This is like half a blog. A bl.
I covered a football game for my old newspaper in Lawton tonight. At halftime, I had to pee.
The press box is located about 3 stories up from the field. There's a one-holer in the press box. I try to enter the one-holer, but alas, occupado.
I patiently wait, making a couple of Words With Friends plays and reading a few pages of a book with my phone's Kindle app. After a full 10 minutes, nobody has come out and I'm hearing nothing. I start to question whether I pulled the handle the right way. It's one of the horizontal ones. So I gave it a good tug the other direction. Still locked. Tried the originial downward pull just to be safe. Still locked.
Whatever, I got nothing else to do and it's not an emergency. I'll wait. After another five minutes, I am now worried that this person will not come out before the end of halftime, and I know I can't hold it for the whole second half. I also reckon that if this person does come out soon, I probably don't want to walk in right afterward. There's only five minutes before the second half starts.
There are two levels of the press box. I'm on the lower level. Having taken the elevator up the first three flights to my floor, I decide to take the stairs up to the top level and use their restroom. Luckily, the door to the top level of the press box is locked. I guess nobody takes the stairs anymore. I knock but nobody answers (The top level of the press box is usually used for coaches, and the coaches go down to the locker room to talk to the team at halftime).
So I decide to go back to my floor, check my restroom again, and then take the elevator to the ground level to use the regular restroom if that fails. Luckily, the door to my level of the press box is also locked from the outside. My fury vaults my feet down the three flights of stairs in about 5 seconds, and I am not a happy customer as I exit the press box and look for the restroom.
Of course, the press box is in the middle of the field. I don't see any restrooms nearby, but there are a lot of people around a building in the North end zone, so I rush over there. Only three minutes until the second half. Luckily, that was the concession stand. I now see that the restrooms are by the South end zone, 100 yards away.
By far the fastest person in the stadium, I get over there in 8.5 seconds, TCOB and get back into the press box 45 seconds before they kick off. That's what we journalists call working on deadline.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Working that Franklin charm
I took Addison to the Great State Fair of Oklahoma, where our state's best (products) and worst (people) are on display for two straight weeks.
We were in one of the buildings when Ads suddenly took a right turn down a random aisle while I was trying to navigate us out of the building.
"Come here baby," I said.
Suddenly a tall, fairly attractive woman turned from the booth directly in front of me and said, "Hey, how you doing?" and walked toward me.
I'm not going to act like this was the hottest woman on the planet, but she warranted a 6.5 or a 7, which makes her a 9.8 at the Great State Fair of Oklahoma.
She quickly became embarrassed and turned around when she realized I was talking to my daughter. I just pretended I didn't hear her and walked past her, but on the inside it was nice to know I still got it. Evidently, all I need is the lamest pick up line in the world. Never in a million years when I was actually single would I walk up to someone and say, "Come here baby." Guess I missed out.
Anyway, my mind wandered to the fact that I haven't tried to "pick anyone up" in 7 years. Then I started thinking about some of my funniest dating experiences.
By far my most embarrassing dating incident occurred during my senior year of high school. I was kissing my girlfriend and my nose starting bleeding. And not just a little. Blood was all over both of our faces. That'll put a quick end to the festivities.
After college, I was probably one of the pickiest daters in the world. (I had some funny ideas about dating, I realize now.) I dismissed candidates for the following reasons:
My two best dating stories only involve a total of one date.
My sister set me up on a blind date. My sister said this woman was pretty and was a really strong Christian woman. Which is what I was looking for. And my sister wasn't lying.
About five minutes into dinner, I make a Seinfeld reference. She said she didn't watch Seinfeld. I didn't expect my dates to be Seinfeld fans, it just earned them a lot of bonus points with me.
So I explained the episode and the joke. She's sitting there stone-faced and says, "I don't think that's a good show to watch."
I tell her it's my favorite show. She says, "I don't think you can be a Christian and watch that show."
I press my tongue against the edge of my mouth and say to myself, "Well, I think we're done here."
I decide to have a civil dinner and then part ways. But evidently she's willing to allow me to repent of this sin. And she's thinking pretty far into the future.
She starts grilling me on a variety of topics -- politics, doctrinal Christian issues, my ten-year career plan, etc. She asks about where I went to school and I tell her Westmoore -- the best Moore, of course. This is her response.
"Our kids WILL NOT be in public school. They will be home schooled, like I was."
Okay then. I guess her evaluation of the date's first 20 minutes was wildly different than mine. I decided to go the classy route and tell her that my kids would DEFINITELY be in public schools. That made her mad enough to tell me that she didn't think this was going to work out. I said, "I guess not. It was nice meeting you. Bye."
My other story involves someone I never dated at all. I apologize in advance for the foul language, even though I will censor it.
Back in the Lawton days, my cell phone plan was extremely limited, so I had a home phone. My number was listed in the phone book (remember those?). I didn't have caller ID. I worked from 4 p.m. to midnight at the paper, so it wasn't uncommon for me to get a phone call at 1 a.m.
One night I got one. I answered and a gruff-sounding country boy was on the other end.
"Are you Matt Franklin, the one that works at the paper?"
"Yeah."
"Are you f***ing my wife?"
I laughed out loud, assuming this was one of my friends playing a joke on me. There was silence on the other end.
I said, "Are you serious?"
"Are you f***ing my wife?"
I wasn't sleeping with anyone, so my conscience was clear. "I don't know who your wife is, but I can assure you I'm not sleeping with her."
He says her name. It doesn't ring a bell. "She's about 5-foot-10. Dark hair. Big boobs. Really big J-Lo-type a**. Are you sleeping with her?"
"No, I promise you I am not sleeping with your wife."
At this point I'm getting pretty nervous. I look out the window of my apartment. It doesn't matter if I'm sleeping with this lady or not. If her husband thinks I am, he sounds like the kind of guy who might put a bullet in my head before giving me a fair judicial process.
I reiterate. "Sir, I don't think I've ever met your wife and I absolutely promise you I am not seeing her or sleeping with her."
There's a 15-second pause.
"Well, that figures. She's a lying b****."
Then another pause.
"I don't really care if you are sleeping with her. I'm kicking her out of the house and I just wanted to see if you wanted to come get her stuff. You can have her."
"No, I'm good. Thanks for the offer."
"We were in a fight the other day and she pointed to your picture in the sports page and told me she was sleeping with you. If you are, that's fine. If you want to come get her stuff just let me know and I'll drop it off or you can come get it. I'm through with her."
"Sir, I really don't know her and I'm definitely not sleeping with her."
"Well, like I said, she's a lying b**** so that makes sense."
"I'm sorry for your trouble, but I don't think I can't help you. I have to go now."
"So, you really don't want to come get her stuff?"
"No."
"OK, take it easy bud. I'm a really big fan of yours. You're about the only guy in that s***ty sports department that knows what he's talking about."
"Thanks. Bye."
I was pretty nervous that this guy would call again or come knocking on my door, but luckily I never heard from him (or his wife) again.
We were in one of the buildings when Ads suddenly took a right turn down a random aisle while I was trying to navigate us out of the building.
"Come here baby," I said.
Suddenly a tall, fairly attractive woman turned from the booth directly in front of me and said, "Hey, how you doing?" and walked toward me.
I'm not going to act like this was the hottest woman on the planet, but she warranted a 6.5 or a 7, which makes her a 9.8 at the Great State Fair of Oklahoma.
She quickly became embarrassed and turned around when she realized I was talking to my daughter. I just pretended I didn't hear her and walked past her, but on the inside it was nice to know I still got it. Evidently, all I need is the lamest pick up line in the world. Never in a million years when I was actually single would I walk up to someone and say, "Come here baby." Guess I missed out.
Anyway, my mind wandered to the fact that I haven't tried to "pick anyone up" in 7 years. Then I started thinking about some of my funniest dating experiences.
By far my most embarrassing dating incident occurred during my senior year of high school. I was kissing my girlfriend and my nose starting bleeding. And not just a little. Blood was all over both of our faces. That'll put a quick end to the festivities.
After college, I was probably one of the pickiest daters in the world. (I had some funny ideas about dating, I realize now.) I dismissed candidates for the following reasons:
- Too much hair on her arms
- Too much eyebrow hair (different woman)
- Too short (The post-date hug was incredibly awkward)
- Said she didn't like to play board or card games
- Said she did like playing board and card games. Then we played a card game, and she was terrible.
- Being too politically liberal
- Having a messy car
- Having a roommate who smoked
- Ordering wine on our first date (she knew I worked at the newspaper, for goodness sakes. I'm on a budget!)
- Being a bad cook
- Being a bad kisser
- Having an awkward hand-holding (our hands didn't seem like they fit...she kind of had "man-hands")
- Backing out on our first date without a good reason. (I put the shoe on the other foot when she tried to get a rain check).
My two best dating stories only involve a total of one date.
My sister set me up on a blind date. My sister said this woman was pretty and was a really strong Christian woman. Which is what I was looking for. And my sister wasn't lying.
About five minutes into dinner, I make a Seinfeld reference. She said she didn't watch Seinfeld. I didn't expect my dates to be Seinfeld fans, it just earned them a lot of bonus points with me.
So I explained the episode and the joke. She's sitting there stone-faced and says, "I don't think that's a good show to watch."
I tell her it's my favorite show. She says, "I don't think you can be a Christian and watch that show."
I press my tongue against the edge of my mouth and say to myself, "Well, I think we're done here."
I decide to have a civil dinner and then part ways. But evidently she's willing to allow me to repent of this sin. And she's thinking pretty far into the future.
She starts grilling me on a variety of topics -- politics, doctrinal Christian issues, my ten-year career plan, etc. She asks about where I went to school and I tell her Westmoore -- the best Moore, of course. This is her response.
"Our kids WILL NOT be in public school. They will be home schooled, like I was."
Okay then. I guess her evaluation of the date's first 20 minutes was wildly different than mine. I decided to go the classy route and tell her that my kids would DEFINITELY be in public schools. That made her mad enough to tell me that she didn't think this was going to work out. I said, "I guess not. It was nice meeting you. Bye."
My other story involves someone I never dated at all. I apologize in advance for the foul language, even though I will censor it.
Back in the Lawton days, my cell phone plan was extremely limited, so I had a home phone. My number was listed in the phone book (remember those?). I didn't have caller ID. I worked from 4 p.m. to midnight at the paper, so it wasn't uncommon for me to get a phone call at 1 a.m.
One night I got one. I answered and a gruff-sounding country boy was on the other end.
"Are you Matt Franklin, the one that works at the paper?"
"Yeah."
"Are you f***ing my wife?"
I laughed out loud, assuming this was one of my friends playing a joke on me. There was silence on the other end.
I said, "Are you serious?"
"Are you f***ing my wife?"
I wasn't sleeping with anyone, so my conscience was clear. "I don't know who your wife is, but I can assure you I'm not sleeping with her."
He says her name. It doesn't ring a bell. "She's about 5-foot-10. Dark hair. Big boobs. Really big J-Lo-type a**. Are you sleeping with her?"
"No, I promise you I am not sleeping with your wife."
At this point I'm getting pretty nervous. I look out the window of my apartment. It doesn't matter if I'm sleeping with this lady or not. If her husband thinks I am, he sounds like the kind of guy who might put a bullet in my head before giving me a fair judicial process.
I reiterate. "Sir, I don't think I've ever met your wife and I absolutely promise you I am not seeing her or sleeping with her."
There's a 15-second pause.
"Well, that figures. She's a lying b****."
Then another pause.
"I don't really care if you are sleeping with her. I'm kicking her out of the house and I just wanted to see if you wanted to come get her stuff. You can have her."
"No, I'm good. Thanks for the offer."
"We were in a fight the other day and she pointed to your picture in the sports page and told me she was sleeping with you. If you are, that's fine. If you want to come get her stuff just let me know and I'll drop it off or you can come get it. I'm through with her."
"Sir, I really don't know her and I'm definitely not sleeping with her."
"Well, like I said, she's a lying b**** so that makes sense."
"I'm sorry for your trouble, but I don't think I can't help you. I have to go now."
"So, you really don't want to come get her stuff?"
"No."
"OK, take it easy bud. I'm a really big fan of yours. You're about the only guy in that s***ty sports department that knows what he's talking about."
"Thanks. Bye."
I was pretty nervous that this guy would call again or come knocking on my door, but luckily I never heard from him (or his wife) again.
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