My wife secured tickets to see Ohio State football last weekend. The last time we ventured onto campus, someone keyed her car, so we decided to Uber. Of course, she had to make a quick run to Target with my daughter first, which meant 3 hours, so I assumed we would completely miss the game. That place is a black hole.
We did get there, just a hair late, and trekked up the stairs. I’m either way out of shape or 112 steps is a bit much. We got to our seat just in time (another 88 steps to get seated) for a Buckeye TD. I gathered my air in the mountainous altitude, then went to find my wife a drink and some food. She doesn’t drink beer, so I had to go all the way to the ground floor again, but only found spiked seltzer and didn’t want her to divorce me, so I didn’t buy it. Back up the stairs. My fat thighs barely fit in my pants now anyways, might as well be muscle.
I jumped in the next line with a soft pretzel and of course, I picked the line with the oldest guy to have ever worked the line. He also had molasses on his shoes or something. 23 minutes later, I got a pretzel. DURING THE GAME. It’s not like I went at halftime and complained. There was a TV in the line, but of course, another TD while I was paying.
I went back up and caught about five minutes before half. At that point, I figured it was easier to piss off the top of the stadium rather than venture back down the stairs. Oh and someone had kicked over my beer when I was gone, even though I had it placed all the way back. My first instinct was to suck the beer off the pavement since it was $8, but I held back, as I was too tired to stoop over. I figure it would be easier to kill and eat another fan to survive rather than go down and wait in the bratwurst line, so at least I’m picking up survival skills.