I'm Just a Kid That Tried Too Hard

There was no place to park. There never seems to be when there’s any event at The Garden, especially a Bruins game. It brought out so many people. Not that I minded. It was always interesting seeing the people who came through. I liked it much better than the Celtics’ crowd if I’m being 100% honest.

I worked at one of the food joints the lined the entrances to the rink or court. I got decent money and it kept me busy. My co-workers weren’t horrendous except for the occasional annoying teenage boy who comes through hoping to meet a player. They usually leave when they realize that’s a rare occasion.

Tonight is a Bruins game. I can hear everything but I only get to actually see a game when someone comes to take my shift early for some reason or another. Unfortunately, tonight is not one of those nights. The game was about half way through the second period and there was still a constant line of people asking for waters or sodas. I, being 19, am not allowed to touch the alcohol. The garden wanted to look classy I guess.

The next guy in line asks for a sprite, “and hey, a number would be nice too.” He flashes me what he obviously think is a winning smile. It’s not. This guy is easily in his mid-forties and that is just not my thing. In all honesty, relationships in general didn’t intrigue me too much at all, whether it be with a creepy guy like him or anyone really.

I hand him a sprite wordlessly. He took the hint and walked off. The clock read 8:23. I get off at 9:30. With another sigh, I turn to the next customer with a smile, “What can I get you?”
The Bruins won. The clock reads 9:15. Looks like I’m on clean up duty. I could judge by the cheers and the overlapping and drawn out “TUUUUUUUKKE” coming from the audience. It really is something to hear. People start leaving by the masses. Many head to purchase a jersey or some food for the ride home. Rush hour. I’ve always been good at this, even dealing with the cranky old people who don’t want to deal with people.

When there were only a handful of people milling around the area I went into the stadium bit. It’s amazing seeing what people leave behind at their seats. I usually search for wallets to turn in, or loose money sitting around. I have a good eye for stuff like that. I have a handful of odd things when I reach the glass. I stop and look out at the ice. The zamboni driver had already come through and the ice looked like glass.

I started to circle the rink. I stop at the boxes where the players sit. There’s a wallet under the Bruins’ bench. I gingerly step in, like I’m over stepping a boundary. Why would anyone have their wallet at the bench anyways? I shake my head at the ridiculousness of people. I pick it up and open it, trying to find a name or any clues to who the wallet could belong to.
“Patrice Bergeron” I read out loud to myself in something of a state of awe.

“Yes?” A soft voice comes from behind me. I jump at the sound, almost dropping the wallet. I turn around and look up to see Patrice Bergeron looking at me patiently. He smiles, “I think that that’s my wallet.”

I nod and hand it over wordlessly. He accepts it and puts it into his pocket. “Thank you. I thought I had dropped it in the parking lot. I was hoping that it’d be in here.” I nod again, no words coming to me. It’s not that I’m star struck. It’s more that I don’t feel the need to speak more than is absolutely nessacery. Still, I offer up a quiet “you’re welcome”.

His eyes squint slightly, “You look familiar. Do you work here?” I nod, giving up a small smile. It’s nice to be recognized. It’s even nicer to be recognized by a Bruin. “I work at the little food shack over there and come down here to, well, find people’s wallets.” I shrug. He laughs. “Well, you do a good job. Thank you again and I guess I’ll see you around sometime.” He offers out a hand to shake which I take. Then he’s gone.

I have worked here all this time and had been doing this job for awhile and had never spoke to the athletes or performers that frequented it. So that was cool to me. I continued on my search until my phone vibrated in my back pocket, signaling that I was free to go.
I go to the lost and found and deposit the findings, selfishly keeping a 5 dollar bill that was on the ground. I call it a tip for finding all these people’s belongings since I rarely get an actual thank you. I head out onto the street.

A block or so over, I stop at a CVS to buy a Reese’s pack and some vitamin water. I attempt to catch a cab but no way do they stop for me. Just about given up, I decide to start walking home. I’ve lived in Boston most of my life but I still didn’t like wandering the streets alone the later it gets into the night.

A dark grey Audi pulls up next to me. I back up, obviously not wanting to be snatched. The window rolls down and none other than number 37 himself appears. “Would you like a ride? It’s the least I can do.” There’s another voice or two inside the car, but I can’t make out what they were saying. After a moment’s hesitation, I nod and open the backseat door.
A guy in a suit moves over to make room for me. Inwardly, I thank myself for changing before leaving work into skinny jeans and a nice top. I would’ve died if I was in that obnoxious smock of a shirt I wore for work.

The guy in the passenger seat turns around and says hello. I instantly recognize him as Tyler Seguin. His face is honestly all over the place. If I’m being completely honest, the only reason I remember his face so clearly is because he struck me as looking so similar to Zack Merrick from All Time Low. I smile and say hello back. I turn to the man next to me. He’s looking out the window, not acknowledging me. I shrug to myself.
Bergeron catches my eye in the mirror, “That’s Tyler and that grouch next to you is Brad. I never caught your name though…” It’s obvious that this is the point where I’m supposed to supply them with that information.

“Oh..my name is Devin, and you can drop me off in a few blocks. The big green building.” He smiles easily, “Sure thing Devin.” Tyler turned around in his seat again, “So you work at The Garden?” I nod, feeling at ease talking to the smiling boy, “Yeah, I somehow manage it around all the school.” He laughs, “and how old are you?” I cross my legs before answering, “19, but my birthday’s in a few weeks.”

He offers up a fist to bump which I do so laughingly. Bergeron pulls up in front of my apartment building, “here we are.” I spring out of the car and go around to his window which he rolled down. “Thank you, really.” He nods, “Your welcome Devin. We’ll all have to go celebrate your birthday, yeah?” I blink. What? Did he just say that? Before I respond Seguin leans over to be heard, “Yeah, here, put your number in my phone!” He thrusts the phone out the window.

Reluctantly I put my number in. I think this is a bad idea. I don’t see a need to become buddy-buddy with hockey players, no matter how handsome they are. That is the very reason not to. I don’t need to be involved with guys. No no no. I hand it back to him with a small smile, “Goodnight gentlemen. Thanks again!” I wave and run up to the front door of my apartment.
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“You didn’t even say hello!” Tyler laughs at Brad who was still quiet, which is weird for his friend. Brad shrugged, “I didn’t see why I needed to.” It was just some random girl who Bergeron must know. She was of no relevance to him.

Bergeron laughs, “It’s polite! She’s a nice girl, who knows, maybe she’s single!” Tyler takes his turn to laugh. Brad rolls his eyes, “Okay guys. Whatever. I don’t need any girl whose name is Devin.”