write on the blackboard "I will not steal" 100 times. It was weird.]
Me: Understand what? [In case it was something new.]
SG#1: That it is stealing.
SG#2 [Whose name was Tim?]: [Says something about doing our jobs.]
Me: Okay, guys. I understand you don't make the policy, so I hope you realize I wasn't referring to you.
SG#1: You need to understand. [Arrrgh. Still isn't deigning to finish a sentence.]
Tim: [I really wasn't listening to him. I was trying to stare down SG#1 and his reflective sunglasses. Something about fans. Dealing with fans? Angry fans angry with them?]
Me: [to Tim] Okay, well, fine. Perhaps I was taking out my frustration on the fans out on you, and I apologize.

And that was it. I was pissed. Turns out SG#1 gave the other girl shit on Saturday, too. Ooh, surprise. Next thing I know, I've been asked to leave by my supervisor (very sympathetic) who adds that one of the other ladies will come to work and buy a ticket so she can get, say, the free bobblehead, and they still won't give it to her.

So here's me reflecting on it. . . First, my fault for originally muttering after they had turned their backs. Ooops. But once it broke down into a clear powertrip, there was no turning back. Second, as my boss pointed out, the guard should have simply said, "Employees are not allowed to take the freebies," and that would have been that. I do not react with sarcasm and grumble-grumble if things are carried out in a reasonable tone and manner. I swear I don't. Third, is it GREAT how to 6 foot gorillas in ties were so upset that I gave them a little lip that they called up some manager to complain about this little 19 yr old 5 foot 5 in (I saw I'm five-six on my license :p) even though they came out on top? Fantastic! And lastly, I even apologized at the end. I really don't like giving a worker shit about something. But at the same time, I don't start things. And based on these guards' fascinating procedure, I should have complained about the asshole ice cream vendor who kept muttering about me the other day and gotten him fired.

I had been listening to the Pistols on the way to work and came back listening to them, and I was like, hey blog post, good way to vent, but I better pair it with some music, and posting the Pistols would just seem petty and y'all have it already, anyway. So here's Cock Sparrer's "Because You're Young", mostly because I think (fondly) of it as "Because You're Young, DUMBASS." Thas me :]




Did I learn a lesson? Well, besides the obvious one, I also learned if you're gonna be an idiot and make trouble for those who richly deserve it. . . do it on your last day there. My real regret is that I didn't get to say bye to the friends I made- some great and very funny people there, especially the loge ushers I go to know- cos I had to hustle out quick-quick.

Good thing they didn't find out I caught a ball Andre Ethier threw the other day when I was working field level, infuriating most of the people around me, except the guys who were so drunk they thought the ball was somewhere in the seats.

2 comments:

Jim said...

Fuck 'em B. I'll come over there and slap the shit out of em for you. They'll never expect it.

chairman ralph said...

Authorities (real or imagined) have this marvelous way of overreacting to everything...that's what makes them such irresisitible targets for those who call ourselves punk rock.

Having weathered similar experiences myself, I can only suggest that time is a great avenger...I imagine those guys will still be there in 20 years, huffing and puffing as they throw all their weight around...getting older, but surely not getting anywhere.

 

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