Page 44 of Pickled
“This one is for our new friend, Mr. Stupid Cup.” Just as the cameras panned over our section, live and in full LCD jumbotron display for all to see, Judy poured the entire contents of the fourth beer onto the crotch of the drunk.
Not-Suzette and I froze.
“I heard what you said.” Judy brushed her hands together. “I’m sure your wife is used to getting stains out of your pants.”
His shock wore off quickly, and he hopped out of his seat. “What the fuck?” He brushed at the beer-soaked fabric of his suit pants. “Do you have any idea who I am? You’re going to pay for this.” He stomped up the stadium stairs like a five-year-old running to tattle to his mom.
Judy settled into her seat like nothing had happened. “What time does the puck drop?” She sipped her beer.
“Those guys are assholes,” the girl next to me whispered. “But it will be our word against theirs, and I’m pretty sure the whole rink saw…”
“Judy.” I filled in the blank.
She nodded. “I’m sure the whole rink saw Judy pour an entire beer on that man. And he totally deserved it, but he’s either coming back with security to get us kicked out, or we’re going to have to sit next to pissy pants for the entire game. I doubt a guy like that is going to let this go.”
I crossed my arms. “He called an eighty-year-old woman the c-word.”
Not-Suzette grabbed my hand. “Come on. I’ve got an idea.”
The situation had taken such a sideways turn that it didn’t seem odd that a random stranger was tugging me out of my seat. Judith sipped her foamy beer. “We don’t need to go anywhere.”
“I beg to differ.” Not-Suzette pointed at the duo of security guards making their way across the top of the section, the hotheaded businessman pointing to our row.
“Sit down, ladies. I’ll explain what happened, and it will be those cretins getting kicked out, not us.”
“We’ll back you up,” the couple behind us interjected.
“Us too,” the guys sitting next to my new friend chimed in.
“See?” Judith sipped her drink. She was clearly comfortable with conflict; me on the other hand, I hated it. Not-Suzette was trying to pull me away from the drama, but my boss was proving to be a stubborn woman. Judy wasn’t budging.
The security guards reached our seats. “Ladies. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” The first guy, a man who looked like an NFL linebacker, stood at the end of the row. His radio crackled with static. Around us, some other fans had noticed the commotion, and some pulled out phones to record. The drunk businessman swayed slightly, his shirt now stained with beer foam.
“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” I started, but Judy held up a manicured hand.
“Trouble?” she repeated. Her voice carried the authority of someone used to speaking at fancy charity events. “The only trouble here is grown men who don’t know how to speak to ladies.”
The security guard’s partner appeared, slightly out of breath from climbing the stadium stairs. They exchanged a look that said this wasn’t the first time they’d had to deal with gold-section drunks.
“Those guys were harassing them,” the lady behind us spoke up.
“Is that true?” Mister Security’s neck was so thick he had to turn his whole body to address the men standing behind him.
“No. She’s a crazy old bat. We didn’t do anything, and she dumped her whole beer on my lap.”
Judith ran her hand up the side of her cup, then rubbed the condensation between her fingertips. “These stupid cups are slippery. Right?”
“It was intentional. The whole stadium saw the entire thing.” Beer Crotch wasn’t backing down.
The girl beside me sighed. “Excuse me,” she said. She shimmied past me and stepped over Judith’s crossed legs to pull the security guard aside.
Part of me hoped we were going to get kicked out of the game before Gideon could see me. I also prayed that the beer-dumping scene wouldn’t make the highlight reels.
The security guard nodded and rubbed his chin at whatever my new friend was telling him. He pushed the button on the radio clipped to his belt and spoke into his headset. He turned to face me and Judy. “Ladies. On behalf of the Miami Barracuda, I would like to offer you seats in one of our VIP boxes.”
“Now we’re talking.” Judy brushed her hands and hopped to her feet.
“What?” Crotch beer shouted. “They assault me and get box seats?”
