Plumbers Night At The Races

It was topless night at the Merritt Speedway dirt track in Lake County.

 My family was in attendance to view the Wood Tick 100 race night. Not understanding what “topless night” meant, and always priding myself on being a team player, I made certain I had on clean underwear.

The night was off to a rough start as we discovered upon arrival that had we worn all of our Budweiser apparel; we would have received two dollars off the admission price. A sign of the current economy was apparent as the two year old gaining entrance directly  in front of us was wearing a “This Bud’s for You” oversized onesie. I was looking for a Bud Light hat to grab off of someone’s head to thrust onto my nine year old, but none were in reach. Full admission was paid. A sign of rain loomed in the clouds overhead, but a nearby sign promised rain rebates up to six races, so my husband’s wallet was put to ease.

We entered and found a precarious seating arrangement on some bleachers that made me envision numerous possibilities of collapse. The headline crossed the ticker of my mind as we sat on the old wooden planks, “Mother of Three Perishes in the Cheap Seats, saves family by cushioning their fall, thank goodness she had eaten all of those chili cheese fries….”

We quickly learned, to my relief and my husband’s dismay that “topless night” referred to the type of roof on the race cars that were competing.  Roll cages covered the racer’s heads rather than a traditional metal roof. No group nudity would be called for on this summer’s eve.

The energy at the track was high, the cars were awesome, and the people friendly. We were all having a great time. Until, that is, the happening happened.  My husband ‘happened’ to direct my glance to a portly gentleman about two rows below us who was sporting a most obvious and colossal plumber’s crack for the whole world to view.

It is like a train wreck; you simply cannot look away. (Why do we always say ‘train wreck’? Now, I have never actually witnessed an incident involving locomotives, but, I do have a second cousin with horrible taste in men. Every time I talk to her, I cannot help but ask, “Hey Karen how is Lance? Is he still in-between modeling jobs? Has that other guy ever paid you back the money you lent him to start his Karaoke business?” Now that is a train wreck!)

I digress. For the entire evening, until the first rain drop fell, I had a viewing process in place….cheese fry, race, crack, cheese fry, race, crack...after an hour and a half, the pouring rain, like the cleansing agent it is, saved me from myself. As the drenching ensued it was time to finally look away and race for our car. Of course we had just viewed race seven for the evening and would not qualify for the rain rebate.

As I rose from the bleacher, I heard my son groan. “Jeesh mom, nice plumber there! You shouldn’t wear those jeans when you sit on the bleachers anymore that is just nasty.” I reached behind me to verify my son's assessment, and sure enough, my T-shirt was a bit too high for the jeans I was wearing.  Those poor people behind me, they just wanted a nice night at the races. The horror.

 I can only hope that they are not writing about me today.