Game Day.

Imagine, if you will, a somewhat peaceful and very laid-back town of roughly one hundred thousand. "Downtown" consists of about four square blocks, occupied by clothing boutiques, coffee shops, record stores, second-hand stores, restaurants, bars (many, many bars), and various law offices, banks, and whatnots. Business is easily done. Errands are more of a quick walk in the sunshine than the headache-inducing nightmare that I used to endure in The City. I can make copies, mail a letter, run to the bank, get a haircut, pick up a baby gift, and grab lunch without ever having to move my car. (Alas, I do need my car because I live far enough away in an area that is not safely reachable by bike). I am on a first name basis with more than half of the people that I encounter on these journeys.
Now imagine an extra hundred thousand people descending onto the scene in roughly eight or twelve hours. Yeah. Not pretty, is it? A sea of red and black (team colors), peppered by a hideous shade of orange (like a push-up pop; the other team's color). A big, drunk, unfashionable sea, it was. Men in pink (formerly red) pants everywhere. (Where do they buy these?)If they are not wearing red pants, they are definitely wearing red shirts, and sometimes, alarmingly, they are wearing both.
The b.h. and I managed to get a primo (legal!)parking space, despite getting to work just before half time. A good sign. There was a guy in a polo shirt and khakis (oddly, his clothing did not swear an obvious allegiance to either team) was asleep on a cement platform next to a car.
"Do you think he has any money on him?" I whispered loudly to the b.h. as we passed the passed-out man.
"Not anymore." The b.h. is much, much funnier and more clever than I am.

We walk into work. There is chaos. J and H and S have already been at it for ten hours. We are their relief. They seem relieved. I tuck a bottle opener into one back pocket, a towel into the other. I approach a customer.
"Can I help you?"
"Yeah," he says, leaning in conspiratorially. "Can you pour a shot of whiskey and give it to the guy in the red shirt?"