I’ve Forgotten How To Behave In Public

Los Angeles, where I live, is starting to open up a bit! Yay!  On top of that, I’m vaccinated! Double yay!

I’ve come to the conclusion, that as much as I have supported the closures and definitely kept up pretty strict  protocols for the safety of myself and others, this  couldn’t have happened a moment too soon. I fear that  I forgotten how to behave in public.

I’m not quite at the completely inappropriate stage yet – I’ve yet to mouth off at idiot strangers , but a few more months of quarantine and all bets would be off. Especially at the chin maskers.

The first time I entered a Target store in more than a year, I walked around with my mouth gaping (but covered.) I felt like a refugee from a Third World country. So many products! So bright! I was in sensory overload and wandered around for an hour before leaving without buying a single thing.

I personally don’t care that Dodger Stadium is allowing fans inside, and I’m not really ready to hit a movie theater, but I was giddy to head to Santa Anita. The track opened to the public for the first time in over a year on two weeks ago on Friday. The next day was the Santa Anita Derby.

Naturally, I went.

Because of the social distancing and capacity rules – it was only open to 25% capacity –  reservations were required and  My friends and I reserved a table in the usually hoity-toity Terrace Turf Club.

Well, la de da, you might be thinking. Maybe not.

At least temporarily, Santa Anita has dumped the dress code requirements for the Turf Club, so we were free to wear anything our hearts desired. Since this was practically my first foray out of the house, I decided to up my game. A bit.

I dumped my tired jeans, trashed sneakers and ratty Breeder’s sweatshirt and instead pulled out black pants, a nice sweater and Doc Martins. I felt like I was dressed for the Met Gala.

In normal days a snooty ,old and male maître di would have led us to the cloth covered table with decent china, fresh menus and crisp Racing Programs. This time, a bored, masked teenager pointed us vaguely in the right direction and wished us luck. Ordering would be done via an app.

It should have been smooth as silk. We only needed to download the app to access the food and beverage menu, and then take a photo of the QR code glued on the table so the server would know where to deliver the items.  It was simple. Not quite.

Santa Anita has notoriously bad cell service, particularly when there are crowds. The overwhelming comment during most Breeder’s Cup events is “can you get service?” The answer is always “no.”

It took us the better part of a half hour, working two phones with different carriers before we could download the app and order our now badly-needed drinks. Finally we got confirmation that the order had gone through. Success!

It was finally time to focus and get down to the business at hand. Horses were coming onto the track for the second race. Unfortunately, programs, like the china, silverware, napkins and menus, were missing. So was the incredibly helpful person who usually floated around giving betting information and handing out extra programs.

No worries. I figured, the maître de would have a pile of them. Nope.

The only place to get programs was back at the admission gate.

I’m glad I didn’t go for the Met Gala stiletto heels. (That’s a joke. I don’t own any. But plenty of people were tottering around on them.) I jogged back to the entrance, grabbed three programs and ran to the Turf Club.

I got back just in time to get to the betting windows, exchange pleasantries with one of my favorite tellers and place my first losing bet.  We were both so relieved that we were back after a year’s absence he didn’t give me a hard time about my picks. In retrospect, I wish he had.

Back at the table, I squished past the people in the next table – six feet apart my ass! and settled in.

Gone were TV’s on every table of the Turf Club that broadcast not only the Santa Anita races, but the Saddling Barn, the Walking Ring and many other tracks. Which is how the Wood Memorial, an important Derby Prep race running in Aqueduct was almost half over before we realized that it was being shown on the infield Jumbotron.

No wonder the man in the next table was so grumpy when I blocked his view as I pushed past him to my chair.

Oops.

After the Wood concluded, (whoopie Bourbonic!) a masked server brought our bottle of Procecco and three glasses. In an attempt to be attractive, the disposable glasses were tall and had slightly rounded bottoms. This might have worked if they were made of hefty glass, giving. It didn’t work so well with plastic.

Remember those children’s toys, Weebles?  (“Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down!”) Except these glasses fell down really easily, sending alcohol everywhere.

Almost before the server had disappeared, taking extra napkins with her, the first glass tipped over. Okay, somebody accidentally hit it with an elbow. Turf Club tables are pretty small. They are especially tiny when crowded with programs, Racing Forms, eye glasses,  bottles and drinking glasses.

We mopped up the mess, carefully drying what we hoped would be winning tickets. (They weren’t.)

It wasn’t long before another full glass hit the deck. And then another. The good news is that with the spectacle we were making, the people in the table next to us moved as far away from us as they could. Social distancing achieved!

I’m not sure how I became the designated bettor, but I was the one who kept running back and forth to the ticket window, clutching everyone’s money and scribbled notes. Most of the time I did it correctly. In my defense the two times I screwed up someone’s bet (wrong horse, wrong placement) the mistake came in, so everyone was happy.

We were pretty careful about masking. The Turf Terrace is outside, but when we weren’t drinking or eating, we masked up. 

Expect for that one time I ran to the window moments before post time. It wasn’t until I returned and sat back down at the table, that I realized I’d forgotten my mask. I was mortified.  And yes, the next time I bet, I tipped my friend the teller well.

Being back at Santa Anita was so incredibly comfortable and at the same time, completely weird.

We even found our car in the gargantuan parking lot immediately. A first for Derby Day.

That’s why it kind of made sense that a guy on a motorized skateboard wearing a jet pack passed us as we drove home.  

LA is getting back to normal. Thank god.