First things first, there is a new Tourist Trapped up on SFGate! Eve, Tim, Melissa, Christopher, Tara, and I went to see 'Superman' on the Presidio Main Post Lawn. Read all about it on the Culture Blog, per our usual, RIGHT HERE.
Today I took the bus into work. It was all normal Monday and I was sleepy and cranky. I plopped down in my cubicle and said to my co-worker Bill, "I wish I was at the U.S. Open."
I said this mainly because I had to post something about the U. S. Open on Facebook, and it was being held at the very same place I've spent 25 or so annual Saturdays in November at the Father-Daughter Dance.
Anyway, at 11 am my boss emerged from his office and said, "Who wants to go to the U.S. Open today?"
Bill nonchalantly replied, "Beth does."
Half an hour later, I was on a bus home feverishly texting Grey Cloud, "What do I wear to the U.S. Open?!?"
Today was Day One of U.S. Open practice, a mellow, moderately-attended first day that doesn't count. So it makes sense that a couple of passes trickled down to lowly old me. But I was delighted. I was thrilled that my boss likes me enough to give me an afternoon off, just for fun. That's always reassuring. And also, I didn't even have to go alone. My good friend is looking for a job right now, and isn't stuck behind a desk like everyone else.
"Lisa! Wanna go to the U. S. Open right now? I just got two passes."
How many people could say yes to this? Lisa could. And Lisa knows loads about sports. Even golf!
Her sweet mom, a member of the SFPD, dropped us off at the main gate, promising to meet us for dinner later at Westlake Joe's. It was 2pm on a Monday and I was pinching myself. I wanted to text my boss one last time and make sure he was sure I was allowed to be out in the sun, wearing my fanciest of sportswear, looking forward to a free dinner with someone who's got great stories.
But I couldn't text anyone. Cellphones are forbidden at the U.S. Open. I went without my phone for 8 hours. I felt naked. And I HATE being naked.
I was thinking, "Someone could be dead. My mother doesn't know where I am. Melissa BARELY does. What could happen?"
We walked up the hill, stopping to watch golfers, judge strangers, and eat snacks. We sat on bleachers and tanned ourselves while eavesdropping on people who said things like, "I don't know about you, but I am not about things or money. I learned that actually, and again this is just me, it's all about relationships."
We couldn't get into ANY of the myriad of special villages set up. Lakeside has been turned into a small city, full of corporate tents complete with white picket fences. It goes on forever and ever. They must have been working on this for months and months.
We couldn't even get into the Clubhouse.
Lisa was floored. "Your father is a member, right?"
"Yeah. I don't think that counts when ESPN has an entire studio at the 9th hole."
It didn't matter, and I didn't even try. We wandered around, having the most fun watching professional golfers practice at the driving range. Their last names were posted on little signs.
Hahn, Poulter, Harrington.
I have no idea who they are, but I could basically touch them.
Lisa and I spent way too much money in the "Merchandise Pavilion" which is bigger than the flagship Old Navy and looks like the inside of where they hold the Westminster Dog Show.
Ralph Lauren had TWO separate sections.
We spent 4 afternoon hours, walking around in the sun and checking out golf-boys.
I felt like I was getting away with murder. It was a lucky break, my getting to go to this.
Today was one of those days where you wake up and think you know what's going to happen. And then suddenly, you're walking across the 18th hole at the Olympic Club Golf Course at 6pm and asking a stranger, "Do you know where the Pot-O-Potty is? No, no, dum-dum. The good ones?"