Kevin was out of town this past weekend at his annual Fat Bastard Wiffle Ball tournament in Grand Rapids (yes, I said Wiffle Ball; yes, the name of the tournament is called Fat Bastard; and no, the wine maker with the same name does not sponsor the tournament). This left me with an extra ticket to the Tigers game Friday night. So, I took my girlfriend Amy with me, and (as usual) we got into the same amount of good time trouble as we usually do when the two of us venture out together (but that's an entirely different post altogether).
As much fun as we had, I am a little sad about losing my hat. My trusty Detroit D Tigers baseball hat that has been with me at the past 4 or 5 opening days, it was with me at last year's ALCS, ALDS, and the World Series. My orange is the new black favorite favorite favorite fitted hat. So, how did I lose something so valuable to me? First of all, it was too hot to wear the hat so it never made its way onto my head. During the 2nd inning or so, we went to the bathroom. First, I hung it on the hook on the back of the bathroom stall door and said to myself "Don't forget your hat." Then, I put it on top of the paper towel dispenser so that I could was my hands and I said to myself "Don't forget your hat."
Back at our seats, enjoying the game, at least 45 minutes goes by when it dawns on me…MY HAT!! I don't have my hat!! "Amy, come on, let's go to the bathroom to see if it's still there! Hurry! Hurry!" On the way to the bathroom we run into this cute girl whose hair cut Amy had admired previously and had wanted to (but failed to) get a picture of so she could show her hairdresser. Not wanting to be delayed a moment longer, I leave Amy to the photo op with the cute hair cut girl and proceed to the bathroom.
Not there. Not there on top of the paper towel dispenser (where I left it!). Not there on the hook on the back of stall number 24's door (where I knew it wouldn't be, because I had moved it to the top of the paper towel dispenser where it SHOULD be, but it's not!). So, I ask the group of janitorial staff at the back of the restroom, "Has anyone turned in a hat?" We banter back and forth about the description and where I left it, but sadly, no, they haven't seen it. They are nice enough, however, to inform me that I could check with Guest Services behind section 130.
Section 130, Section 130, gotta get to section 130. So, I hoof it over to section 130, locate Guest Services, and inquire about a turned in hat. No luck, but check back later, someone might still turn it in. Yeah, right.
Dejected, I head back to the seats where I reunite with Amy. I tell her the bad news. I call Kevin and give him the bad news. I'm really sad that I've lost my hat. Unexpectedly sad about this loss.
A couple of innings go by, and a new surge of optimism wells up, and I decide it's time to check back at Guest Services for my hat (after re-checking the bathroom and re-asking the janitorial staff about it to no avail). When Amy and I get to Guest Services and ask (again) about my hat, we notice a little girl, maybe 4 or 5 years old, being interviewed by a Guest Services employee. "What does he look like? What was he wearing?" OH MY GOSH! That poor little girl is lost!
It makes the loss of my hat seem extremely insignificant. I haven't lost a child. I haven't lost my car or my life to the bottom of the Mississippi River. It's just a hat.
As we were leaving Guest Services, a frantic dad burst through the door. The little girl hugs him like she probably never has before. Amy and I can't stop watching this reunion. How touching. I can only imagine the panic that dad must have been going through when he realized his little girl was no longer by his side and the enormous amount relief he must be feeling now as she clings to his neck.
Although I'm still sad that I lost my hat, I'm thankful for all the many, many other (slightly more important) things that I know exactly where they are.