Wednesday, November 05, 2008

A blast from the past

Janny found this email I wrote just after midnight on Thu, 15 Apr 1999. I am leaving it here for you -- untouched and unedited. Although, I desperately wanted to do so.


So, it is a calm Wednesday night. And Janice and I decide to go play pool to celebrate the ending of another semester of school. It is 10:00 p.m. when we arrive at our friendly neighbourhood pool hall. At first all goes well, until Janice expresses unhappiness with the length of her pool cue. This goes to show that no one is ever content with the size of their stick. Anyways, to avoid further complaints I suggest that we share cues. I hand her the cue, but prematurely release it before she has a firm hold. (I am told this is a problem for many people) The cue - freshly chalked - stabs Janice in the breast, leaving a bright blue slash across her white shirt. This incident sets the scene for our night.

The first two games we played went without incident. We played well and won for the first time in weeks on our own accord rather than because of a great blunder by the other player. Until the third game all goes smoothly. And then, because I have been playing for seven years without improvement of any kind, I sank the eight ball. Sigh. It was a sign from God. We just should have gone home.

Suddenly, a young gentleman arrives at our table. He is tall and scruffy looking, but moderately shy and seemed very nice. He inquires if Janice and I would like to play a game of pool with himself and his friends. I stumble about looking for words to politely back away without screaming and I look at Janice for help. I told her it was up to her. She said it was up to me. I said that I didn't care, she could decide. She said nothing. So I accepted. I could not be responsible for squelching the spirit of such a brave young man.

He returns to his group of friends and we notice that they are drawing straws to decide who will be lucky enough to join our prestigious game. Lucky for us, the oldest one and the drunkest one decided to play. Philippe and Eric. Sigh. What had I gotten us into?

Eric was the guy who first approached us. Philippe was his friend from work. (They are construction guys who prop up the quickly sinking legislative building - who knew it could sink?) Philippe is from California and speak little to no English. He does however offer each of us a drink about thirty times. Eric racks and spends five minutes lining up the balls. Then he saunters over to the end of the table and suavely suggests that we split up teams. He looks at me and points his finger, "I'll be on your team". Oh, okay.

We play horribly. Janice - because she was terribly afraid (and not just a little angry at my lack of a backbone), Philippe - because he just did, Eric - because he was SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO drunk and myself - because I am SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO bad. Eric cannot be convinced to play when it is his turn. He spends his entire time trying to tell me that he is nervous and he has never done this before. Janice (fed up with it all) decides to play for him, for fear that if she doesn't she will never get home. And the rest of the friends gather around our table just watching the action.

Finally Janice sets me up for the perfect shot and we win. Well, Eric and I won, Janice just gracefully declined to win. And we bid our adieus as I had to work terribly early in the morning. (I don't but he will never know) And we leave. Me apologizing profusely to Janice, but proud of the fact that I can still attract drunk Native men. At least I haven't lost it all.


I am participating in NaBloPoMo for November. Why? I hate you. It's true.

1 comment:

  1. Aww, my misspent youth in pool halls. By youth, I mean I was 21 years old. I told some friends from high school the story shortly after and my friend Keith used to work with Eric at KFC. It was even more mortifying that my friend knew the guy. At least we can laugh about it now.


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