I saw the young man in the hallway at work in a Steelers coat and knit hat. I had to offer an editorial comment following this past weekend’s game.
“How about those Steelers,” I said to him.
“Yeah,” he said. “We’re comin’ around.”
I have praised my newly adopted hometown as being tolerant and, in fact, indifferent to one’s NFL affiliations. And I like being able to just say hey to another fan of the team that represents what I consider to be my ancestral home.
So when I returned to my apartment and realized I had left the groceries (you know. the wine and the triple sec.) in the car, it meant another trip across the street to my car. I loathed the notion of going back out in the cold in the night. But, you know. Because groceries.
Four gals, young and loud and self-absorbed as most are, were leaving the bar as I walked out, and one of them noticed loudly that our paths were converging. Loudly.
“We’re following the guy with the Steelers hat.” I laughed.
Then. “Go Steelers. NOT!”
I took my shortcut to the car. They walked around the block and took the stairs.
The guy in the Steelers hat knows a shortcut, you a-hole.
(Then I cooked an amazing pot of chicken and noodles.)