Bowling With Pinheads

Let me preface this post by saying that I hate bowling. Why, I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with inserting my precious feet in a pair of red and white rental shoes that have been previously worn by God knows how many slack jawed rednecks. Or maybe it has something to do with inserting my delicate little fingers in three dark, germ-filled holes, contorting my back into a painful and awkward position, and throwing an oily 16-pound ball down a wooden floor in hopes of knocking down ten pin-like objects.

Now that you know my official stance on bowling, you can imagine my thrill when I found out the company I work for was sponsoring a team outing to the local bowling alley. It's their little way of saying, "We appreciate the extra work you've been putting in, but we don't want to give you any actual money or time off." And because the big event was scheduled during company hours, I had no way of getting out of it.

My team was composed of three blithering idiots (myself excluded, of course). Let's take a moment and meet this all-star lineup:

Salsa Boy - This guy is a class-A douchebag and attention whore. In addition to hir passion for Mexican condiments, turns out he's also a hardcore bowler. The day of the outing, Salsa Boy brought his custom-made titanium bowling ball and tote bag into the office and paraded them front of everybody. He was making such an ass of himself, I decided to have a little fun at his expense...so during lunch, I paid a visit to the Piggly Wiggly* across the street. Upon my return, I waited for Salsa Boy to leave his cube for a moment, and then I replaced his prized bowling ball with a delicious cantaloupe. The idiot didn't even realize it until we got to the bowling alley, and let's just say he was not a happy camper.

Smelly Indian Chick - You know the type. Every office has at least one, but if you're in IT, you're bound to have at least three or four. She's really petite and shy, and judging from her pungent aroma, she's not much into personal hygiene. Turns out Indian Chick had never bowled before, which took me a bit by surprise. Seems to me with all the time she saved by not showering, she would have had a chance to bowl a game or two.

Black Guy - He was actually the smartest member of the team. He faked a lower back injury to get out of playing. (You know those colored types - they always find a way to get out of doing things.) Anyway, Black Guy spent the entire afternoon swilling beer and eating greasy onion rings. Fucking bastard, I wish I had thought of that.


We all arrived at the joint at 3pm Friday afternoon. Holy shit, things have changed the last time I set foot in a bowling alley. This place looked like a fucking 70s dance club! Dim lighting, a disco ball, and multicolored chasing lights running between each lane. I think Indian Chick had a seizure, but it was too dark to tell. I was waiting for Vinnie Barbarino to come out in a white suit and juggle bowling pins. Wasting no time, we walked over to the counter to sign in.

"Give us a lane, bitch!" I told the flunkie. They like it when you're firm.

"Umm...ok, lane 13," he replied. "What size shoe?"

"Gimme a 24, you jerkoff. Where's my goddamn scorecard?" I asked.

"There are no scorecards. It's all computerized."

"Computerized??! What the bloody fuck??! I'm a data administrator, I came here to GET AWAY from computers! I want one of them overhead projector deals where I can make naughty shadow puppets on the screen! YOU STUPID SACK OF SHIT!"

I was starting to get annoyed, so I decided to take a sedative before I said something I might regret. We all headed for our lane, took a moment to smell each other's rental footwear, and grabbed our balls.

Salsa Boy decided to show us how it was done. He whipped out his titanium cantaloupe, took three steps forward, and chucked that fucker all the way down the alley...and INTO THE GUTTER. He shook his wrist and muttered something about hurting it. Please. This idiot couldn't hit a bowling pin if it was tethered to his cock.

"Hey Kingpin, you want us to put the bumpers up??" I asked with a chortle. He just grunted and sat down next to his ball.

Next up was the clueless Indian Chick. She was bowling with a 6-pound kiddie ball with a picture of Scrappy Doo on the side of it. "I do not know what to do...I require assistance please," she said in a language that sounded sort of like English.

"JUST THROW THE FUCKING BALL, POCAHONTAS! I WANNA GET OUT OF THIS FILTHY SHIT HOLE!" I explained to her calmly. As you can see, the sedative was beginning to kick in.

So she fondled her ball for a moment, and then with both hands, she swung it between her legs and thrust it down the lane. Pathetic. So pathetic, in fact, that the bitch got a fucking STRIKE! I shit you not, she knocked down EVERY GODDAMN PIN on her first roll. "Did I do goodly?" she asked.

Salsa Boy was livid. You could almost see the fumes rising from his head and enveloping the disco ball suspended from the ceiling above. I tried like hell to keep from laughing my ass off. Black Guy almost choked on an onion ring.

I was up next. I tried to aim for the center, but it was so fucking dark in there, I could barely see the damn pins. I had to look at the computer to see if I knocked down anything. Turns out I got a 7-10 split. I hadn't seen a split that wide since my night with Ms. Babble in the back seat of the DyckMobile. And much like that fateful night, my attempt to finish the job was unsuccessful.

So we continued this juvenile activity for another two hours. Indian Chick got another strike...then a spare...then another spare...then another strike...and so on and so on. I swear that little bitch must've been on the juice. Salsa Boy gave up after the 5th frame and spent the rest of the time playing Pac Man in the game room. Black Guy ate too many onion rings and ended up with a case of the squirts. I didn't clear a single frame in the whole fucking game. Did I mention how much I hate bowling??

Next month I hope we try something more relaxing. Like skydiving.



* The Piggly Wiggly across the street is actually a Wal-Mart, but Piggly Wiggly sounds funnier.