Kickball Andy

One evening, on my walk home from the Metro after the conclusion of my normal Tuesday evening kickball festivities, I struck up a conversation with a stranger, or rather a stranger struck up conversation with me.  Andy had noticed my kickball shirt and stopped me to ask about how to get involved with the league.  Being polite, I explained how to register, and we continued to banter for the next five minutes.  I learned that he was 26, married with a baby girl, and worked with some large companies, blah, blah, blah.  He appeared to fit the standard Arlington mold, so I felt comfortable exchanging numbers in case he had any questions related to kickball.

Two weeks passed, and I received a call from Kickball Andy, as I've saved his contact number in my address book.  During the conversation he asked if we could meet up and grab coffee to not only discuss kickball, but also about the possibility of me making some extra money on the side.  Disoriented and addled by his comments, I informed him that I would be leaving town for a ten day vacation and wouldn’t be returning until July 19^th.  I figured that was sufficient to deter any future correspondence of this kind.  I also wish my moral conscience permitted me to egregiously lie at a moment like this.

Sure enough, as predictable as the sun rising in the east, I received a call from Kickball Andy on July 19^th.  The voicemail was as follows;

Mr. Brian, what’s going on? It’s Andy ***********.  I met you out in Arlington and we were talking about some kickball and I asked you about the possibility of making some extra money on the side and just wanted to see if you could get together next week. I told you I’d call you tonight cuz you were out of town. I hope you had a safe trip brother.  If you can give me a call tonight, we can set something up and get some coffee this week.  I’d like to show you what I do, brother, if you’re down, you’re down.  If you’re not, you’re not. Alright brother.  Well let me tell you something, Andy. I'm not.

After brainstorming a list of every possible outcome of continued communication with Kickball Andy and determining that absolutely nothing positive can come from it, I did not return the call.

Texts from last night: You around big man?

I’ve yet to pin down what it is about me that invites strangers into my living room, but I’m pretty certain that in Andy’s case, it wasn’t the kickball.