The Baltimore Blast are a professional indoor soccer team that plays at 1st Mariner Arena. More importantly, they are NOT a theatre company – in fact, that’s the main reason I go to their games. That and the fact that the arena is directly across the street from the light rail station.
The arena is across the street, but it is the BACK of the arena. The front is a trek through a line of parking lots and downtown bus stops, and the people who populate them (for better or worse). Tonight, it was an unusually bad experience, but the results are the same as every other time I venture out into the city.
I’ve encountered scalpers at Blast games before, but this one was definitely this was the most aggressive. This one practically attaching himself to my hip the second my foot hit the curb and following me all the way to the entrance to the arena shouting
“Yo, check this, man, out,” he said casually pulling a grey ticket from his jacket pocket. “$20 for a center row seat. $20! They’ll charge $25 inside, but you can have it for $20! Yes, $20 for the GUARANTEED BEST SEATS IN THE FUCKING HOUSE!!!”
I ignore him and try to press forward towards the arena.
“No, seriously,” he said waving his ticket in my face. “The $25 they charge inside is a RIP-OFF, I’m offering you a DEAL – just $20 and you can skip the gate and go directly to your seat.”
He sees that I’m STILL ignoring him, and he punches my arm. “PAY ATTENTION!!! I am offering you a DEAL!”
“Leave me alone,” I said firmly, throwing away punch.
“Fine, fine, $15 – final offer.”
“I have no idea who you are talking to or why you’re PUNCHING me, but leave – me – alone.”
“I AM TALKING TO YOU! ARE YOU A FUCKING RETARD? YOU ARE FUCKING CRAZY PERSON. FUCK YOU! I TRY TO GIVE YOU A DEAL, BUT NOO YOU ARE A FUCKING RETARDED ASSHOLE.”
Same insults, different day. You would think these sidewalk psychiatrists would use some new jargon, switch things up a bit… but they don’t.
I however do know better than to argue with legitimately crazy people, and decided to let him make a scene. It’s better for him to be seen as a bad guy than me.
“LEARN SOME FUCKING ENGLISH,” he continues. Ironically, I don’t understand that statement at all. “FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING MENTALLY RETARDED ASSHOLE!”
“MOTHER FUCKER, YOU’RE CRAZY, CRAZY FUCKING RETARDED ASSHOLE,” he continued shouting as he disappearing somewhere in the distance.
I opened the door to the arena, found an open ticket agent and paid $23 for a seat in the far side of the arena. Maybe his ticket (if it was legit) was for a better seat, but his sales pitch sucked. I must admit, the obnoxious rant at the end rather killed my mood.
In case you were wondering, the Blast won. I was just happy that my very angry friend wasn’t waiting for me at the exit.