September 28, 2009
I recently decided to put the date on my posts to make it evident that I posted everyday. Since I did that I have been crappy about getting posts up. I swear I’m back on the wagon now. The Mystery Hour is this Friday night! This one will be a classic, I can already tell.
For the last prompt I asked: What is your favorite memory from a rainy day?
I will use Dan’s answer:
“…One thing I never understood is why parents/adults in general tell kids lies about what makes thunder. “God and the angels are bowling,” “God is playing drums,” or my personal favorite that my Uncle Jim told me once “the angels are stomp-dancing.”
First of all, though I like the sport, I can’t imagine that’s how I’d want to spend eternity in heaven…bowling.”
I had to shorten Dan’s answer to just the pertinent information. It’s funny, you can read the whole thing. Bowling, the most majestic of all the liquor and smoke based sports. Everyone has an opinion of bowling ranging from, “I hate it,” to “I love it,” to “last time I went I woke up in the claw machine and I had to wait for the manager to manuever the claw perfectly to get me out.” There was a great local commercial where I grew up, Iowa City, where a guy says, “Aaawww, last time I went bowling all I got was gutter balls.” Then his wife responds with, “It’s okay, now they have bumper lanes.” Classic.
Here is a rundown of the people you will see at a bowling alley:
-Shirley. She’s been coming there for years. In fact, it’s where she met her first three husbands. Shirley is dressed in stonewashed jeans and sweatshirt commemorating the bicentennial of something. She has her own ball that has her initials in it, S.O.S. When she’s not at the bowling alley she is watching reruns of Grace Under Fire. Whenever someone gets a 7-10 split Shirley mutters between gasps on the cigarette, “I used to be able to do the splits.” Then she coughs uncontrollably.
-Bryce. He’s the guy playing at the lane by himself because he can’t be disturbed. He’s training for regionals. He’s wearing loose fitting jeans, a shirt with cut off sleeves and bowling gloves, that he actually wears most waking hours. He tries extra hard to look ticked off, just to be sure that everyone knows that he usually does better. After picking up a difficult spare he coolly exclaims, “Booyah.”
-The Youth Group. The nearby youth group from First United Methodist Church has two lanes and the smell of Axe Body Spray and Skittles overpowers the natural odor of the place. Katelyn and Jordan are totally flirting while Miles looks on. This group is legitimately ticking off Bryce. After Trey, the most popular one, gets a strike they all go into a cheer they learned at camp, “You saw it, you want it, now watch me flaunt it!” They follow it with a dance involving lots of bottom shaking.
-Dennis. He’s worked at Pinheads, the bar inside of the bowling alley for 16 years. He’s seen it all. He wears jeans with a denim shirt sipping on some water. Alcohol? He don’t touch the stuff anymore. He could tell all kinds of stories about what he’s seen in the place. Every story ends the same, “It surely wasn’t ‘Nam, but it was pretty bad.”
-Tina. She sprays the shoes and occasionally the bowling ball holes when she’s feeling generous. “What size? But I’ll tell you right now we don’t have half sizes, so don’t even ask.”
-Frank, Ann, Randy, Travis. The college students who are soon joining a bowling league creating a team name that will be a hilarious acronym of their names, F.A.R.T. They are drinking from a pitcher of PBR and snickering at the genius of their team name. “Oooh, gutter ball, if you know what I’m saying!” Travis hates Frank but Frank doesn’t know it yet. It will come out much later during a heated league match that was supposed to be fun.
-The Foreign Exchange Student. Hasad is from a country that discourages bowling. He was drawn to the American game and put it on his wish list when he got to the States. He is wearing slacks and a turtleneck taking notes in the corner. Things aren’t quite as shiny as he thought they would be. Often he will awkwardly congratulate the bowlers for good frames. “You really are quite good, sir. America!”
-You. You are looking for a ball that is light enough and has finger holes big enough for your somewhat chunky fingers you inherited from your dad’s side of the family. You say things like, “Why can’t they organize these frickin’ balls? How hard would that be?”
Next prompt: What is your dad’s favorite thing to say?