Miss Crankypants

I went to the Giants game last night, and besides eating nasty hot dogs and cheering intermittently for the team, I mainly like going for the cheap beer and people watching. Once I saw Dick Cheney's twin buried under a blanket in the upper level, a sighting that was only to be outdone by the guy sitting in front of us wearing a red satin jacket embossed with the logo of his rollercoaster enthusiasts club who constantly had to stand up and lift his right leg to get in a hearty air guitar session.

Last night, my friend spotted an old man with wireless headphones wearing ladies' blue jeans and hopping back and forth on his feet the whole time like he was about to piss his pants. He became caught up in a recurring high-five session going on two rows in front of him that was initiated by a portly redheaded family whose college age son was desperately trying to look cool despite the fact that he was dressed from head to toe in Giants paraphernalia and was at the game with his parents.

Had the high-five frenzy reached two rows behind the Old Man in Women's Jeans to our row, I probably would have been so excited that I would have completely missed one of the funniest things I think I've ever seen at the ballpark, which is The Express Bathrooms. Holy. Shit.

Who goes to the game and doesn't expect a line of people who have been drinking Budweiser all day and have endangered their bladders for the sake of the lazy game of baseball by waiting until the seventh inning stretch to take a piss? And what exactly makes a bathroom "express?" I picture a room where men run in, hurriedly unzip their pants then proceed to run across the length of the room while pissing on a long row of urinals before zipping up their pants and running out. Do they have people crouching behind the toilets, toilet paper in hand, waiting to wipe your ass, flush and get you out of there as fast as they fucking can? How do they screen out the menstruating, the constipated, the vain and the many afflicted with stage fright?

I thought Taco Bell Express was a disgusting invention (how can you make fast food even faster?), but this takes the American obsession with convenience to a whole new level. Why not construct an express baseball season ticket package that allows the ticket holder to run in, grab a hot dog, shotgun a few lukewarm Budweisers and run around the bleachers twice (while pissing) before leaving the stadium or settling in for a night at the ballpark drunk tank?

I'm just not an "express" person, especially when it comes to my personal business, which several creditors would attest to freely. But then again, I'm bitching about something I wouldn't use anyway when I should be getting my ass in gear to go to my friend's art opening, which I will do after I smoke one more cigarette...