“Been blessed with perfect Opening Day weather as long as I’ve been here,” Sammy bragged, knocking on his wooden desk.
Downtown Denver turned into a block party for Opening Day. A parade started at the stadium in the morning, while bars filled up with college students ditching class and businessmen playing hooky for the day in a drunken pregame ritual. This was Jeremy’s fifth Opening Day working with the team, so he knew what to expect.
It started in the parking lot, when he arrived for the day. The Bears held back 500 Bear Cave tickets to release three hours before game time. While this happened for every game of the year, Opening Day was the only one where fans camped overnight outside the stadium.
Driving through the parking lot he saw thousands of people lined up, kids running around like it was a playground, and some people even playing games of touch football. Jeremy drove through the masses, then weeded through them after parking his car.
“Hey, buddy, any tickets?” some wise-ass asked as Jeremy walked toward the employee entrance. He kept his head down, knowing it was best to avoid conversation with the fans outside.
“How cool it must be to work for the Bears,” a drunk man cried.
Jeremy kept his head down and waved to the security guard as he entered the stadium’s tunnel. A new group of game-day staff flooded the walkway, running carts of food and merchandise in every direction in their purple shirts and black pants. The energy of the new season radiated from the tunnel, up to the offices. Executives wore their finest suits. Even Sammy looked sharp.
“Good morning, everyone,” Sammy called out to the team as Jeremy sat down at his desk. “Happy Opening Day! My favorite holiday of the year. There will be about 200 seats opening for us to sell for the game today. Keep an eye out for those and don’t tell customers that call in beforehand that there will be tickets. That only creates more work for all of us.”
The group nodded, knowing they didn’t need any more calls to handle.
“Jeremy and Elliott will be leaving us at ten to go work the new outfield bar. You’ll all get that chance, so be sure to use them as resources to learn more about what that entails.”
Elliott nodded at Jeremy from the opposite corner of the office and grinned.
“Let’s have a great morning so we can enjoy the game and festivities this afternoon,” Sammy finished, and headed back into his office.
Jeremy turned on his computer, not dreading the phones for once, since he would only need to field calls for two hours. Hopefully they don’t release the tickets until after ten. Then I’m out of here. He would normally be ready to pounce on the opportunity to buy the Opening Day tickets, but TicketStubs stopped ticket sales three hours before game time, leaving him no time to post and sell seats.
He logged into his phone, and much to his delight no call came ringing through right away.
Ken Hakes, the team’s director of ticketing, walked into the call center, passing the three rows of desks and ignoring everyone on his way to Sammy’s office. He closed the door to the fish bowl, which always indicated a serious discussion.
Ken overlooked all the sales departments—outbound sales, season tickets, and the call center—and reported directly to Sue Ellen, the VP of ticketing. He had worked for the team since their inaugural season in 1993.
Jeremy glanced over his shoulder and saw Ken’s bald head bobbing in conversation. He’d had minimal encounters with Ken, despite his office sitting across the hall from the call center. Ken kept to himself and never started conversations with his staff; instead he’d walk by with his weasel face down to avoid eye contact.
A call came in, and Jeremy answered, missing Ken walking out. Sammy looked more pale than normal as he stared blankly at his computer screen.
Dang. Hope everything’s okay, Jeremy thought, assuming he was home free from his own scheme.
“What do you think that was about?” Scott Walker asked. Scott sat in Lewis’s desk when Lewis worked his second job as a suite attendant during day games.
“Who knows,” Jeremy replied. “It could be anything on a day like today.”
With my luck they’re not gonna let me go outside today after all.
*****
The rest of Jeremy’s short morning dragged on, despite the calls picking up in volume and remaining steady, with a handful waiting in the queue at all times.
The clock finally crawled to a quarter until ten, and Jeremy prepared to mentally check out for the day. Ken entered the call center again and stared at Jeremy as he walked toward Sammy’s office.
What the fuck? Jeremy thought. He knew Ken was leading the outdoor bar project, and figured maybe he was trying to familiarize himself with the people who would be working with him.
Ken didn’t close Sammy’s office doors this time and remained standing as he spoke to Sammy.
Jeremy put his phone into “Not Ready” status, just as he heard his name being called from directly behind him. He spun around in his swivel chair.
“Hey, Ken, how’s it going?” Jeremy asked, trying to hide his surprise.
“Hi. Good. Can you walk with me, please?” Ken’s manner was short and brusque.
“Okay, sure.” Jeremy’s hands fumbled as he locked his computer and he felt his pulse pounding in his temples. He tried to calm himself down. Must be about working out at the bar today.
As they walked out of the call center, Jeremy felt his coworkers’ eyes glued to him.
“So how has your morning been going?” Ken asked as they passed Kylie, seated at Jeremy’s old outbound sales desk, dressed in a pinstriped pant suit with extra makeup caked on her face.
“Good. Busy,” Jeremy said as they passed the elevator lobby. His stomach was in knots; he had no clue where they were heading. “Ready to spend the afternoon in the sun.”
“Of course,” Ken replied, avoiding eye contact. “Should be a good time.”
They walked further down the hall, passing the season ticket and group ticket employees.
“This way,” Ken said as he turned the corner to the exit door that led to the club-level concourse.
The door swooshed open as Ken led the way. Club-level looked pristine, with its freshly vacuumed purple carpeting and polished wooden panels that ran along the walls. The concourse was deserted, with the exception of a couple of chefs walking by in white uniforms. Jeremy nodded to them.
Ken led them past more elevators, toward a door that led to the press boxes and TV and radio booths. Jeremy had been in there a couple of times before. The area had its own lounge, and special lunches had been served there on occasion.
“Please head in,” Ken said, stepping aside to hold the door open.
The lounge was dim except for some lights above a table, shining down like a spotlight. At the table sat Sue Ellen and a man in a gray suit that Jeremy didn’t recognize.
“Please have a seat, Jeremy,” Sue Ellen said, not looking up from a stack of papers in front of her. Her long, golden hair looked as stiff as bristles on a broom. She wore a purple suit with boxy shoulder pads that made her look uncomfortable. He had only had a handful of encounters with Sue Ellen in the past, mostly small talk in the break room, but never anything work-related.
The man in the suit stood up to reveal his towering height. His face looked flushed and his gray hair was combed over to hide a balding spot.
“Jeremy, my name is George Schmidley,” he said, extending a large hand, which Jeremy shook. “I’m from the Major League Baseball offices in New York and was asked by the Bears to do some private investigating. I’ve worked as a private investigator for many years and have become quite good at it. So please keep that in mind while we ask you some questions this morning.”
Jeremy sat down across from Sue Ellen and George, his hands shaking. His heart felt like it was trying to pound its way through his rib cage. Okay, stay calm. The evidence can’t be strong. Multiple cards and names were used. Play dumb.
“Jeremy, I’m extremely disappointed,” Sue Ellen s
aid. “But I need to hear your side of the story.”
The light beamed down on him and he realized it created an interrogation atmosphere.
“We want to ask you about some tickets we’ve come across for sale on TicketStubs. Are you familiar with that website?” George asked, crossing his hands on the table.
“Yes,” Jeremy replied, feeling like he might vomit. Anyone in ticketing knows about that site.
“Have you ever posted tickets for sale on their website?” Sue Ellen asked.
“No. I’ve bought concert tickets on there, but have never sold any.” Jeremy tried to calm his mind, and rushed through the list of poker tells he’d always used. Don’t gulp. Don’t touch your face. Stare them in the eye when you speak. Keep your hands steady.
How the fuck did they catch me?
“Well, I have reason to believe that isn’t true,” George said.
“Do the names Tyrone Smith, Heath Miller, and Travis Martin mean anything to you?” Sue Ellen asked.
Holy shit. They got me.
“No, not that I recall,” Jeremy said, careful to stare Sue Ellen in the eyes.
“Funny. All three of those ‘people’ have been purchasing Opening Day tickets and posting them on TicketStubs. And all three have been tied to the same three credit cards.” Sue Ellen pursed her lips tight.
“But the common denominator is you,” George chimed in. “You were the representative listed on each transaction, ten in all.”
“Now would be a good time to come clean, Jeremy,” Sue Ellen said. “We know it’s you.”
Shit.
“Alright, I’ve been buying Opening Day tickets and reselling them online.”
The room dropped silent. George looked disappointed, perhaps expecting a bigger fight. “Why’d you do it?” he asked.
“For the money,” Jeremy said, not feeling any better after his confession.
“I’m so disappointed,” Sue Ellen said. “After everything you’ve been through here.”
Jeremy looked down at his hands. I can’t go to jail for this, right? I did nothing against the law. Worst case I get fired.
“If I could, I would put this on your permanent record,” Sue Ellen said. “But lucky for you, there are no laws against what you did, so I can’t do that. We are, however, terminating your employment with the Bears, effective immediately. Your two employee tickets for the game today are being voided as well. Mr. Schmidley will escort you to your desk to pack your belongings.”
That’s it. My dream is out the window.
George stood and walked around the table to meet Jeremy, who stood on legs that felt like gelatin.
“This way, Mr. Heston,” George said, extending a hand toward the door.
Jeremy turned to find Ken hiding in the shadows by the door like the coward he was. He avoided eye contact one last time as Jeremy passed him on his way out. George grabbed a box for him to pack his things.
The two walked in silence across the concourse, through the office, and back into a bustling call center, busy with phone calls as first pitch approached, less than three hours away.
Everyone looked at George with curiosity, having never seen him before. He walked Jeremy to his desk and placed the box on top of it. Scott was on a phone call but watched with disbelief as Jeremy pulled down pictures and shoved four years of his life into a small brown box.
“Got everything?” George asked. Jeremy nodded in response, his head hanging low.
As Jeremy followed George out of the call center, he glanced into Sammy’s office. Sammy kept his eyes fixated on his computer screen, but the shock on his face was apparent.
Jeremy walked as stealthily as he could, hoping maybe no one else would notice as he walked by clutching a box that clanged with every step. He kept his head down as he passed Kylie’s desk and Matt’s office for the final time.
The elevator lobby’s door swung open, and he walked through the familiar passage as he had done hundreds of times. George called the elevator and patted his leg with his hand while they waited.
I can’t believe this. An MLB investigator? For a few scalped tickets? He’d never anticipated such a drastic action and thought back to what he could have done differently.
The same employee account meant it was obvious from the start, but the real clue was the credit card. My employee account has processed at least 400 transactions since February. They had to have run some sort of report to find duplicate card numbers being used.
The elevator chimed and the doors parted to show Michelle with a huge grin on her face that vanished the instant she saw Jeremy holding the box.
“Jeremy?” she asked, eyes bulging.
“I’ll call you,” he replied coldly.
She stepped out of the elevator and moved to the side. George entered and pushed the button that would take them to the main lobby of the stadium. The elevator hummed as it began its decent.
“I know this is a scary situation.” George spoke for the first time since leaving the meeting. “But you’re young and will be just fine. Make sure you learn something from this mistake.”
Jeremy’s mind was racing so fast, he could hardly process George’s words. But he was cognizant enough to know that George had showed him more compassion in the past minute than anyone else from the Bears had shown him in his prior four years.
The elevator doors opened to the deserted lobby of Bears Field.
Black tile shined, freshly polished for the new season. The receptionist sat at her enclosed semicircle desk, bright lights shining down on a display case to the right, showing artifacts from the Bears’ short history.
George led them across the lobby to the exit. “Best of luck to you, Jeremy,” he said, clapping a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder.
“Thanks,” Jeremy responded, not sure what else to say. He turned his back to push open the doors with his body, and spun around to the outside world.
Hundreds, if not thousands of people crowded the sidewalk along the main street, waiting for the gates to open in an hour. Jeremy realized that he would have to walk all the way around, since his car waited on the opposite end in center field.
Fucking humiliating.
He trudged along Blake Street, pushing his way through the crowd of people with his box. Everyone was too excited to notice him dragging his feet across the stadium.
“Peanuts! Pistachios! Water! Soda!” a street vendor shouted.
“Tickets! Anyone got any tickets to sell?” a scalper chimed in to the mobs of people.
He couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony of it all.
Jeremy reached his car, threw his box in the backseat, and cried for the next ten minutes.
*****
“Jamie, you need to turn around,” Jeremy said into his cell phone. She was on her way to the stadium.
“Why?”
“I just got fired and am on my way home. They canceled the tickets that I had left in your name.”
“Jeremy.” Her voice was a mixture of concern and disappointment, a tone he learned to dread, knowing it usually led to an argument . “What happened? Was it the tickets?”
“Yes. I’ll tell you about it later. I’m going to your place now.”
As he drove, Jeremy thought back to all the memories he had made during his four seasons with the team. With the stadium in his rearview mirror, he felt a blanket of depression start to cover him. He had attended more than two hundred games during his run and couldn’t imagine having to pay to enter the building. He remembered Pray at the Park and his eyes again welled with tears—of anger this time.
I was so damn close.
He arrived at Jamie’s apartment to find her car parked in the lot. He parked behind her and jumped out of his car, mind still racing.
Jamie opened the front door of her apartment. Jeremy dragged his feet as he neared her and entered her apartment with nausea building up inside.
“So what happened?” Jamie asked, putting an arm around his shoulders.
Jeremy
buried his face in Jamie’s embrace and stopped fighting the tears he was holding in.
“It’s okay.” Jamie tried to soothe him, patting his back and guiding him to the couch. He sobbed, unable to speak.
After a couple of minutes, calming himself down, Jeremy sat on the couch in the living room, eyes puffy and red.
“I just…never saw this coming,” he said, his voice flat. “How am I supposed to afford the Chicago trip now with no income?” They had just booked their flight and hotel two nights earlier.
“Stop worrying. I know this is bad, but everything will work out.” Jamie stood up in front of him. “It’s just time for a new chapter in your life. You can focus on finishing your master’s now.”
“I suppose,” Jeremy said, looking down at the floor. “This is such a shitty feeling. After all I’ve been through at that fucking place, and they kick me out?” His lips quivered.
“Let’s relax this weekend. We can look at inexpensive things to do in Chicago. The expensive stuff is already paid for.”
Jeremy nodded, sniffing. “I don’t know why I’m so upset. I was miserable there.” His phone buzzed with an incoming call.
“Who is it?” Jamie asked.
“No one I know,” Jeremy said and put the phone back down.
“No. You answer that right now. It could be important.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes but obliged Jamie’s demand. “Hello?”
“Hello, is this Jeremy?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“Hi, Jeremy, this is Melissa Marsh from E-Nonymous Incorporated. You had applied for a job with us back in January and I was wondering if you might still be interested?”
Jeremy jolted off the couch and stood in the middle of the living room. His arms started to shake as he felt a sudden burst of adrenaline flood his veins.
“Yes. Absolutely,” Jeremy replied, trying to hide the excitement in his voice.
“Perfect,” the perky recruiter said. “I just have a few questions for you today before we can set up an onsite interview. Do you have about fifteen minutes right now to chat?”
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