Or maybe we didn’t have plans. I thought day two was day
three, but Seth informed me that I was, in fact, wrong. So here’s a quick
snapshot of day two.
We woke up early, I think, maybe late. Somebody had somehow
gotten me really drunk the night before but I was in vacation mode, so I had a
beer in hand within minutes of waking up. My stupid friend made me leave my
beer in the room while we went to get the free breakfast, but fortunately for
me, it was there when we got back.
We decided early on that the most effectual mode of conveyance
for our trip would be bicycle. That’s like a unicycle but with two wheels, and
one less wheel than a tricycle. So we set about town looking for good deals at
pawn shops. The plan was to buy them cheap, and either throw them away or sell
them cheaper when we left. Unfortunately, in Fort Meyers pawn shops, nothing on
two wheels sold for under $300. We walked and walked and happened upon a little
hole in the wall place that had little more than counter tops but had a sign that
said pawn. Inside we were confused, but decided to ask the men working if they knew
a good place to rent or buy a cheap bike. The guys looked at each other and said
they had a bike in back that an ex-employee had left there and since we were
from Minnesota, we could use it for the week. No shit? They made a copy of Seth’s
license just in case, and we went to Walmart to buy a bike which we would
return in a week. I don’t remember why we didn’t do that in the first place.
So, problem solved. All I remember from the rest of that day
is having a hard time finding an actual liquor store, and seeing an awesome one-man
band across the alley who started off with Badfish by Sublime, one of my
favorites. Oblivion. Spent $$$ Ugh.
Woke up again, possibly by room service, maybe by alarm, I
don’t recall too clearly. Somehow, somewhere, we decided we would go to the
batting cages that we heard the players used. Later we would see the real ones
they used, at the stadium, but it sounded good. We wanted to throw and hit some
balls around. Now it was early when we left, but we had at least a ¾ buzz on
and I was intent on hitting a homerun that day.
We arrived at the establishment and staggered through the
doors, giddy, and excited to show off our skills. The place was empty, save for
an employee. We approached the desk and inquired of the prices. I had a way of
speaking but not exhaling toward people that I used a lot in those days so he
wouldn’t think I was hammered drunk, but my sloppy speech probably gave it
away. Either way, it was $20 for 20 minutes. We asked if we could pitch to each
other, and he awkwardly nodded. We donned helmets, and got to it.
Now, with a Wiffle ball, I have pretty good control. When we
played campground baseball, I would throw my curveball right at his head and it
would be perfect every time. Strike. Of course, a hit is considered a strike.
Anyhow, following that logic, I threw roughly 20 pitches exactly at his head. I
made no adjustments, nor did I think I was doing anything wrong. I was legit
confused that my curveball wasn’t working. I gave up. My turn to bat. Seth had
more of a “just go for it” approach to pitching. I believe I was hit in the
front leg three times before a pitch came that I could hit, which I missed. I
think all told, I had one hit that maybe dribbled a hundred feet. But we
laughed and had a great time.
Again, I have no memories of the rest of that day but I’m
sure it involved Stevie Tomato’s and possibly the El Fuego challenge. I woke up
out of a bit of a blackout and people were cheering for me and I was eating the
hottest fucking chicken wings I had had to that point in my life. Seth could
probably tell that story better than I because I think he may have witnessed it
with abstemious eyes.
Whatever happened that night, I knew the next day was going
to be the beginning of the best of our time there. We were going to go see the
Minnesota Twins play preseason ball.
