Posted by: kristabella | March 14, 2007

It’s A Chick Magnet

Last Friday night I was out at a birthday party for Miss Jones. We were talking about my time at the 49ers and she mentioned that there has to be so many stories from my time in Santa Clara that would be great blog material.

So it got me to thinking. Because working for an NFL team, that should be true. Right? I mean I spent 6 years of my life surrounded by football players and coaches. There should be some crazy ass stories. And yet? I can’t remember any.

I had good times working there. I really did. My last year was miserable. But that was because I wanted out. It had nothing to do with anyone else. (Except maybe Fitz. And the 2-14 team.) (No, just Fitz.) I have some really great friends from there that I’m still close with. So seriously, there should be some crazy-ass stories.

So last night while I was running, I started trying to think of all the craziness that I’m sure encompassed my life. But when I’m running, all I’m thinking about is how much longer I have to go and left, right, left, right, etc. so that I don’t fall on my face at the corner of Irving and Addison.

And then I start thinking, “man, I think I miss the sucky ass commute to my old job for just THAT reason.” I was so used to zoning out on the 90-minute commute home that I came up with great stuff. Pure genius. And now, I read on the train. And most of my thoughts are of trying to keep my balance so that when the train moves, I don’t tumble into the people in front of me. Unless it’s some cute guy. Which, it never is.

So I enlisted some help this afternoon from The Jens for some stories. She was there almost as long as I was. Surely there had to be some stories. Right?

Most of what we remembered (we b0th are in research studies to figure out who has the earliest onset of Alzheimer’s. Oh, and we both drink a lot. I’m not saying they are related or anything) was from the charity golf tournaments we held every year. Which, maybe not so surprisingly, included us working outside, on a golf course. Drinking beer. Free beer!

I think I worked three golf tournaments. I missed the last one or two because if we wanted to volunteer to help out a company-sponsored event, we had to take a fucking PTO day. Therefore, beer is not free then. I’d rather spend my PTO day drinking with fun people. Not Debye.

And by working, I mean drinking. Usually we helped with check in. And then on the course, we were to work the “money holes.” Those were the ones where the rich fat cats would pony up some dough on certain holes to win something. Like a car. Like the hole-in-one hole. Or the closest to the pin. (That one sucked, by the way. You had to MEASURE.) (Naturally, I usually ended up at the hole-in-one hole. You either did it or you didn’t. No measuring. And more importantly, no getting up.)

So we’d collect the money, watch them all fail and wait for the next five-some to come through. (A foursome plus a “celebrity,” who usually ended up being some player they cut about two weeks later.) And continue to drink our beer.

(I think they might have caught on to my whole excuse to get out of the office and drink free beer and that’s why I didn’t work the last one or two tournaments.)

There was the year that mid-way through the day, we ran out of beer. So I volunteered to go back down to the clubhouse and load us up. (I come prepared with a backpack for just these occasions. And maybe for sunblock. But mostly, for beer.) So I went to the beer cooler and just started filling up my bag with Coors Light after Coors Light after Coors Light. (There were three of us!) As I’m doing this, I happen to look up and see our Pro Personnel Director, Bill McPherson, standing there watching me. Just laughing his head off. He called me “Coors Light” for about four years, until he retired. (Side note, his retirement party was the Friday before I got shitcanned. Mac is the greatest man you’ll ever meet.)

Or there was the year of the closest to the pin hole. Where I had to measure. And get off of my ass, which was sitting in the golf cart, to work. That was the year, as I was sitting there, minding my own business, frying the skin on the tops of my legs (no sunblock that year, apparently), that a certain bust of a first-round draft pick shanked his ball so bad off the tee, it bounced off the roof of the golf cart. RIGHT ABOVE MY HEAD! I really hope Reggie McGrew has gotten better. At golf. He sucks at football. God save the Queen if he hasn’t.

Or the year this guy was part of one of the foursomes. And wasn’t even the celebrity. Just knew some fat cat who was a 49ers Foundation supporter. He was not so friendly. And this was pre-24 fame. And pre-Allstate commercials. So I said to him, I say “Fuck you JoBoo, I do it myself.”

There was one constant in all these events (besides the mass consumption of beer), it was the prize. The prize on the “money holes” was always a car. See, so you had to give us money to win. You had to be in it to win it and all that who hah. Although, it’s not hard to ask a millionaire for a few bucks for the chance to win a car. (Like they need a new car. And I ain’t talking no new Toyota Corolla or anything. We’re talking Beemers and Mercedes. Bitches.) But to sway them into entering, I had one surefire way of always getting them interested. I’d say “it’s a chick magnet, fellas.” And then I’d pretend to get pulled in by the force of it all and get stuck to the car. “See?”

Cracked my ass up every time.

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Responses

  1. I spend my commute trying not to fall asleep…it’s a driving commute.

    YAY for work stories!

  2. President Palmer was a jerk?!?

    Thank goodness you didn’t say Jack Bauer. I would have been soo sad.

  3. I like the JoBoo reference…cracked me up. And Dennis Haysbert looks lke a jerk in the commercials…also mean. I can just picture you doing your “chick magnet” thing over & over & over & laughing every time….kinda like the Andes candy milkshake story.

  4. Man, I have some bad stories of keeping myself awake while driving. I swear sometimes, I was asleep because I couldn’t remember anything about the 30-mile drive in.

    It’s a good thing I take the train.

    President Palmer did NOT like the chick magnet joke.

    Jack Bauer TOTALLY would have. (And I probably would have slipped him the digits.) 🙂

  5. Heard Fitz left the Niners…what’s the story?

  6. He “left.”

    And by left, I think it was “do you want to be fired or do you want to save some face and leave on your own?”

  7. I love Dennis Haysbert, The Unit rocks, to bad he was an ass. He went to San Mateo High School, you know. Rep’n’ the Bay baby!

  8. Hey thanks to your beer swilling moments, now none of the staff can work these events.Biach!
    Love your tree hugging friend.

  9. I’m pretty sure that’s not why you can’t work the golf tourney.

    The Dorks hate fun.


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