Keeping Score

When I was nine years old, my dad took me to my first baseball game - at Fenway Park, to see the Sox play the Tigers. In an effort to teach me the game and to keep me engaged, he bought me a score card and taught me how to keep score. Actually, he taught me a primitive method of score-keeping, appropriate to a boy who still wasn't sure what a shortstop was. His version was simply one horizontal line for a single, two for a double, three for a triple, etc. He didn't realize that he was creating a monster. In the twenty-five years since, I almost never go to baseball games without keeping score.

That's a lot of baseball too: I'm going to estimate that I go to about twelve major league games per year on average. In some years it's many more: I've already been to fifteen so far in 2016. (And I'll be at Camden Yards tonight, and again on Friday.) That number probably spiked in around 2010, when I had no wife to answer to, and Nationals Park was a mere twenty-minute Metro ride away. Then again, it was a little tougher to get to games during my childhood, when doing so required me to convince an adult to provide me with a ticket and transportation.

Conservatively, I'm going to estimate that I've been to somewhere between 250 and 275 major league games, at twenty-six different stadiums. And probably another twenty or so minor league games.

I've had my scorecard with me for almost all of them, and at times, it has proven pretty inconvenient to carry around a spiral notebook that you'd like to keep dry, free of mustard stains and in otherwise pristine - or at least legible - condition. Two weeks ago, I took it with me to the park and, when it started to downpour, ended up spending more than two hours with it tucked under my shirt. Another time, after a Nationals Game, I brought it with me to a bar in Adams Morgan, where I learned that most girls aren't all that impressed with baseball score book - even when it contains the full box score from Stephen Strasburg's debut. Once, at a Pawtucket Red Sox game, a guy asked me if I was a professional scout, to which I responded, "No, just a professional nerd."

I have a fanatical devotion to accuracy in my scoring. Rationally, I concede that it makes no sense: in the age of the internet, anyone can easily look up a box score from any game and find a much more detailed, even scientific account of what happened. Still, I find myself panicking sometimes when I miss a play. "Wait, did Davis just strike out looking or swinging?? Did anyone see that?" Although, I'm not above looking up the answers online.

I've taught Maya to keep score too. Turns out, it's kind of something I require in a spouse. She's actually great at it. Sure, she sometimes forgets the difference between a forward and a backward K, but that's splitting hairs.

Trying to understand my commitment to scoring, a friend asked me last week if I used to play baseball. "Yes," I told him, "I was pretty bad at it. But I think I'm pretty good at scoring. So I've kept up with that."

Paying it Forward

Last night at the Camden Yards, I bought two beers and was bringing them up to my seat. I handed one of them to a friend, but as I was about to sit down, I got distracted by something behind me and spilled a few drops - about an ounce, really - on the head of the boy in from of me. He was probably about eleven years old, and was sitting next to his dad. Both of them were keeping score. The boy just kind of rubbed his head in confusion, but the dad glared at me. It was an honest mistake, and I apologized, but still I was embarrassed.

As I sat there for the next half inning or so, I had a little flashback of going to Shea Stadium with my dad when I was eleven or twelve, and hearing him grumble about the obnoxious drunk guys sitting behind us. And I thought about the drunk bros whose presence I had to endure at an outdoor concert about a month ago. (The back of my t-shirt was fairly soaked with Bud Light by the end of the ordeal.) I wanted to explain to the man in front of me that I wasn't even drunk, that I was an upstanding citizen, a high school teacher and a generally good guy. I wanted to explain that I was especially non-threatening and decent  in comparison to your run-of-the-mill bleacher rum. But at that moment, to that guy, I was just the idiot who spilled beer on his son.

An inning later, the two of them moved seats to a spot a couple rows behind us - which officially made me the guy who prompts families to change seats at a baseball game. I couldn't deal with that. So between innings, I approached the two of them, apologized again and asked if either of them needed a hot dog or an ice cream. The dad played it off: "No thanks. Don't worry about it." So I asked the kid, if he liked ice cream and predictably, he nodded his head yes. So I went down into the concourse and picked up an overpriced dish of vanilla soft serve with orange and black sprinkles.

I'd never really done anything like that before and it made me feel good. But honestly - and I really wish this wasn't the case - I was a little sorry that a few more people didn't witness me doing what I thought was a really nice thing. And that kind of defeats the purpose: you're supposed to do something like that because it's the right thing to do, not because you want the accolades.

I really wish I could have been like the guy I met a few years ago at Primanti Brothers restaurant in Pittsburgh: I told him it was my first time eating the famous sandwich, he gave me a recommendation and we chatted for a while. Only after he left and I went to pay my bill did I learn that he had picked up my tab. No accolades necessary for that guy:apparently, the satisfaction of doing a nice thing for someone else was enough. And he didn't even have to pour beer on me first.

But I doubt I would have done something like that if I hadn't been motivated by my own guilt. I want to think that's not the case, but it probably is. And I probably wouldn't have done it if the recipient wasn't there to thank me. Still though, I'm glad the kid enjoyed his ice cream. And I'm glad that when that dad and son got home, and mom asked why her son smelled like stale beer, dad could have been able to say, "Some idiot spilled beer on his head. But then he made up for it."

First Seven Jobs

Lately, people have been posting their first seven jobs on Facebook. Reading the lists has made me feel a little regretful that I didn't have cooler jobs. I've been a classroom teacher, in some form or other, since fall of 2004, so it's not like I've experienced a great deal of variety. I've also noticed that I seem to be one of the few people who has never had a real physical, blue collar job. I've never painted houses or worked construction or done landscaping. (Actually, the first time I mowed the lawn was just a couple years ago, after I bought my house.) So I kind of feel like I missed out in that regard too. Still, I have had some interesting little gigs here and there. My chronology may be a little off, but here's my list:

1 - Camp Counselor

For probably too many summers, I worked as a camp counselor. I spent time at two different camps: three summers at a local day camp and I think five summers at a sleep away camp in the Poconos. Despite all this experience, I was never a big rah-rah summer camp guy. This was especially apparent at the sleep-away camp, where I always felt like the only guy who wasn't drinking the Kool-Aid. I have the fondest memories of my first and second summer at that day camp: I worked there with my best friends, Michael and Shawn, and our experiences there probably warrant their own post some other time.

2 - Intern at Medscape.com

After two years of playing dodge ball with kids, it was decided that I should find a job more likely to prepare me for the work force. A friend of my parents offered me an internship at Medscape.com, a kind of online database of medical news, not unlike WebMD. (Full disclosure: I'm still not entirely sure what the company does or who visits the website.) I worked in the Sales department and they didn't really have much for me to do, so for about a month, I would occasionally file things, while attempting to look busy for the rest of the time. The office was in Manhattan, which was probably the job's biggest perk. I felt very sophisticated taking NJ Transit into the city every day. After about a month, my parents' friend (my boss) called to tell me that he was sorry but the company was losing money and he could no longer afford to pay me. No one who has ever been laid off was ever as happy as I was. By the next week, I was back at day camp.

3 - Floor Model at Abercrombie & Fitch

Admittedly, this is a little misleading. I wasn't one of those guys who stood in the entrance flexing and looking bored. But I don't exactly remember what my responsibilities were, aside from wearing A&F clothing (only from the current season) and occasionally folding shirts. In fact, I think the managers gave us as little training as possible so we would appear too cool to answer customers' questions, when really we just didn't have any answers. So essentially, I was just a living, breathing mannequin, I guess. I worked here for only about three weeks, and I think I spent everything I earned on A&F stuff. It was actually even more boring than the website internship - but hey, it gave me some much-needed street cred with my students.



4 - Music Librarian

Most kids at Kenyon didn't even know the music library existed: it was a dingy, outdated office in the attic. But the handful of music majors went up there on a semi-regular basis, and because I was one of them, I was given first priority to work there. I worked maybe six hours a week and was paid maybe $5 an hour, which was about enough for beer money. There was a desktop computer in the office, which you weren't supposed to use while you were on duty, for some reason (lest one of your two or three customers think you unprofessional?)

5 - Substitute Teacher

In order to be a substitute teacher in Chatham, New Jersey, you must have two things: 1.) Two years of college experience, and 2.) A certificate proclaiming you don't have tuberculosis. By winter break of my junior year, I had both of these things and so, during my time off from school, I filled in as needed. The life of a substitute teacher is a strange one: I was at various times a kindergarten music teacher, an aid in a special ed class, and a gym coach. Weirdest of all, I once filled in for my sister's science teacher, and thus, wound up with her in my class. (I balked when she asked me if she could leave early to go to her car, until she reminded me that she was my ride home...)

6 - Middle School Music Teacher

In the fall after my college graduation, I received word that the conductor of the middle school string orchestra in Basking Ridge was about to go on maternity leave and that they were desperate for a replacement. I only played cello - but that was apparently one more string instrument than anyone else who could be hired on short notice. So I applied, and they gave it to me. I studied music in college but had never conducted an orchestra, so I was mostly faking my way through. The kids were nice though, and the big spring concert was quite an experience. I don't think I fully appreciated the lack of grading at the time.

7 - High School English Teacher

And the rest is history.

Song Lyrics that Bother Me

Well, I'm just about out of things to say about my receptionist job. It's been an enlightening five weeks, and I'm sure I'll miss the relative peace and quiet of the desk, although it will be nice to get up and stretch my legs once in a while without feeling like someone will be locked out of the building because I'm not there to let them in.

Let's change the subject. Since the list format seems to be working well, here's a list of some of song lyrics that bother me.

• "We found love in a hopeless place./We found love in a hopeless place." - Rihanna and Calvin Harris, We Found Love

Where, exactly, was this hopeless place? A Greyhound Station? The Dollar Store? North Korea?

• "It's five o'clock somewhere." - Jimmy Buffett, Alan Jackson, It's Five O'Clock Somewhere

I know I'm splitting hairs here, but this is just factually inaccurate. If it's the beginning of the hour, then yes, I'm sure it's five o'clock somewhere, but if it's say, 2:37, then it's 5:00 nowhere. It's 5:37 somewhere, but that's not the same thing. The lyrics should be: "It's five o'clock or later somewhere," which I grant you, doesn't roll off the tongue quite as easily.

• "If I lay here/If I just lay here/Would you lie with me and just forget the world?" - Snow Patrol, Chasing Cars

There are many reasons to dislike this corny song, but chief among them is its shitty grammar. As every English teacher knows, it should be "If I lie here" or "If I lay my head here" or something. And honestly, this is one case where the grammatically correct line (the first one, anyway) would take nothing away from the song. Honestly, it seems like these guys are just being willfully ungrammatical.

• "Been around the world/Don't speak their language./But your booty don't need explaining." - Jason Derulo, Talk Dirty

I don't think I need to explain why this is a silly line. For some reason, the words "booty" and "explaining" in the same line just remind me of this scene from Ace Ventura.

• "Lightning crashes, a new mother cries./Her placenta falls to the floor." - Live, Lightning Crashes

I actually still love this song, but this is just not an accurate depiction of childbirth. In what world does the placenta just fall to the floor? Also, why would you include the word "placenta" in a rock song? When I was fourteen, this line led to an awkward conversation that I inadvertently initiated by asking my mom what a placenta was. Thanks a lot, Live.

UPDATE: My wife informs me that during childbirth, a placenta will often fall to the floor, unless there is a basin there to catch it. So it's not inaccurate, but it's still kind of a gross line.

Obviously, this is not a comprehensive list. I could easily have included Rebecca Black or Nikki Minaj or something, but that just seems like low-hanging fruit.

More Highlights

I almost forgot - one of my main responsibilities at the front desk is to take care of a tiny fish, entrusted to me by one of our science teachers. (Because leaving your pet with the receptionist at your place of employment for six weeks is just a no-brainer.) The fish (whose name is either "Cody" or just "Guppy" - I'm not sure which) seems to be doing fine, although I feel guilty that he is alone in his tiny tank. However, he seems enthusiastic (to the extent that any fish can seem enthusiastic, I guess) about eating the three little flakes of smelly fish food that I've been instructed to crumble up and toss into his tank every morning.

Yesterday, a woman called asking to be connected with "either someone in the I.T. department or in dining services." I spent the next hour or so trying to come up with a scenario in which speaking to someone from I.T. would be just as helpful as speaking to someone in dining services, but I just couldn't think of one. I need to know the backstory here.

Every few days or so, we get a catalog in the mail addressed to "Head Cheerleading Coach." Apparently, someone either doesn't realize or doesn't care that this position is vacant here, as I imagine it is at most all-boys' schools. One of the perks of my job is designating an Honorary Head Cheerleading Coach to be the recipient of the catalog.

FYI - I've finished Making a Murderer, and will be progressing to Season 2 of Bloodline this afternoon.

Some highlights from the past two days:

Me: Good afternoon, Boys' Latin.

Caller: Yes, is Mr. Stephon available?

Me: Mr. Stephon?

Caller: Stephon? DaBin? DaBonne?

Me: Are you looking for Steve Dubin?

Caller: Yes please.

Me: Good afternoon, Boys' Latin.

Caller: This Royal Farms?

Me: I'm sorry?

Caller: Is Royal Farms there?

Me: Royal Farms?

Caller: Sorry. [dial tone]

Me: Good Morning, Boys' Latin
Caller: Good morning to you. Am I speaking with Ann-Marie?
Me: Uh no. But I can transfer you if you want.
Caller: Thank you.

Dude. I have about the same vocal register as Johnny Cash. Do I really sound like an Ann-Marie??

Me: Good morning, Boys' Latin.

Caller: Hi this is Josh! Can you hear me ok?

Me: Yes.

Caller: I'm calling with good news! You and your entire household have been pre-selected to receive a Disney vacation!

Me: Awesome! Does my "household" include all of the students and faculty? Or is it just the upper school?

[dial tone]

Me: Good afternoon, Boys' Latin.
Caller: Hi, can I speak to Stephen?
Me: Stephen... Dubin?
Caller: [slightly annoyed] Yeah, Stephen.

Me: Good morning, Boys' Latin.

Caller: ATTENTION! THIS IS AN IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT! PLEASE DO NOT HANG UP!

Me: [hangs up]

Notes from the Receptionist's Desk

I've taught high school English for ten years now, and during that time, I've accumulated a wealth of funny anecdotes about my students. For a while, some colleagues and I maintained a shared Google document simply called The Database, in which we collected "highlights" of student writing. I still have that document somewhere, and it's definitely worth at least one post of its own.

This is my first (and possibly only) summer working at my school's front desk. It's an extremely simple job, consisting of three basic elements:

1 - Answering the phone and transferring callers to the extension they request
2 - Unlocking the front door when people ring the bell
3 - Sorting the mail

My favorite part about answering the phone is that I'm not really expected to provide any information - all I need to do is pawn off the call on someone who knows more than I do (which is to say, anyone else in the building). I've used the rest of my time at the front desk for: 1 - writing, 2 - reading, and 3 - binge-watching Making a Murderer on Netflix.

Because I don't have nearly as much daily human contact at the front desk as I generally have during the school year, I haven't collected nearly as many amusing stories. However, I've been fascinated by the handful of unusual calls that trickle in every day.

CALLERS WHO AREN'T AWARE THAT MANY PEOPLE SHARE THE SAME NAME

Me: Good morning, Boys' Latin.
Caller: Hi, is Cathy there?
Me: Depends on which of the six Cathys you are looking for...

OVER-EXPLAINERS

Me; Good morning, Boys' Latin.
Caller: Hi, my son is going to be a ninth grader in the fall. He is 5'5, 125 lbs. He plays lacrosse and he's thinking about cross country, but he isn't really sure. I think cross country tryouts already started, so I don't know if it's too late to try out for the team, but he's still interested and he was hoping to speak to the coach. Can you tell me if cross country practices are still going on?
Me: Uh, I'm not sure, but I can transfer you to athletics if you'd like.
Caller: Sure, that would be great!

CALLERS WHO DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW EXTENSIONS WORK

Me: Good morning, Boys' Latin.
Caller: Steve!
Me: um... are you looking for Steve? I can transfer you over.
Caller: Oh, sure. Thanks.

Or my favorite...

Me: Good morning, Boys' Latin.
Caller: Hi! It's your sister!
Me: [thinking, why would Julia be calling me here before noon on a Monday.] um... this is Alex at the front desk.
Caller: Oh. Can you transfer me over to Jimmy? This is his sister!

CALLERS WHO JUST DIDN'T KNOW WHO ELSE TO CALL

Caller: Hi, I'm looking for a reputable florist.

Caller: Can you help me out? I'm trying to rent out your football field for my eight-year-old's birthday party.

Caller: Do you know where I can rent a van?

OBVIOUS SCAMS

Me: Good morning, Boys' Latin.
Automated Message: HELLO THIS IS YOUR SECOND WARNING FROM THE I.R.S.
Me: [hangs up]

And, of course, this absolute gem, which I can only assume was totally inept attempt at a scam...

Me: Good morning, Boys' Latin.
Caller: Hi, I'm looking to speak to the owner please.
Me: ... the owner?
Caller: Yes, the owner of the boys - (ABRUPT DIAL TONE)

OTHER OBSERVATIONS

I take pride in changing my greeting from "Good morning, Boys' Latin" to "Good afternoon, Boys' Latin" at exactly noon every day. It's called professional integrity.

Yesterday, B.L. received an automated call from the Donald Trump campaign. I present this without comment.

At around hour six of my shift yesterday, I clipped my fingernails. It probably wasn't the most professional thing I could have done.