It’s my last week in town and it really could not be going any better. I am waiting to step out the door and have a pallet of bricks fall on top of my head in order for cosmic balance to be restored.
Yesterday was my last day of language training, which means I have a three-day weekend and ample time to check out and pack up my car. My teacher and I did our typical non-conformist thing and went out to a café for some food, hot beverage and bavardage (chitchat). Such “field trips” as we call them are very well suited to my style of learning. I know that I learn more in dynamic environments than I do by sitting in a stark white classroom. Take today: I had forgotten the word for “snore” and was able to remember it after the dude seated (more like, reposing) at the table behind us at Le Pain Quotidien demonstrated the acoustic features of his narcoleptic tendencies for sixty solid minutes. Marie thought I was nuts when I pulled a camera out of my bag to blatantly snap a photo of him. It’s all in the interest of the blog! Besides, he didn’t stir in the slightest.
You fall asleep in public, then I get to take a picture of you.
I’m not sure what else happened yesterday, but I was certainly tired. I do remember my phone ringing at around 2pm and seeing an unfamiliar 617 number on the display (that’s Mass. for all you uninitiated people). Turns out, I was getting my first- and most likely last- phone call from the Boston Bruins.
I love hockey and grew up supporting the Boston Bruins. They’re not the easiest team to support, especially since they love to toy with my emotions season after disappointing season. Just under a year ago, I learned that this year’s Winter Classic was to be played at Fenway Park. (Note: the Winter Classic is a NHL game that is played outdoors and was originally conceived to raise the public profile of hockey and also raise revenue for the league). I knew that I would be home during the month of the match, and I really, really wanted to get to this game. Unfortunately as it turns out, so did the rest of the planet.
To make a long story short, the game sold out right away and out of desperation I mailed a letter to the president of the Boston Bruins. I nicely asked him if he had any tickets that I could buy, and of course mentioned my status as an active duty service member who was moving to Africa (where there is no hockey). I figured that I would never hear anything back from the organization, but had no problem making such an audacious request. Really, the worst that I could hear was nothing, and in the best case I’d be going to a great hockey game.
So I almost fell out of my chair when Rita from the Bruins called and told me that she had four tickets to offer to me at face value. She read my letter and asked “Mr. Jacobs” if he would sell me four from his allotment of tickets. You all know the rest of the story: I called my fellow hockey nuts in the family, and then provided my credit card and mailing address. After I drive home I am plan on shopping for a flask and about five more packages of boot warmers.
I’m gonna freeze, and couldn’t be more excited about it.
Even if my tickets have us sitting on top of the Citgo sign, it won’t matter. I’ll get to say that I was there.