“Now I been lookin' for a job but it's hard to find /
Down here it's just winners and losers / And don't get caught on the wrong side
of that line / Well I'm tired of comin' out on this losin' end / So honey last
night I met this guy / And I'm gonna do a little favor for him.” For the
past 10 years, I have lived a world in which bartering has been a form of
currency: tickets for haircuts, tickets for pizza, and tickets for drinks are
a few exchanges that I have been a part of in and around Pittsburgh. But
surprisingly, it was an event that I could not land tickets to in which I
received a life lesson and favor.
Living in Washington DC in the mid-1990s there was no
hometown baseball team to root for during the season. If you wanted to
attend a game in-person you needed to drive a car out to Bowie for the
AA-Baysox (the Calvin Pickering “Cheeseburger” chant story is for another time)
or you needed to take the MARC train to Baltimore which dropped you off right
outside Camden Yards.
In the spring of 1995, my friends and I figured out
what date/game that Cal Ripken would break Lou Gehrig’s unbelievable record of
consecutive games played. We circled September 6, 1995 on the calendar
and then went our separate ways for the summer. Upon our return from the
break, every one of my friends, for a variety of excuses, backed out of the
trip to Charm City and I was left to fend for myself.
The atmosphere around the stadium was electric and
between the memorabilia outside and trading with fans thru the iron grate fence
for memorabilia only available inside, for me it was like a Middle Eastern
shook meets New Year’s Eve in Times Square. When I realized that I would
not be able to score a ticket get into the game, I grabbed myself dinner and
drinks and watched on a large screen right outside of the stadium.
And then once the game became official, I made my way over to the MARC
train platform only to find that I had my return train ticket, but $0 in my
pocket.
Standing and waiting with another couple, an
announcement was made that the next MARC train for Washington DC would not be
leaving until 1 hour after the game concluded. Immediately the other
couple that I was standing with decided that they were going to hustle to Penn
Station-Baltimore to see if they could catch an Amtrak train back to Washington
DC. They were surprised when I did not want to share a cab with them to
the station. I quickly explained my financial situation and the man
insisted that we would sort it out at the train station. However upon
arriving at the train station, the train was boarding and the man again said we
would sort out the cost of the ticket on the actual train. When we
finally found ourselves situated on the train, he explained that he did not
want me to pay him back, but down the line to provide tickets to someone else at no cost for a
ballgame or concert.
In the cultural circle and parking lots surrounding
the Grateful Dead and their live shows, “I need a miracle” has been one of the
more common pleas for a ticket to that night’s show. I worked for a
concert promoter at the time of my experience in Baltimore and very quickly my
+1 the remainder of that fall would go to the person standing in line in back
of me at the box office window waiting to purchase a ticket. The look of
surprise and happiness never got old and still does not. Now
working in the ticketing industry and having the opportunity to help family,
friends and sometimes complete strangers reminds me of other lyrics, “What
would you do if I sang out of tune / Would you stand up and walk out on me? /
Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song / And I'll try not to sing out of
key / Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends.”
Thanks for reading.
