It’s cute how you all have high hopes for a romatic ending to my golden IMS Pole Day event ticket story.  Well, here’s the boring answer:

I gave up looking for a recipient and returned the extra ticket to the event office, where it was given to a patient on the wait list.  This was the resasonable solution, as the ticket was to the event area only, and would have bored to death any man who actually wanted to watch the race from something other than an air-conditioned tent with closed-circuit live TV broadcasting from the Track itself but not actually giving visual sight of the Track.

Here’s the cute ending, though:

After I finished working the event, I just wanted to go home. Maybe it’s because I’m a girl (and not a Danica-kind of girl), I could care less about watching a bunch of shiny, over-horsepowered cars zoom around an oblong track after seeing it in action for about three minutes.  That, and the over-aged frat boys hanging out in the Track yard were getting drunk and taking their shirts off to reveal copious amounts of gynecomastia.  Or maybe I was feeling overwhelmed at the foot traffic of over 15,000 people moving about in one place in search of a late lunch before their favorite driver went to the qualification round. At any rate, I was hot and tired, and I was done.

As I made my exit, I came across a small boy crying–a dark-haired, freckled boy maybe seven or eight years old.  He was looking around feverishly, obviously lost, and clutching his lunch box.  I thought I looked very unscary in my sneakers, ponytail, and children’s hospital tee-shirt, so I decided I could probablly approach him without scaring him further.

“Hey, bud. Are you lost?”

Sniff. “I can’t find my dad. Anywhere.  He was supposed to be going to the car–and I can’t find the car–and—”

My nanny instincts took over, and I started walking the lot with him, asking him where he thought the car was.  He sniffled and eventually got us close enough to a spot where I saw–being marginally taller than the boy–a 40ish year old man looking around with a worried look. 

“Looking for someone?” I called out.

And the man answered, “Yeah, my–”

“Dad!!!” squeaked the boy, recognizing the voice.

I still had my super-special Indy car garage pass, and I had no intention of using it. And the kid was still shaken and tear-stained. “Here, this will get you into the garage for free to go look at the cars.  Go ahead and take it. I won’t go.”

“Seriously? Awesome!!!”

So that, dear friends, is what happened to the other half of my own golden ticket.  So worth it, don’t you agree?

Lesson is:  calling up boys is silly when God decides to call you. 🙂