Jeremy, Michelle, and Jeff were the last ones standing as the rest faded away.
“What happened today was brutally wrong,” Jeff said, sipping from his stein of beer. “I’ve seen a lot of shit in my time, but can’t recall a company ever being so shitty to its employees.”
“Amen,” Michelle said. “I’m so sick of this. Every week it’s something else. We can’t even enjoy the team’s success because all it means is more work for us to do. More work we won’t get any appreciation for.”
“I’m not even surprised anymore,” Jeremy said. “I’ve been here four years now and it seems to get worse every day.”
“Matt did a number on you,” Michelle said. “You did so much for that bastard and he kicks you to the curb like a piece of trash. He’s a disgrace to Texas.”
Michelle had been hired at the same time as Jeremy, and had always looked out for him.
“You need to get out of this place,” Jeff said. “Michelle’s right. You were treated like shit and I don’t see how you can come back from that. Matt is highly respected by Sue Ellen, so what he says goes.” Sue Ellen was the team’s vice president of ticketing.
Jeremy nodded. “I know it. And I’m on it. Been applying to jobs, and just waiting to hear back.”
“Good for you,” Michelle slurred. “I’ll be praying for you, Jer.”
“Thanks, guys. I should get going.” Jeremy stumbled from his bar stool and wrapped an arm around Jeff and one around Michelle. “I love you guys. Thanks for tonight.” He kissed them each on the cheek.
“You’re a good kid,” Jeff said, patting Jeremy on the shoulder. “You good to drive?”
“Yeah,” Jeremy lied. “I’ll be good with some fresh air.”
He walked out of the bar, and the boom of the music gave way to silence as he stepped outside. The cool night welcomed his rising temperature. He felt sweat in his armpits and walked with his arms out to try and cool them off.
He arrived to his car at the stadium lot, sat down, and fell asleep with his keys in hand.
*****
On-sale day had passed and Jeremy still hated his job on Monday morning. He’d reached the point where he felt sick to his stomach at the very sight of the stadium, never mind the stress that came when he entered the building.
This better work, he thought back to the tickets he had purchased.
He had started with the Bears as an eighteen-year-old beginning his freshman year of college. Hope had burned deep in his soul when he joined the team—but perhaps that was just teenage naivete. His motivation had faded as he settled into a routine, working long shifts with no sense of direction.
Jeremy logged into his ticketing system and bought eight more Opening Day tickets under a different name and his second credit card number he typically used for online poker.
He smirked.
It’s going to be alright.
10
February 2012
Dr. Adrian Siva looked across his cluttered desk at the squirmy Jeremy Heston. His student never spoke up in classroom discussions and preferred to meet in private after class. Jeremy had a bright mind and a better understanding of the Psychology Disorders course material than any student he could remember.
Their relationship had developed into a mentorship. Jeremy had no clue what he really wanted to do in life, so Dr. Siva tried to guide him in the right direction. Dr. Siva’s first objection was with Jeremy’s job with the Bears. When Jeremy had told him he’d been demoted, he’d offered to use his connections to find Jeremy a psychology internship that would even pay more. But Jeremy had been too proud to accept his help and now, a few months later, was still stuck in a negative thought spiral about the situation.
“I think my ex-boss, Matt, is pushing his own agenda. I didn’t fit into his picture so he let me go.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I’m not like him. He’s a judgmental, religious bigot behind closed doors. I told him his Pray at the Park Day was exclusive. Religion shouldn’t exclude certain groups of people, especially not at a public gathering like a baseball game. Hell, I went to Catholic high school and even we had Jewish and Muslim students. I don’t think any group other than Christians was even invited to this event.”
“So you think the event comprised a social inequality?”
“I never thought of it that way, but yes, I do.”
“Do you have any proof that this is the reason for your dismissal from the position?” Dr. Siva perked up in his seat, eyebrows raised.
Jeremy thought back through all his encounters with Matt. “No proof,” he said, disappointed. “Just my analysis of his behavior.”
“Still, I encourage you to continue to think about an instance that might hold up in court. Because I believe you have a potential religious discrimination case.”
“That’s the problem. I never felt discriminated against. I felt his event was discriminating. And I just know he’s the brains behind the whole thing.”
“I see. That actually means a bigger case—against the entire organization.”
Here we go, Jeremy thought. He didn’t have the energy to even consider what a court case might require of him.
“Jeremy,” Dr. Siva continued. “Lawsuit aside. Discrimination aside. You’re working toward a master’s in psychology. What you do after getting it is what will define you.”
“Yes, doctor, I know. We’ve had this talk before.”
“We have. But I don’t know if you’re understanding me. Our profession is based on the abstract. The mind. Few things about people’s thought process can be proven with concrete science.” Dr. Siva looked across his desk at Jeremy, studying his student from behind his reading glasses. Streaks of white had started to fill his black hair, complementing the heavy crow’s feet forming around his eyes. “This leaves us in a position of uncharted territory. It’s our duty to revolutionize our always-changing field of study. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I do,” Jeremy said, staring at the scattered papers on Dr. Siva’s desk.
“Good. I challenge you to consider what you will do with this—how you will change the world. Every discovery that’s come before us in our field was found by free thinkers like us. It’s our responsibility to continue that mission and, quite frankly, you can’t do that from a call center.”
“I know.” Jeremy sighed. “But psychology is an up-and-coming thing in sports. What if it’s part of my big discovery?”
“It may very well be,” Dr. Siva said. His face was like a stone, his wrinkles frozen in place. “I just don’t want to see you waste your time. You’re at the bottom of the totem pole in one of the most competitive industries in the world. And your plan is to work up and into a position that doesn’t exist?”
Jeremy stayed silent. He felt like a nuclear bomb had been dropped on his dreams. Isn’t he supposed to support me?
“Look, this is the purpose of our monthly meetings,” Dr. Siva said. “My guidance and opinion. Sometimes the truth is hard to hear.”
Jeremy nodded.
“All I’m saying, Jeremy, is to think of how you can influence the world. It won’t be by answering phone calls for the next five years. One person can affect millions, never forget that.”
Jeremy nodded some more. He felt like a human woodpecker.
“Thank you for our meeting today, Dr. Siva. I definitely have a lot to think about.”
“That’s all I want to hear,” Dr. Siva said, cracking a sly grin. “The ball’s in your court. Please let me know if I can help with anything.” Dr. Siva rose from his seat and extended his hand to Jeremy, giving it his usual firm shake.
Jeremy returned the handshake with a smile of relief. I made it through another of these dumb-ass meetings.
“Have a good night, doctor,” Jeremy said, walking out of the office and down the familiar halls of the psychology building.
*****
Jeremy returned to his apartment after his meeting with Dr. Siva, and lay down on his
bed, his mind racing with possibilities. Sometimes his thoughts were so scattered and intense, he wondered if he might have one of the mental illnesses he was studying.
I know I can achieve what I want in baseball. One of the main components of sports psychology was getting players to envision themselves succeeding in the highest-pressure situations. Close your eyes and see yourself hitting the game-winning home run. Feel the bat in the grip of your palms, and feel the vibrations run up your arms as you make that perfect contact.
Jeremy tried to apply this logic to himself, but he couldn’t find the right words, the right images.
“How do I get there?” he whispered, and he was scared of the quiver in his voice. I no longer have an obvious way out of the call center.
He felt anger bubble up in him.
“Matt Harris,” he said to his empty room. “You motherfucker.”
He can’t get away with treating people like this. It’s not fair that such an asshole should have such a big influence on my future.
Jeremy fell asleep, tangled in his thoughts.
11
March 2012
March brought spring training for the baseball world. Jeremy could taste the hot dogs right around the corner.
Three weeks had passed since he’d purchased the eight Opening Day tickets. He’d posted them for sale on a website called TicketStubs, an online resale marketplace for ticketed events. Anyone could post tickets and set their asking price as they pleased. All that was required was the bar code from the ticket stub, and TicketStubs’ software would convert the ticket into an electronic file to be sent anywhere in the world.
Jeremy had an account already created from previous ticket purchases, but he created a separate one to use for his operation. He had purchased the original tickets under Jamie’s name, but he wanted to keep her off the record for any of the transactions, so he created the new account under the name Heath Miller. Jeremy was obsessed with Heath Ledger’s portrayal of the Joker, and decided to honor him by using his first name. Miller was a common enough name that he wouldn’t stand out from the crowd.
The only thing that could trace the tickets back to Jeremy was the linking of his bank account to his TicketStubs profile, to receive payments by direct deposit. That information would only belong to TicketStubs, though, and wouldn’t be accessible to anyone in the Bears organization.
With the account created, Jeremy posted his tickets for sale. After much research—TicketStubs provided metrics on average pricing: what had sold, and what hadn’t—he decided to post the $4 tickets at an aggressive price of $75 dollars.
Worst-case scenario, I drop them to fifty and still make more than ten times the value.
Now he just had to wait, to find out if Herman’s opportunity cost theory really worked.
Less than an hour later, he was looking at an email informing him that $300 would be transferred to his bank account within three business days. “Holy shit,” he said. Less than a day later, before the money had even arrived in his account, the remaining four tickets also sold. He had spent $32 and turned it into $600 in the matter of three weeks.
“Okay, this is very real,” he told himself. He was at work when the second notification came in, and immediately pulled up the Opening Day seating chart to find nothing available.
That’s fine. There’ll be more. There always is.
The team released handfuls of tickets on a daily basis. They held on to groups of tickets for special types of reservations, and if they learned the tickets wouldn’t be used, they were released to the public for purchase. Opening Day tickets would be snatched up quickly, so he’d have to keep checking.
Jeremy turned his attention to two games later in the schedule. The fireworks games on July 3 and 4 always sold out in advance. Beautiful, he thought as he saw plenty of tickets available for both dates. The $4 tickets, in a part of the stadium known as the Bear Cave, would sell for even more on these two nights. Bear Cave tickets granted access onto the field for the fireworks show, and that alone drove up the value of the tickets.
Jeremy had tried the field-view a couple times, and after plenty of kids plowing into him and ashes from the fireworks falling into his hair, he vowed to never do it again.
Make money from people who annoy me and destroy a beautiful baseball field? Don’t mind if I do.
Jeremy felt giddy at his future prospects. A familiar tingle filled his stomach, similar to when he peeked at his poker hand to find two aces looking back.
Throughout the day, he bought forty tickets in total, for both games in July. He rotated between his credit cards and had all the tickets mailed to Jamie’s address.
Bear Cave tickets would easily sell for a hundred each on TicketStubs, he guessed, and if that were true he would make just shy of four thousand dollars off of those games alone.
A third of what I make during the whole year. He drooled at the thought. More money than poker, doing less work.
He planned to post the tickets in June. Nobody would buy a ticket for a hundred bucks when it was still available for four; he’d need to wait until the game sold out.
“Hey all,” Sammy said as he walked out of his office. “Just a heads-up that we’re releasing about fifty tickets for Opening Day later this afternoon. Not sure at what time, so be sure to keep an eye out for them.”
“We sure will!” Jeremy told his boss with a grin. Money might not buy happiness, but it certainly made a dent in his depression.
It’s show time, he thought as Sammy hibernated back to his office.
He refreshed his maps. The seating map used color coding to identify availability, and all seats remained red, meaning not a single seat was available. Yellow indicated minimal availability, while green showed plenty to choose from.
In his four years he had never seen any section turn green for Opening Day. He knew he’d need to be quick on the draw once the seats were released. He was competing against all the people on the team’s website looking for tickets at that exact moment.
He sat back, daydreaming about what he wanted to do with his new stream of income. Maybe I can take Jamie on a trip for our anniversary.
But after checking every few minutes all day long, by the end of the day, the seats were all still red. Jeremy was disappointed, but he tried hard to not give up hope.
Jamie had a rare night off, and they went out for dinner.
“So how’s your little side project?” she asked. She hated when the unmarked, white envelopes started arriving in her mailbox, but Jeremy made a compelling case.
“Very good. I’m making more money than I ever have before. I actually wanted to discuss going to Chicago for our anniversary.” Jamie loved to travel, and Chicago was high on her wish list. “I have this extra money now.”
“No, Jeremy, that’s dirty money. I just don’t trust it. Something bad is going to come out of all this.”
“I have it under control, please don’t worry about it. I can even buy your plane ticket with the money. I insist.”
She smiled at the thought. “We’d need to plan the trip fast.”
“Then we plan it this weekend and make it happen. I’ll even see about getting some Cubs and White Sox tickets.”
“Let’s do it!” She perked up. “Chi-town, here we come!”
They finished dinner, discussing all the things they could do in the Windy City: deep-dish pizza, the Willis Tower, and the Bean. Jamie created a spreadsheet on her phone to organize their thoughts.
“Just promise me you won’t get in too deep with those tickets. You’re sure it’s not illegal?” Jamie asked.
“’Course not. I’m buying tickets legally. I pay full price like anyone else. And TicketStubs is a giant corporation that focuses on reselling tickets. They wouldn’t be there if it was illegal.”
12
April 2012
Opening Day brought its usual energy. Through some mysterious act of God, Opening Day in Denver always brought out the sun for a beautiful day at the ba
llpark, while the rest of April the city was buried under blankets of snow.
Jeremy found himself thanking a God he had lost touch with since starting college. Snow on Opening Day would be catastrophic. At least today will be fun in the sun. Fans had a habit of calling the call center if there was so much as a cloud in the sky, to ensure the game wasn’t delayed or postponed.
“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.
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