Assume Nothing

In July of 2014, my son Dylan & I went to a Yankees - Red Sox game at Fenway Park.

It was one of four dates where a section in the ballpark is thoroughly cleaned and reserved for people with peanut allergies. Dylan has been allergic to peanuts his entire life. We put in for the tickets early, but by the time we got the call back all that was left were "standing room only" tickets. We took ‘em…

The section was up on the rooftop, first base side. At first, we were pleasantly surprised when we saw a row of fixed seats along a long table that had a perfect view of the entire field sans the right field corner. Then we realized they were numbered seats and the standing room only tickets only guaranteed standing room on the uncovered rooftop and a few first-come, first-serve high-top tables and a limited amount of tall, "monsta green" metal stools.

We arrived early and secured a table and two stools. Not great, but better than standing the entire game.

It was a gray day that threatened rain and the 4:05 start time was delayed as a storm moved across Massachusetts dropping brief, but heavy rainfall in its path. It never actually made it to Fenway which made for a very strange rain delay. By first pitch, the sky had cleared and the late afternoon sun began beating down mercilessly on the rooftop making it unbearably hot.

By the second inning, a woman in her mid-thirties, her husband and their ten-year-old son made their way onto the rooftop and into the peanut-free section. By then all the tables were taken and there was only one stool left and they let their son take it.

The woman was easy on the eyes with lean, muscular legs, wearing white Capri pants and a tight-fitting, sleeveless navy blue blouse with white polka dots, three-inch open toe heels which provided an unobstructed view of a fresh red pedicure, and she was sporting a belly bump. Looking a couple of months pregnant, I did what I thought was the right thing and carried the heavy stool over to her and told her she could have my seat. She was delighted as was her husband.

My son was impressed with my kind act and I felt good about doing it too. Chivalry is not dead. 

Then, as the game went on I watched as the woman guzzled several plastic cups full of beer and then several more, finally realizing the belly bump was not indicative of a “baby on-board”- it was a cute little beer gut! I had given up my stool to a beer-swilling woman who was not the pregnant woman I thought she was.

Moral of the story? Assume nothing because not all belly bumps are baby bumps.  

At least she didn’t pull a Yankee cap out of her pocketbook…