While a patient at the Psych center, I spotted a sign up sheet for a trip to a Mets baseball game.
ANYTHING to break the boredom of the 24 hour Jerry Springer show.
Dress was casual-shorts, sweatshirt, no belt or shoelaces (suicide risk).
We have all been on the highway and seen a van full of people with ‘mental health challenges’, and invariably those people rock back and forth.
Such was the case for our Mets excursion. I was the only non-rocker.
Now, in my ‘normal’ days, I would never cross the bridge into NYC without a few hundred bucks cash. But this was a different time, a different life. Had zero dollars, zero cents.
So we sit in left field, and in the sixth inning I get bored, and take a tour of the ballpark.
And it was grand!
I head back to the seating area, and everyone is gone. Gone!
I think about going to a stadium cop, but visualized what he would see- a large man holding up his shorts, shoes flopping , looking for a New York State mental health van.
Nixed that idea.
Make a call to my friend in the city!
Curl up in a ball and whimper…
Walked out to the parking lot-size of Rhode Island. No idea where we parked!
Lot A1- nothing…hungry
Lot B2- gotta pee, freezing
Lot C1- spot a van, rocking….