I went to the Culture Show at my school last weekend and completely made an ass out of myself by almost stealing a baseball from a little kid. Now, now, hold your horses. I didn't trick this kid by telling him Elmo was behind him, while snatching this ball out of his hands. I'm not that cruel.
So, my friend and I, who for privacy sake we will call Gertrude, decided since it was our senior year that we should go to our first Culture Show. We bought our tickets, took our seats, and started chatting, when out of the corners of our eyes we saw a baseball about two aisles down, just rolling on the floor.
"Look, it's a baseball," Gertrude turns to me.
"Why is there a baseball? That's odd," I say.
This bald guy with glasses sitting in the front row, gets up and grabs it. He sits back down, holding the baseball above his head. He asks if it's anyone's for about two minutes. Just asks and asks. No answer. No claim of ownership.
Then Gertrude leans in and whispers to me, "Oh, that's mine sir." We share a chuckle about it. She then nudges my arm, telling me that I should say that to the bald guy.
Now non-senior Julia would of been like "No, I can't do that," but senior Julia was like "Ah, what the hell. Why not?"
|Not my ball.|
He throws the ball to me. The ball is at the peak of its trajectory in the air. Of course, right then, a mother with three little kids (the oldest was maybe four) walks down the aisle. The oldest boy runs towards the ball, and the mother says, "Oh look little [insert whatever the kid's name was], there's your baseball."
Gertrude busts out laughing. I don't catch the ball, and it travels underneath some of the seats. Now at this point, I'm completely embarrassed. The mother is looking at me funny, so is the bald guy. So, the mother and her gaggle of kids walks away, trying to find the baseball. The bald guy sits down next to his wife and says to her "Now I'm really confused. Was it the little boy's or that girl's?"
His wife of course answers him.
"I think it was the little boy's."
So, the bald guy turns around to look at me one more time with a look of disgust and shook. I, feeling extremely guilty and embarrassed, tell him that it was just a joke.
He didn't respond. So, that is yet another incident to log into the "How I've Made an Ass Out of Myself" journal, but I cannot be held responsible. Gertrude made me do it.