The Most Sublime Hot Dog

The other night I had the most sublime hot dog. I don’t mean it was good, I mean it turned straight to gas.

The place was the MCI Center, and I got to see the Wizards play the… oh, who am I kidding. I was trying to make out the cheerleaders from four stories up while eating 6 oz of cotton candy from a plastic $5 bucket. Which, I might add, I refused to throw out since I paid so bloody much for it.

The most enjoyable part of the evening was not the game, but the ride home. As we were waiting for the metro train to arrive, an old lady sat down next to my friend Mike and started to listen in on our conversation.

“So, Walt, we’re thinking of having you over for Christmas. Have you ever had lamb before?”

“Yeah…”

“Oh. What’d you think?”

“I didn’t care for it that much,” And as I noticed the old lady listening in, I quickly added, “but the Bar-B-Que kittens were delicious.”

This prompted the look I was after. And she instantly engaged Mike in conversation to check the veracity of our conversation. At least enough to ascertain that we were good friends.

As the conversation took a turn to prior places lived, it turns out Mike and the old lady had both been to Germany. And, much to the confusion of those around them, started speaking in German. And they did quite well, I must say.

Too well. Cutting me out of the conversation, along with every other eavesdropper in earshot.

I informed Mike that this was America, and that we spoke English here; then I asked to see his legal status. Normally, I don’t engage in this kind of bold maneuver with an armed officer of the law, but by now the overpriced confections instilled a bravery that only spun sugar can do.

Naturally I backed down as he has more ways to kill me in his little finger than a pissed off villain in a James Bond movie.

At this point the train arrived, and I sat down next to the nice little old lady. And her friend. And some other chick who thought it might be the wiser move to ignore me.

“So,” asked the little old lady, “how do you know each other?”

“Him?” I glanced to Mike. “He’s my parole officer.”

Mike over heard enough to flash his handcuffs at me. The little old lady looked mildly uncomfortable and changed the topic.

“Where were you seated?” she inquired.

I explained we were in the 400’s. She then wanted to compare ticket prices (like that mattered now). And then we compared how many times we’ve been to a game at the MCI Center.

There’s a lot of promotional stuff going on at these events, whether it’s Chipotle throwing burritos into the crowd or t-shirts being dropped from parachutes to lucky winners below.

“So,” she continued, “have you ever caught anything at a game?”

“A cold.”

While I got a polite chuckle for quick delivery, she had enough and said, “get your friend; I want to talk with him.”

I yelled over to Mike, who was standing by the door. “She wants to talk with you, apparently I said something again.”

The chick to my left had vacated at the prior stop, so I slid into her old spot, and Mike took mine in front of the old lady.

And immediately, she switched into German again. Clearly, she wanted to practice.

I leaned over and said, “excuse me, you’re talking in code again.”

Mike turned to me and said, quite loudly, “I’m sorry. She said you had a nice ass.”

Without missing a beat, I addressed the old lady, “It’s true. You may be wondering why I’m covering my lap with a bucket.”

Mike, it turns out, wasn’t the only person to bust out laughing, seems a lot of people were riding our conversation, not just the train.