Malibar is working a new consulting gig at one of those local companies that manufacture gaskets or switches or monitors that zillions of people across the globe depend on every day. He likes it because the computer geeks are co-located with the manufacturing facilities and they have a pile of complex data. Perfect for a guy who fixes data problems and owns ten years of Popular Mechanics back issues.
The lobby through which he and his frumpily dressed IT and construction colleagues pass through every morning is manned by a terrifically efficient woman. By the second day she knew his name and no-doubt all the other details of his engagement. One of those rare people who sit up front and make the entire company go.
At 7:30 on Wednesday morning Malibar noted the unusual site of an Asian man in an ill-fitting suit standing in the office lobby. He was talking in heated tones to the receptionist:
“Did you speak to him,†The guy in the suit asked.
“Yes,†the receptionist replied.
“But did you speak to him,†said the suit in a more agitated tone.
“Yes,†the receptionist repeated.
“Did you leave him a message?†asked the suit.
“Yes,†the receptionist said.
Malibar went to work, missing the conclusion of this strange interrogation. Around noon he left the office to grab something from his car. As he left the building he was surprised to see the suit guy standing outside the building talking to one of Bloomington’s finest. Not just a cop, noted Malibar, but a very attractive female cop who was patiently taking down information on a clipboard.
Five minutes later Malibar returned to the building and saw the officer put the suit guy into the back of her police cruiser. She got in the front and drove off.
“I’ve had a lot of job interviews,†Malibar said. “And you never know how things went—sometimes you don’t even hear back for days if at all. But it’s safe to say that if you end up leaving in the back of a squad car the interview didn’t go well.â€
Indeed. If our awkwardly dressed friend had recaptured his freedom by Wednesday evening he could have stopped by the fields at Marshall Terrace for another demonstration of how to turn an opportunity into a complete train wreck. It may have been the first game of the season, but from the “how did the interview go†angle, it is safe to say we ended up going home courtesy of Johnny Law.
It started out well. Doug’s first pitch was a strike and the B-Squad for one brief moment imagined a season where no one, not even the best hitters who should be in B or C league, could hit Doug’s magic stuff. Game after game our infield would politely smile while frustrated batters took their best shot against the killer slow-pitch stylings of Mr. Lapoint.
The batter hit the second pitch deep into the field where the other two teams were playing, interrupting their game. This not only shattered our fantasies of counting strike outs but it started a streak of many home runs blasted by the Target batsmen all of which landed in the middle of the opposite field. We considered putting an outfielder in their infield, but it seemed more polite (and safe) just to allow the hits to fly over our heads.
It is clear that Team Target has been working out, taking performance-enhancing drugs or figuring out how to reverse the ugly march of time. The B-Squad, on the other hand, discovered how to construct attractive head gear. The debut of the new hats was a bright spot on an otherwise difficult night of chasing balls for the square-jawed Targeters.
Per the hat instructions, we followed each other to Dusty’s bar. Dusty’s served as a needed salve to what turned out to be relatively shallow wounds. A pitcher of beer takes the edge off of an ego-beating and by the time we were voting for the cape it wasn’t about the humiliation of being cuffed and stuffed into the back of the cop car but rather how brilliantly we answered that question about how we handle stressful situations.
This week the cape vote was to Tom Keekley for, in the words of one nominator, “willing the ball out of my glove and into his glove.†Keeks was all over the infield and every fly ball was his, even the one that Charles caught. Congratulations Tom!
even better than our new uniforms, dig the new uni’s Wells Fargo is using in the background of the Keekley picture. The white oxford/grey sans-a-belt combo is a summertime classic.
This has been a wonderful season.
I also love the WF disco stylings–he’s getting into it!
As usual–our son is not looking at the camera. (he calls himself a photographer. The hats are nice. Good luck with Ben. Next time maybe?????
Keekley is one big brained (or at least big headed) homo sapiens sapiens.
I love the group photo. It’salmost like you can see what everyone’s thinking.
Zin: I’m so pretty.
Dave O: Look! If I turn my head you can see my new beard!
Ben: Who’s that behind Keekley?
?: Ohmigod! I’m totally hidden behind Keekley!
Keeks: These losers totally aren’t doing justice to my hats.
Tom: What would it be like to be Malibar’s second head?
T-Bone: (singing) “Oool’ Maaan Riiiv-er”
Shag: When does this nonsense end and the game start?
Charles: I’m pretty, just like Zin.
Bricker: Is the picture-taker working the camera correctly?
Gary: Blink.