The Cap
© 12/25/2003
"Is something wrong," I asked, not really sure I wanted an answer.
"Uh, no, nothing," she responded, but her tone didn't mean it. She stared a moment longer before looking off to the left. "How can I help you?"
Odd, I thought, to stare away from the one to whom you are trying to communicate. "Well, I just have a question." She turned and looked back at me and, this time, I noticed her eyes travel to the top of my head. My eyes tried to travel there but were stopped, perhaps by physics. "Really, if there is something wrong, perhaps it can be fixed," I commented, trying to get my eyes to refocus after their long but interrupted journey.
"It's just that..." she said, followed by a sheepish look. I nodded knowingly, though I had no idea what it just was. Silence. I'm sure somewhere, a pin dropped and was heard, but not where we were: too small of a space with too many people crowded into it, most of them impatient. "Well, you're wearing that cap."
Instinctively, my eyes started an upward journey again but I somehow managed to stop them after remembering the refocusing incident. My hand, however, had no such problem and reached the top of my head moments after she had spoken. She was right, I was wearing a cap, a baseball cap. But, what did she mean by that cap?
"Pardon me," I said, then realized I sounded like Martha Stewart. Clearing my throat, I tried again. "What do you mean by that cap?" Ah, I thought, my mouth was catching up with my brain. I felt clever.
"Well...that one."
Sensing a long series of misunderstood words, and equally sensing a long line of people growing ever more impatient, I removed the cap and gave it the once over. Predominately blue, with a large red "C", quite the stylish and likable cap, actually.
It's a Cubs hat," I explained, as I tugged it back on my head.
"I know," she said, somewhat exasperated. "How can you wear it out in public?"
"Well, I know it's a little snug, but I just need a haircut."
"No, no," she said, with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "I mean, they suck." I realized I had missed her point and now, decorum tossed aside, I was going to hear it outright.
"Well..." and no further could I get.
"They completely choked. They should never have lost to...to..."
"The Florida Marlins," I said, completing her sentence.
"Yeah, the Marlins. See, no one can even remember who they are." Except for the approximately sixteen million people in Florida and the hundred billion Yankee fans, she was probably right. "I mean, did you see game six? Did you see how they choked?" She brought her hands up around her neck and made choking sounds, clearly happy with herself.
"Yes, I saw that game."
"Then you saw them choke." More hands around the neck and more choking noises. Passers-by must have figured I was learning the Heimlich maneuver. She chortled and said, "And what about that jerk in left field?" Steve Bartman, the fan in the left field stands who, in collusion with the fans of the Marlins, attempted to catch a foul ball hit into the stands. This well-timed interference prevented Cub left fielder Moises Alou from maybe, just maybe catching the ball for the second out of the 7th inning. I'm sure Oliver Stone is lining up Denzel Washingtion for the Cub conspiracy movie.
"Yeah, I saw him."
She chuckled again. "What an idiot. If he doesn't interfere, the Cubs win the World Series." Funny, I thought, since this game didn't occur during the World Series. I'm sure the Yankees would have at least shown up. She, like so many others, fail to consider the far more critical error made by Cub shortstop Alex Gonzalez, who apparently became a croquette wicket at a most inopportune time. She also fails to note, again, like many others, that Cub manager Dusty Baker didn't even have his bullpen active this late in such a critical game. Again, like the rest of the universe, she fails to consider that the Cubs simply didn't hit well, or that Bartman's error had little effect on game seven, the other game the Cubs lost to the so-called inferior Marlins.
"I used to be a Cubs fan." she said.
"Used to be?"
"Yeah, but I hate them now. They're such losers." Her eyes were sparkling; clearly, she was proud of her lack of loyalty.
"Well, I'm still a fan," I said.
"Even after that great choke?"
I nodded. "Yeah, even after."
She shook her head in disbelief, I suppose attributing my attitude to the fact that I was just an old man with no time to change loyalties the way one changes clothes.
"Well, anyway, what can I help you with?" she asked, finally back in her "customer service" mode.
I shook my head. "Nothing. I'll check over at Home Depot." She gave me a hard look as if to say, "then why did you waste my time, old person?" I touched the bill of my cap, making sure her eyes were drawn once again to the Cubs logo.
"Have a good day." As I turned to leave, her expression changed as it must have finally registered how rude she was. With my back to her, I heard her shout "Next!"
"What took so long?" asked the next guy in line as I walked past. I noticed he was wearing a Yankee cap but I just didn't have the heart to tell him.
