Vancouver Mounties General Manager Aaron Wharram could see the panic. His eyes were filled with it. HIs mind was racing as he witnessed the horror from the coziness of his dilapidated general manager's suite at the Northpost Outlook, more affectionally referred to as "The Outhouse".
"Sir, what do we do" a voice rang in Wharram's ears. He continued to look around the stadium. A teenage boy waved frantically as if he were being chased by a swarm of bees. A woman yelled a blood curdling scream as streams of tears rolled from her eyes. "It burns" she yelled while rocking in her seat, clutching her purse. Wharram's eyes panned to the concourse area down the first base line. A man ran frantically up and down as if trying to find an escape route. He hurdled a small child who was in the fetal position laying on the concession stained concrete. Finally a man came by and scooped up the boy in his arms and raced towards what he hoped was an exit.
"Sir, do we open the roof, sir. Perhaps that will help remove the smell" the voice rang again? By this time the displeasing smell of urine had infiltrated the glass encasing of the general manager's suite. Wharram's nose scrunched up as the odor singed the hairs inside his nostrils. The gaseous vapor was mostly invisible, but you could see a slight yellowish tint in the air.
"NO!" Wharram exclaimed. "The weather is bad outside. The roof stays closed. This is nothing new. It'll pass. Just give it time" Wharram barked back at the assistant.
"But sir, it's ba...." the assistant retorted but was interrupted by Wharram.
"I said the roof stays closed" Wharram yelled.
Just then the door to the suite burst open from behind. "We need to evacuate the stadium. NOW"........
As the words echoed in his head, Wharram snapped to. He looked around. Everything was calm. Fans weren't screaming, at least the few that were in attendance. Baseball was being played. He looked around. Found the scoreboard. Portland 3 - Vancouver 0, bottom 9. He looked to the mound and saw Alaric Wullenweber throw a pitch, the ball was lined to rightfield and caught. Fans stood up and began to leave.
"Was the game over?" Wharram thought in his mind. "What had happened" he thought to himself?......
- Wilson, watching it all unfold on tv
Wilson pounded down one more beer and walked out of the bar with a smile on his face. He took a deep breath, the satisfaction of the night's good fortune filling his lungs. He choked. Gagged a little. "Fuck" Wilson murmured to himself. "This city smells like piss."
Wilson then got in his car. His driver took him back to the hotel where he slept comfortably in his bed that night.
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