We’ve been tooling around San Antonio this morning, drinking up the town’s legendary sites, like The Alamo - cool!
(Why we’re here: The Alamo and officially licensed Memphis mouse pads)
When we turned on the radio this morning, here’s the first thing we heard a morning host on a local station say: “I think maybe it’s a sign our city is growing up. We’re no longer all that impressed with hosting big events, like the Final Four. I can’t justify spending $1,000 for a ticket to one of the games. … I have to go cut my grass tomorrow.”
Blasphemy! We immediately hit “scan” on our crappy car radio, and settled into some ranchero music on 1730AM. We had no idea there was still music on the AM dial. Thank you San Antonio!
(Actually, our road to nowhere)
So we’ve gone through the Alamo, and checked out some of the exciting activities that San Antonio has to offer, which we’ll get into later. The one thing we will fill you in on is our shocking run-in with Alamodome security this morning.
We were a little wary about bringing anything into the building (see hidden laptop), so we only brought a small bag to the arena-on-steroids. But apparently Mr. $7.25-per-hour at the security gate decided that our bag (really a wrinkled sack) was not allowable (as we watched uncredentialed folks slide by us with ginormous satchels).
We were completely stonewalled. Somehow, we resisted insulting the security guy, despite his body-by-Golic physique and teeth that reminded of the Miami Dolphins’ mangled draft strategy the past decade.
We’ve since retreated back to our fleabag palatial hotel (located directly beneath the interstate, how convienent!) and we’ll make another run of it here shortly.