A Post By: Michael Gallo
Every week, my buddies and I go bowling at a local bowling alley, as bowling alleys are typically the best place to go bowling. Some people use the term “every week” very loosely (people on probation), but I’m not exaggerating. We go EVERY week. They have .99 beers. You can’t beat that deal anywhere, so why try? However, as you can imagine the beer deals and the nature of the “sport” attract a pretty interesting crowd. Here are some notables from this week’s session:
-The bowling alley itself is located next to a grain processing factory. As soon as you get out of your car, you’re greeted by a fairly strong urine-like odor. Urine odors are a pleasant way to start off anything, but especially pleasant when you’re about to throw weighted balls at wooden pins.
-The family next to us appeared to be a small group of misplaced nomads. They had apparently emptied their car/home/tent/caravan of all its items and placed them conveniently on the seats between the lanes. Thanks for that! The daughter (?) weighed somewhere between 60-80 lbs and was anywhere from 12-25 years old. But, and here’s the kicker, her bowling name was Mommy. She was with two people who were clearly 20 to 30 years older than she was, so she was clearly not the “mother” of the group. Now keep in mind, they were nomads, so they could have some bizarre family structure, but it’s probably safer to assume she was pregnant. Ruh roh.
-After one of my turns (either a strike or a spare [I don’t fuck around]), I turned to the lanes near the back of the bowling alley and saw a kid standing about a fourth of the way down his lane, staring intently at his ball as it rolled down towards the pins. I thought about him slipping and knocking out all of his teeth on the greased lane and it made me happy in a weird way.
-AT LEAST three lanes were out of commission because of large gaping holes in the ceiling that were producing large quantities of water. The water was falling into conveniently placed buckets. Or onto disgusting looking towels draped over the lanes. That’s top notch maintenance right there. On a few separate Friday bowling sessions I’ve seen the mechanic who works in the back of the bowling alley. Holy shit, this dude looks like he knows a thing or two about getting weird. He always has on huge work books with a greasy jump suit and unkempt hair. I pictured him coming through one of the holes, and landing on a lane divider with chunks of ceiling and insulation falling around him. He’d kick and moan and say things like “oh shit my back!” or “Jesus help a sinner!”. Some people would laugh, some people would suggest helping him, but no one would.
Well, maybe the pregnant nomad mother-daughter.
Fuck words — BOWLING MEMES!!