A story from April 6th 2016

Last Wings home game of the year

Wednesday night, I got to sit in a greyhound bus station for an hour at midnight.
Here’s the story…

Chris and I went to a Red Wings game Wednesday night. We parked down along the Detroit River Walk park, where we have been parking for the past few years of going to games at The Joe. It’s the best place to park for free, if you can get to the game early enough. We always do. The routine for my best friend/son is that we leave right after work – regardless of the start-time of the game. Once inside the Joe Lewis Arena (JLA) we go to one of the Little Cesar’s pizza counters and order a large pepperoni (because sausage does bad things to my digestive tract and the only other option is 3-meat) and two large Cokes, light on the ice – because, if I’m going to pay $5 for a 20oz Coke, that bitch better be 99% coke -, and then we go sit in our seats and watch the pre-skate while munching on some pizza.

While we sit there, we scan the audience for interesting things. That can be anything from cute girls to unique jerseys, or friends we didn’t expect to see. We make fun of the fans of the opposing team as they wait for their team to take the ice and we judge most of them. On this momentous occasion, as I shoveled pizza into my face, I scanned the audience. Chris gave me a curious look because I was apparently very intense in my scan. I turned to him and said, “I was scanning for that $20.”

Chris and I have a bet. The first person to spot a 52 Jersey with Ericsson on the back wins $20. In all the time that we’ve been going to these games, we’ve never seen a jersey representing the Red Wings defenseman anywhere in the stands. Chris once went into one of the jersey stores and asked about buying a #52 jersey and the attendant chuckled a little and said nobody had ever asked for one of those and that we’d have to go online to buy one. Jonathan “Johnny” Ericsson was the last pick in the 2002 NHL Draft. He is the “Mr Irrelevant” of the 2002 draft.

Chris returned with a blurry picture and I acknowledged his win without paying him… yet. I just sat and stared, trying to think of a way that I could actually be a part of this event. After a long period wherein Chris actually commented on how I’d just been staring at the unicorn, I decided that I NEEDED a clear picture. A good photograph.

I popped up, bounded down the stairs – as best one can ‘bound’ down the stairs at The Joe. If you’ve ever been there, you know how steep those stairs are and how difficult it is to bound either up or down. As I got closer, I realized this was a friendly Albino Pegasus Centaur Unicorn.

So, I walked up to him. He was talking to three ladies – two seated, one standing. He was 3/4 facing away from me and I could clearly see that Chris’s blurry picture was accurate. The top of the jersey, above the 52, was adorned with E-R-I-C-S-S-O-N. I tapped him on the shoulder and apologized for interrupting his conversation. I reached out my hand and asked him if I could take a picture of the jersey. I explained that in all the years we’d been coming to The Joe, we’d never seen an Ericcson jersey. As he shook my hand he said, “Oh, come on… really?” I assured him that we are big fans of “Johnny” (though we’re really not) and he agreed to the picture which I promptly posted on Facebook.

Then, we used our top secret back-stairway exit to make our way from the top of the upper-bowl to the main concourse level and to the exit. From there, we slipped through a popcorn vendor’s booth (probably pissed him off in the process) and slipped outside. The stairs on the west exit of the JLA (Joe Lewis Arena) are very steep and in this case they were wet, too. We took it WAY slower going down those stairs than we typically do. Chris called out “Let’s Go Red Wings!” trying to get an outdoor chant going. We’ve accomplished that before. In fact, if you’re ever watching a Red Wings game and there’s a chant during a game where we’re in attendance, there’s about an 80% chance that we started the chant. Seriously. We’re loud. We’re persistent. We’re larger than life.

After we clear the first intersection, rather than walking along the sidewalk with the rest of the carp, we salmon between the cars in the traffic lanes. They’re at a dead stop anyway. It’s not like they’re going to hit us. We made our way from the JLA down Jefferson street toward the car. It was about the point where we go under the Route 10 overpass where we realized that there were no cars. Zero. None. All of the cars along Jefferson avenue, including Chris’s car, were gone.

Now, this is a good time to back up. We knew this was a possibility. It was a really remote possibility, but it was out there, lingering. Like I said before, we have parked there for a long time. This year, however, the Detroit Police Parking Division (or whatever they go by) had put up “No Parking – Tow Zone” signs a few times. They were paper signs that were taped to trees and taped to the back of other signs. They never looked official. However, when they were posted, we obliged and parked elsewhere (one block north or on Sixth) without any problem. Last week, when we went to the game (yes… we went to games two weeks in a row), we didn’t even bother to look at Jefferson. We parked on Fort, instead, and we walked a couple extra blocks in a light misty rain to get to/from the JLA. No biggie. We’re not afraid of a bit of exercise. When we got down to Jefferson, we were disappointed to see that the entire street was lined with cars parked on both sides. With a shrug, we said, “Ok, well, next time, we’ll check Jefferson before we park on Fort or Sixth.” If there weren’t any “NO PARKING” signs on Jefferson, we’d go ahead and park. If there were, we’d go back up to Fort St.

This game, the Wings Vs. Flyers, there were no signs on Jefferson. So, we parked on Jefferson between Sixth and whatever that little street is that services the Jefferson/Fort street gap (but doesn’t appear to have a name). When we got out of the car, we noted that there were no signs saying “NO PARKING”, so we should be good. There were other cars that were parked there already. There were cars parked on the opposite side of Jefferson. And, there were cars parked on the little no-name road which has brand-new “ONE HOUR PARKING” signs lining both sides of the street. We felt confident that when we came out, the cars would still be there, just as they had been the previous week when we left the Saber’s game.

The lack of no-parking signs didn’t stop them from towing cars… much to our dismay.
So, we stood there in the rain with a bunch of other people in similar circumstances. Aghast at our misfortune. We all stood there, all 20-30 of us, trying to figure out who to contact to get the cars back. We were pretty certain that they’d been towed. If not, it was the heist of the century. How were we going to get home? How were we going to get to whichever impound lot had our car? Which impound lot/towing company HAS our cars?

Eventually, after calling the police and about half-dozen towing companies that contract with the city, we were told by one of them, “Yes… I think we have your car.” But, this guy was just the dispatcher so he couldn’t say for sure. In fact, Chris said he was rather snippy. He informs Chris that they open at 8 am, but not to show up before 9am. He was apparently quite snippy.

Car located, the only thing to worry about now was how to get home… at 11:30p on Wednesday night… while standing here in the rain, stuck in Detroit… and nobody to call.
Eric? I thought? No. Not an option, I assured myself.Brad? Nope. Small child at home.Jason? Maybe… Chris tried him. No answer.

So, it’s approaching midnight and we’re in the rain in Detroit and we have no ride home. My phone battery was approaching zero. Chris had 30%. I have an Uber account, but Chris doesn’t. I suggested that he down load the application, and he does. Uber was charging a 4X premium because of increased volume due to the hockey game. I’m not sure I’d want to pay full price for an Uber to Toledo in 1X conditions, never mind 4X. It would have been cheaper to get a hotel room.

Chris decided to call his third-shift guy and see if he would come get us. He woke the guy up from a nap, but he was willing to come get us.

Unfortunately, he lives in Toledo and he isn’t used to driving long distances and hasn’t driven to Detroit before, never mind driving in the part of Detroit where we were standing in the rain. Chris instructed him to head north on 75 to the 10 freeway and to call us when he hit the 10. So, we had about an hour to kill.

Time – 11:45

We tried to find a restaurant or someplace to hide from the constant drizzle and get warm, but all we could find was the Detroit Greyhound station right at the Howard street off-ramp. On the walk there, we passed through some pretty sketchy parts of Detroit. It wasn’t quite Rape-Alley, but it wasn’t the part of Detroit you want to be walking around at almost midnight, unarmed. On one block, we crossed what looked like an abandoned homeless encampment right on the sidewalk. It came complete with the steaming sewer grate and the scattered/strewn-about old clothing and cardboard box pieces. I don’t think Hollywood could have prepared a more accurate depiction of Desperate Detroit.

On the walk there, we only encountered a couple people who asked if the Red Wings won the game (because we were wearing our Red Wings jerseys – Chris in his Datsyuk and me in my Zetterberg) we told them that they did win and that it was a great game.

We went down one alley by mistake and we had to backtrack up one one-way street after we walked too far and almost crossed the 10 freeway. Eventually, we made it to the Greyhound station, which is a lot nicer than the Toledo station. As we approached, we saw two guys standing in the designated smoking area. When we passed by, they asked if the Wings won and as we responded in the affirmative, they asked for money. Of course they did. Then, the same thing as we entered through the only open set of doors.

The front counter was vacant and there was a sign saying they’d return at 12:15. That seemed like a really long time in my head. I hadn’t put it together that we’d be sitting there much longer than that. The inside was fairly vacant. There was a security guard, a guy mopping the floor and one employee who was walking around checking doors or something. There were 3 people sitting in the large seating area. One old white guy who was minding his own business, one young Asian guy who was sitting with head-phones on and one black guy with dreadlocks and a blue hoodie sitting along the window.

I wanted coffee. No; I needed coffee. I had been up since 5:30 that morning and I was exhausted. I asked Chris if he had any ones and he offered a $5 by putting it into the change machine. It spat the money back out. Of course it did. He tried again. And… again. Then, I realized that I had a five, also and I pushed it into the machine in hopes that his was just too wrinkled or counterfeit. The machine summarily spit my five dollar bill back out just as it had done to his. And again. I flipped it around and shoved it into the slot one more time only to hear that familiar hum and grind while the machine prepared to spit it back out one more time. The sign on the change machine said that it dispensed one-dollar coins, only. As I walked away, I realized that there was a small game room off the vending area. Since video games take quarters, I figured there *must* be another change machine that dispenses quarters. Our luck was turning! There was a change machine in the game room and it accepted my $5 bill and spit out one million quarters (20 actually) that were immediately fed into the coffee machine and the soda machine. We celebrated this small win not even a little bit.

With coffee/soda in hand, we walked back toward the main counter, stopping just short of actually walking up to it. I wondered aloud if there was a bus to Toledo that we could catch. Just then, I spotted a schedule posted on the wall and we walked towards it, together. Nope. No bus to Toledo until 10:30 the next morning. There was, however, a bus from Dallas via Memphis and Nashville due to arrive within the next half hour. Glad to be out of the rain, Chris and I moved back toward the seating area, but we continued to stand. A moment later, a security guard walked over and asked us if we had bus tickets or if we were planning to purchase a bus ticket. I quickly informed him of our plight and he reluctantly and tentatively invited us to have a seat in the general seating area. Apparently we weren’t seen as a threat or vagrants who were just trying to stay warm/dry. Instead, we were middle class white guys who were trying to stay warm/dry. That makes all the difference in the world, I guess.

So, we sat in there from about midnight until about 12:45. What an experience that was. While we sat there, I kept getting eye-balled by the guy in the blue hoodie. Every time I looked away from the soundless TV tuned to CNN and scanned the room, we made eye contact. I get this. I get it a lot. I have a condition known as Resting Jerk Face. It’s something I’ve lived with a long time. It causes people to look at me to figure out what I’m mad at. This guy was looking at me with an intensity that was slightly different. I think he was trying to figure out if I was a cop or not and what this cop was mad about. *shrug* It’s a curse I live with.

The bus from Dallas arrived and about 50 piled into the bus station to wait for whatever was next for them. Among them was a mother with 5 children in tow. The little girl, probably about 2.5 years old was screaming/crying and running along behind mom. I turned to Chris and repeated a line that I learned from Teri, “It’s so hard to be little.” And it was hard to be that little girl. All she wanted was to be carried. It was so obvious from the type of scream, her body language and the way she was trailing right behind mom that I actually turned to Chris and said, “She just wants to be carried.”

There was a group of three Thai twenty-somethings who seemed out of place. They were well dressed and had North Face bags that were worth more than the entire contents of some of the other passengers’ luggage. There was a black guy that had tattoos all over his arms who placed some of his stuff to our right and then walked back toward the bus. As he passed, I got up to go throw away my now depleted coffee cup. I noticed the cigarette tucked above his ear and I thought, “Hmmm… at first I thought MMA fighter but the cigarette makes me doubt that.” As I returned from throwing away my cup, he was returning from the bus with two pillow cases stuffed with his belongings. I remember being that poor when I was in the USAF.

Sitting and observing the new crowd of people was our past-time until Chris’s buddy called a few minutes later. We made note of the three guys standing just outside the front/main doors of the bus station who were standing directly under the NO SMOKING sign, all of them smoking. Typical. Smokers are jerks.

Then, when Chris’ buddy arrived, we headed home. I think I’m still not designed to be a back-seat passenger. I felt like I was going to throw up the entire time. No matter, I was thankful to be in a car on the way home after a very eventful evening. Kuddos to this guy for agreeing to come pick us up despite the fact that he had never driven to Detroit before and had only ever been there a couple of times. Great guy. He was concerned about running out of gas and asked us where the closest gas station is as soon as we got turned around on and on the highway again. “Not in downtown Detroit.” was the answer. Chris assured him that we could make it out of the downtown area on what he had left in the tank (apparently about 1/8th of a tank). When we did stop, Chris filled his tank despite the protest from our savior.

At some point, we realized that we weren’t done with the shenanigans yet. When we go to hockey games, I leave all non essentials in Chris’ car, including my keys and my sunglasses.

Other notables in the car were Chris’s golf clubs and his backpack which contained his work laptop.

Chris and his buddy talked about the Dungeons and Dragons session that Chris had missed to attend the game and I sat in the back trying not to feel sick.

When we got to Chris’ house, we thanked his buddy and grabbed his spare key to my house and his backup key for my safe. Then, we had to go to my house and figure out how to get into the locked “toy room”/spare bedroom because that was locked, too. Luckily, Chris had a spare key for that, too. After I got my spare car key out of the safe, we left my front door unlocked and went back to Chris’s house to get my car. When I returned home, I spent a few minutes looking online for information about how to dispute a parking ticket/tow in Detroit. Of course, they don’t want to make it easy on you so there’s not a whole lot of information on their web site about that. But, I was mad about the whole thing so I had to look before I went to bed. Otherwise, I would lay there and stew about it.

My head finally hit the pillow at 2:10am. I was too tired to sleep because my day started at 5:30 am yesterday with a meeting with the South Africa team. I watched three episodes of How I Met Your Mother before forcing myself to lay there in silence until sleep took me. I may have gotten 2 hours of sleep.

The plan for Thursday was for me to drive us back up to Detroit to that tow-yard where they said they thought they had Chris’s car. We would meet at 1pm and use the afternoon to get shit straightened out. Early on Thursday morning, Chris informed me that the afternoon wasn’t going to be fun.

When Chris called the tow yard back in the morning, they said that they were mistaken last night. They, in fact, don’t have his car. They must have towed a different 2013 Dodge Dart. So, Chris had to call the Detroit police to find out where his car was. Apparently, the Michigan police told him that the car isn’t “properly registered to you” so they couldn’t tell him anything about where it is or the fine. They said that he had to bring a copy of his registration to a Detroit police precinct with valid ID and they would tell him what he needed to know to get his car back.

Since his registration is in his car, he had to make a trip to the Ohio DMV to get a copy of the registration, first. He took care of that during a down-time at work. At 1pm, when I arrived at his house, he was ready to go.

My morning wasn’t without event, either. I walked 9/10ths of the way to my office before I realized I didn’t have a key. I had to walk all the way back to the reception desk and get the master key, go unlock my door, and then return the key.

While we milled around Wednesday evening, we heard rumblings among the other affected drivers last night about a towing-fee in excess of $250. $250 for a police tow?! Holy hell. That would suck.

To be sure we were covered, I stopped at the bank and withdrew $400 cash. You never know, right?