Ruth has a job with connections (of the non-mob variety) and as a perk she can go to Yankees games a few times a year. It is always a crap-shoot as to what kind of seats you will get. Last time we were along the 3rd base line and about 25 rows up. Pretty good. But that was nothing compared to this time! This time we were spoiled rotten. A fitting final visit to the hallowed halls of Yankee Stadium before they tear it down this winter. This time we were ushered behind the barricades to a private entrance. We didn't have wait in line, get stepped on, wind through long security lines and up the endless concourse ramps. Nope, no riff-raff mingling for us- we got a private entrance with friendly staff greeting us, a brief wait in a plush lobby before a ride up a private elevator- with an operator. Seriously, we had an operator for our elevator. Ha!
Our seats were just over from where the press sits, directly beside home plate on the 3rd base line. This photo was taken using no zoom. That's our view. Also, our seats were cushioned and we had a waitress who brought us our orders of bad-for-us food and treats. A waitress- we were fancy-pants indeed.The Yankees won- no good for me, but a nice birthday present for Ruth. And then we headed back towards Queens. This is where our night took a little detour.
While driving at speed along the Cross Bronx a little before midnight Ruth's tire blew. We were right by an exit and opted to ride on the flat to the top of the ramp rather than risk death on the Cross Bronx. There are worse places to break down, but you'd be hard pressed to name one. I am very glad that there were three of us together and that Ruth wasn't on her own.
We called for roadside assistance, but it was going to be an hour. Great. We were
at a good spot, off the ramp, beside the road, protected from traffic. Morrigan, a champion tire changer, decided to try changing the tire rather than wait. We agreed and set to work. As Morrigan began to work her tire-changing mojo we were approached by a man who did not have a reassuring appearance. He politely asked if we needed a hand and proceeded to wrench the last lug nut loose for us. He wished us good luck and wandered away. Several cars, a mini van and a motorcycle stopped to ask if we were OK and offer advice about 24-hour tire places, gas stations and delis in the area. The rest of the cars just rolled by not bothering us in any way. The only surprise about who didn't stop? The Episcopal Church van- thanks, guys. At least they weren't from the Good Samaritan church... geez. As usual, the good and best of the human nature and New York in particular was on display rather than the worst.Morrigan got the flat changed out in about 30 minutes. It would have probably taken her about 10 but we had the world's worst jack. Ever.
Wanna see where we broke down?
Irony, thy name is Bronx.
No comments:
Post a Comment