Why Plan? Good Things Happen Anyway

I think I read something like ten separate columns this week about how much Valentine's Day sucks.

Frankly, I'm glad that people don't feel like they have to pretend that they like Valentine's Day, or even that they have to ignore it. It's really kind of liberating to say openly that Valetine's Day sucks.

My new attitude about this arbitrary and ridiculous day of celebrating romance is not to wallow in despair over being alone, or to act like it's any ordinary day. This year, another single friend and I got our asses out of offices and had some fun.

We made a gameday decision to go see the Miami Heat play the Orlando Magic downtown at the American Airlines Arena. And it turned out to be a rather fateful choice, as the evening was supremely instructive for us both.

We're sitting in traffic on Biscayne in front of Bayfront Park. My phone rings. It is HIM. Yes, my long-time out of town crush. He called over the weekend and then we played phone tag; he finally returned my call. We chatted for 15 minutes; I laughed, he laughed more. He claims he's coming to see a Yankees spring training game with me. I doubt it will ever happen, but I appreciated the phone call nonetheless. It's nice to know that the person you're thinking about thinks about you, too, even if it means nothing more than that.

We finally found parking and walked to the ticket window. The only seats left cost $70. Completely deflated, we walked to Mango's, around the corner, to find a cheesy Valentine's Day party in progress, complete with bunches or heart-shaped balloons. The bar was empty. Not even couples were dining there. There were a few sad-looking singles at the bar, but we ordered mojitos regardless. A few sips into my drink, a slightly shady looking man in his 40s started talking to me. A few minutes of conversation and his life story later, he handed me a free spare ticket to the game and told us where to find the scalpers. And off we went.

Armed with $30 in cash, we approached the row of "brokers." Turns out we found a virtual wholesaler, the Wal-Mart of ticket scalpers, who sold us $44 worth of tickets for $30.

Into the Triple A we walked, bought beer and hot dogs and climbed to our nosebleed seats. We cheered, we watched five couples get married by a former Heat forward turned minister at half court during half time. In other words, everything worked out better than we dreamed.

When the night started, we had settled for going to see a gay love story on the big screen. Then for a basketball. Then, when all seemed lost, the night worked out better than imagined. At the end of the night we marveled at our good fortune and the fortuitous chain of events that made the night work out. Just goes to show, you can't plan for life. And good things happen, anyway.