My Grandpa was a Professional Bowler

The roommate and I just got back from an excursion to the bowling alley. She was supposed to be meeting some people there, from one of her classes, and invited me along because she needed some sort of back-up. She also mentioned the guy to girl ratio of the class to be about 1 to 15, men to ladies, and that it'd probably be a good experience for me.

I laughed.

As we stepped into the bowling alley, immediately my senses were inundated with the type of stimulus that only bowling alleys can provide. Open spaces, yet there is definite territory, unseen, yet established. Then the noise, the crack of balls on pins, the bad radio music, the talking. And then smoke, and the smell of beer. There's something so strange to me about bowling alleys.

There were many people there, mostly college aged, perhaps some a bit younger. Yet all seemed to possess the air of people who belonged in this bowling alley, found comfort in bowling alleys, their social scenes, where they go to hang out. This is what we do on Wednesday night... I never really found this form of social entertainment very suitable for me. Though I certainly haven't minded the few bowling outings I've gone on. Most happened to coincide with either work parties, or lots of alcohol, and I figure this is a sport I can endorse, one that sort of begets drinking, and smoking, and its a sport.

Still, I was a stranger in a strange land, and I knew this fact. (These people can smell fear!) After a brief walk through of the place, Roommate could not find the group we were to meet up with, so we headed inside the bar to grab a drink, our only defense against the fact we were not in our element.

We sat there with our beers and discussed such things as money, and winning the lottery, and how that would and wouldn't change us if we were lucky to have won. What we would do if suddenly we found ourselves freed from the world of crappy day jobs, the confines of being poor.

She would buy real estate, and probably start a business of some sort, and devote lots of time to art, and photography. I would probably buy a large house, just so friends could come and either live with me, or stop in from time to time. Some place warm year round. Somewhat remote, but near enough to a city. Beyond that, I don't know what I would do. Probably not much more than I do now. Except I'd have lots of toys, expensive crap, a nice tv, but I probably wouldn't enjoy it much. Maybe have it around for company and such.

Around us the regulars hung around the bar. I found myself wondering about all of these people, these people that frequent this bowling alley bar; this is their The Bar, their hang-out, their Cheers... The roommate and I would stop talking in mid sentence at times, entranced by a sudden ongoing narrative that we couldn't help but eavesdrop in on. Stories of tax fraud. Work. An angry drunk man, seemingly just angry, taking it out on people around him. A guy with a mustache talking loudly, laughing at his own jokes...

I wanted then, to know who these people were. To hear their stories, to see what drives them, to know their misery, their reason for laughter and love, what makes them go on in this world...

...

We then vowed to hang out at a bowling alley bar, just to drink at a bowling alley bar, to say we did that. Even though we did do it. The class people we were to meet, had come to the bowling alley, found it full of people, and left for another alley across town. Sorry ladies, no Gaius for you tonight.

This prompted me to remember Chicago, and all the old man Polish bars that scattered the neighborhood where I used to work, the ones I always wanted to go drink at, but never did because I felt like I'd be invading their world for some reason. That it would just be novelty for me.

I really just wanted to meet the old Polish men, get them to tell me a story or something. And to drink beer, of course.

Which reminds me, I never did go drink at Rite Liquors (on my old to-do list I had in Chicago), one of the seediest places I can remember in Chicago. A liquor store with a bar in it! And a pool table. And really cheap tobacco. And very sketchy peoples there.

...

Though I secretly wish we had gone to the other bowling alley.

Not to meet the ladies, but to hang out in that bar. They have karaoke there, and its a very, very, I repeat, very strange mix of regulars that do karaoke there. From what I remember.

And for some reason I just recalled Valentines day from a long time ago, an old girlfriend that I took to the bowling alley for Valentines Day, because I didn't want to have a traditional VD date. We bowled awkwardly, and then attempted Karaoke.

I requested Sweet Caroline, an old fave of mine. The MC came to our table looking all forlorn, and told me that someone else had already picked them song, so I made up a story about how my girlfriend's name was Caroline (it wasn't) and that it was our song (it wasn't), and its Valentine's day, so...

Still, she couldn't say yes to me, and she obviously felt bad, which made me feel bad, and she apologized profusely. I don't like to lie, even if it was meant to impress the girl I was with at the time...

...

So here's to you bowling alleys. Such strange, strange worlds to me.