Entitlement Program

“They spend three dollars to get into the place and they think they own the joint.” So is the observation of one of my fellow Peace Officers.

Upon walking through the gates at Saratoga Race Course some people morph into monsters of entitlement. The transformation is not flattering. For a mere three dollars the average pleasant person who would smile and say "excuse me" if you accidentally bumped your shopping cart by the potato bins at Price Chopper becomes wrapped in an attitude that would embarrass the South Park kids. Most carry the attitude in their coolers, while others have it tucked into their billfold.

To Be Rude

The New York Racing Association ( NYRA) stations a red vested hospitality corps at the gates. Armed with smiles, maps, brochures and a wealth of information these people can direct you to the nearest ATM, bathroom or any other location on and off site. They provide instructions on where to find your seat in the clubhouse, where to buy a cigar, or how to place a bet and where to celebrate or commiserate afterward. Never-the- less people stream pass this help and wander aimlessly through the grounds in search for information. When unable to obtain answers their three-dollar attitudes emerge.

By the time they find me aimlessly strolling through the grandstand to my post their patience is gone. The first race is still an hour and a half away. “Where do I get clubhouse tickets?” It’s a big ass building, how can you miss it?

Clearly agitated he went on, “I’ve had five different people tell me five different things. Do you know where to get clubhouse tickets?” He waved three general admission tickets under my nose.

What I know is that reserved seats are purchased at the main gate and general admission tickets can be exchanged at the gate to the clubhouse. So I asked, “What are you trying to do?”

Answering a question with a question frustrated him and he snarled, “If you can’t tell me, I’ll find someone else.” How's that been working for ya?

“I can tell you, but I need to know what you want to do. I hate to give you the wrong information. After all, I’m afraid you might hit me. I’m headed to the clubhouse entrance, but that might not be where you want to go. If it isn’t the right place, I’ll take you to where you can get a seat in the clubhouse. I’m just a little scared I might make you more frustrated.”

I saw him calculating a thought behind in his eyes. “I’ve got a couple of other people with me. Let me get them.” He disappeared into the crowd. When he initially approached me, I had been talking with a security guard. She now scurried away. Minutes went by and I began to think he wasn’t coming back. What did he look like? I can't remember. Make a mental note. Undress these people describing attire. When he returned, his mood had improved.

“I’m Bob,” he introduced himself as if we were meeting for the first time at a cocktail party.

I engaged in small talk as we walked to the clubhouse admission gate. When we arrived I offered, "If you need anything else, my post is right by the horse crossing.” He offered to bring me a beer. I declined but said, “Lemonade would be great.”

I never saw him again.

To Be Greedy

It’s a well-respected tradition to reserve a chair by leaving a newspaper on the seat. A picnic table can be held by placing a cooler on the table. Security will not resolve any disputes over claims. But we will toss people out who disturb the festive atmosphere of a summer afternoon at the races.

The amount of space a patron claims is inversely proportional to the knowledge one has about horseracing. Thus when someone comes to Saratoga and spreads out three acres of blankets to “reserve” lawn space near the horse crossing (prime real estate), it is an immediate signal that they have no horse sense, will smoke fat stinky cigars and will most likely place their bets prior to seeing the horses parade to the track. In other words, they will act like fools.

Such an invasion is tolerated by the regulars to a point in hopes the greenhorns will enjoy their experience and not interfere too much with theirs.

When one of the rookie interlopers staked out a piece of real estate that extended into the horse path a security guard moved the blanket. Thinking one of the other near-by patrons interfered with their claimed territory, a confrontation ensued. I foolishly found myself standing between the two shouting parties. I sounded like Arlen Specter for a moment. "Wait a minute Wait a minute." I suggested if they didn’t calm down I would show them off the grounds. (There was no freaking way I was going to kick the regular out because he provides water and cookies to the security guards and he places my bets.)

In typical juvenile fashion the response from interloper was, “Well you better say something to the other guy.”

I didn’t fall for that crap. With my best Peace Officer authority I bluffed, “I’m addressing you at the moment. Understand I’ll show you to the door if you don’t calm down.” Hell, I couldn’t move them off the ground any more than I can pick a winning horse.

Shortly thereafter, everyone kissed and made up. The interlopers eventually “snuck” into the clubhouse and we all said good riddance. Sometimes it is better to give up a little to gain a whole lot of peace.

To Be Privileged

Even in this tight economy, companies sponsor a day at the track, hosting their party in the “tents” where guests can eat and bet in for comfort of air conditioning. Admission is pricy and for that price the patrons are tagged with a tracking device placed around their wrist. With the bracelet they can roam freely in and out of the tents.

One door is no more than four feet from the horse path. On the other side the entrance to the horse path is surrounded by five foot high bushes. Patrons flow in and out of the tent on the tide of the races and horse likewise go u and down the path. It is an intersection made for disaster, especially because the outriders park their horses in the shade two feet away from the gate. People and horse often get very up close and personal. Visibility is restricted by horse butts and bushes. There is lots to watch out for, including the monitoring of glass bottles which are not suppose to cross the path.

Keeping people and horse separated is a challenge. I usually step into the middle of the path so I am visible to incoming horses and people crossing from my left and right. I eyeball the horse and rider to let them know that I know they are there and I make eye contact with people who are approaching. Most of the time people are preoccupied with the program, their winning tickets, their drinks or their cellphones.

I held up my hand to halt a patron’s return to the tent. He responded by showing me his bracelet. He apparently thought I was preventing him from entering. He snipped, “I have a gizmo.”

Just as a 1200 pound animal passed behind me, I responded, “I have a horse. Just saved your life.” That will be three dollars, thank you.