One free hotdog!

September 10th was a home game between the San Francisco 49ers and Chris's favorite team, the Cardinals. Monday night football gets him starry-eyed and we bought tickets from a mild-mannered season ticket holder through the wonders of Craigslist. On Mondays I have graduate classes all day from nine in the morning to seven at night and one thought that kept me going was getting a hotdog at the football game. Chris picked me up after classes and we worked our way through San Francisco's messed-up highway system to get to the high-class Bayshore area where Monster Park has landed. He missed the first quarter and parked about a half mile out in a dusty field they try to call a parking lot.
At the game we had pretty close seats and I pulled out The Second Shift (Hochschild, 2003). Watching the game in our section was like being at Catholic Mass; up and down, up and down. I find this team spirit activity futile because when I stand I'm still too short to see. So I volunteer to buy our dinner and let Chris enjoy the game.
A lot of people had the same idea and I stood behind a line with about ten people in it already. I talked to some Arizona natives and ended up waiting about 20 minutes just to order. I recieved the garlic fries awfully fast, but was told the dogs were coming in ten to fifteen. Minutes?
I stood there with a large, grey van-dick wearing father with his twelve-year-old son while we heard the half-time fireworks go off. They were dedicating the field to Bill Walsh that night. Of course, I started joking with the father about the wait and then he said he didn't want a hotdog anymore. So, being the diplomate I try to be sometimes, I said, "Well, I'm sure if you ask for your money back, they will understand. You have been waiting a while."
He took my advice and asked the young hotdog stand lady for his money back. That young lady went in the back, probably to see if there were any hotdogs; one last-ditch effort to please the customer. While she was in the back her 50-something woman supervisor stepped up to the window and said to the father, "Don't you ever talk to my girls like that!" And as I stood there I felt I had sort of caused the power-play and my beanie got itchier on my hot forehead as these two adults verbally had it out. He got his money and took his son back to the stands.
After so much tension I put a cheesy smile on my big face and said I still wanted a hotdog, please. The boss-lady with a tight smile turns to another worker carrying a box of hotdogs, grabbed two and put them in front of me. I thanked her, took the dogs and fries and quickly got back to Chris.
When I get back to Chris after what seemed to be an hour, I whispered that I got a free hotdog. It wasn't until a ride home from the gym a few days later, where he heard exactly how that "free" hotdog came to be. Maybe I felt a little guity about the hotdog or the sad display of disrespect at the hotdog stand.
The Cardinals lost and it was an great last quarter because the Niners came back with five minutes on the clock. I just love the sportsmanship at these sporting events. Go humanity!