Anti Karma

Some things are just hexed from the get-go. Northwestern Football, for example. Much like the billy goat from Wrigley, there is a wildcat roaming this country, cursed. The Rose Bowl incident from a few years ago? Best forgotten. (Although Mr. Johnson, I have not in fact, forgotten. And USC is receiving some serious karma right now, as we speak.) But I digress..
Yes, so this year, at the announcement of the Outback Bowl invite for NU, I impulsively demanded that we go. "It will be fun," I said. "It will be nostalgic," I said. "It will be without kids," I said.
So, M begins to work on tickets. He buys tickets through Northwestern so that the school receives 'credit' for selling out its allotment of tickets. M begins to work on the hotel issue. Hotels appear costly, and he begins negotiations on Priceline. He bids on a price, having a specific hotel in mind. However, unbeknown to him, there is ANOTHER hotel within his radius that fits the parameters of his bid. And he wins that hotel with his bid. We look up the hotel, which appears to be very nice. However, his bid was $10 more than the hotel's listed price. At least we will get a good room...
Tickets arrive in the mail. While they are in the student section, they are the worst seats in the stadium. They are a few rows up from the field, but in the end zone, which means that any play run from the near ten yard-line to the end zone will be invisible to us; as will any play from the fifty yard line to the far end zone. Oh, well. We'll be with our comrades.
The drive to Tampa was uneventful, if long. But, we pulled in to our hotel without any damage. Our room is adjacent to the exercise room and the phht phht phht of the exercise equipment. It is also directly under the housing for the elevator Bzzt. Stop. Bzzt. Stop. Bzzt.
Beautiful day, that day of driving. Football weather? 50s and pouring rain. Brr.
At the stadium, M found himself in a foul mood because the hotel had failed to deliver on its promised stadium shuttle. Instead, the hotel drove people to the stadium in Town cars (four or 5 at a time) for $20 per person/round trip. As we entered the stadium, the "guard" confiscated M's Reese's Pieces. Which was not too galling, until we went inside and the concessionaire was selling Reese's Pieces for $8.
I know when not to bug M for a souvenir, but game wear was one souvenir I had to have. Overpriced shirt? Stupidly expensive hat? Wisely, and like a dad, he says, "you don't want to have to hold on to it for the whole game, we'll pick one up on the way out."
Sit through rain. More rain. More rain. One of our friends, who we were planning to see after the game, is forced to cancel because of his status as designated driver.
AMAZING COMEBACK...thwarted. Glum, heartbroken, we exit the stadium. I stop at the souvenir stand to buy my shirt. Wisely, and like a dad, M says,"I flagged down this dude in a golf cart who will drive us to the shuttle drop off point. Then we don't have to walk over a mile in the rain. You can buy your shirt online."
This is true. And walking in the rain is not appealing when the adrenaline of pregame is gone. We hitch a ride with the golf cart dude, and he does, in fact save us a hell of a walk. We are the first ones to the shuttle, and since it only holds four, we are stoked to be shoo-ins. The plus two are Auburn fans. Silence on the ride back to the hotel. Dinner? Two and a half hour wait...take out it is. The drive home? Uneventful except for our single gas stop at DeSomething Springs, Florida. This hamlet has only one functioning gas station. And a Burger King. Which we eschew for the slightly less revolting WhatABurger. I race into WhatABurger's potty. And slam, with great force, a door on my fingers. Crying, I wolf down my burger and drive the rest of the way home. WhatAnOwie.
I order my shirt and hat online on January 2. I receive confirmation and shipping date for January 5. I wait and wait. Yesterday, after still not receiving my souvenirs, I check the tracking information which confirms the shirt was delivered on the 7th. I go outside, look under bushes, NO FREAKING SHIRT.
Look, karma. We overpaid for our room, watched a losing game on the Jumbotron, sat in world's most overpriced shuttle, compromised on take out, filled our car with watery gas, broke two fingers, didn't get to see friends, and gave up our Reese's Pieces. I want MY FREAKING SHIRT NOW.
Please?