Carolyn Brewster: Confessions of a NASCAR fan
Years ago, I vividly remember listening to a local disc jockey spin a hilarious tale about being denied entry into the garage at a NASCAR track. The radio personality was wearing shorts, which are a no-no.
Determined to visit the garage area, he went to the haulers and purchased the only long pair of souvenirs pants he could find, which just happened to be women’s pants. I recall thinking in my-you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-attitude what a “dweeb” this guy was.
At that point, I had never been to a NASCAR garage, but even I understood no open-toed shoes, no sleeveless shirts, and NO shorts were the hard-and-fast rules to entry in a NASCAR garage.
Fast-forward a couple years. I’m signing for a garage pass at the credential trailer, and I am super excited - we’re talkin’ really pumped. The lady looks over the counter and says, “They may not let you in the garage area with those.”
With what? What was she talking about? I had on closed-toe shoes, a T-shirt (with sleeves) and some comfy lightweight fabulous capri pants. I was good to go.
The lady behind the counter hollered for a second girl to come look. The two of them scrutinized me, exchanging under-the-breath comments. Having no formal pageant training, let me qualify that I found the entire inspection process slightly intimidating to very uncomfortable.
The verdict was agreed upon and delivered: I might not be given entrance into the garage because of my capris.
Humor me for a moment. Do you remember learning in geometry that all squares are rectangles but not all rectangles are squares? It turns out that all capris are pants but not the type of pants that will gain one entrance into a NASCAR garage.
Now, who’s the “dweeb” with pant legs of questionable length? That would be me.
I took my garage pass, now less-than-fabulous capris and left the credential office feeling completely deflated. I would at least try to gain entry into the garage area, and if worse came to worse, I could go buy some flannel pajama bottoms at a hauler.
I made my way to the infield and stood outside the garage area tucked away in the corner by the fence. I peered through the links and waited.
Several minutes had passed when I saw it: Not one but two ladies in the garage area wearing capri pants.
Seeing those capri-wearing ladies gave me hope. I decided to go for it, questionable pants and all. Bingo! I was in.
I spent little time in the garage area that afternoon mostly because I was ultraparanoid about my pants, I mean capris.
If one is lucky enough to get a garage pass, why risk entry with something as simple as your clothing? If an item is uncertain, remember, the more covered up, the better.
Next time, I won’t make the same mistake. If I don’t wear jeans or khakis, I’m leaning toward snow pants and long underwear.
