It's All About Geometry

It was a Friday night and I had just gotten paid, two really good reasons to go out and enjoy life. What was I doing that evening? I was sitting at home somewhat depressed since I had made a couple phone calls and gotten no really promising responses. Then out of the blue, a friend of mine calls me back. Hooray! I was invited to go out and play pool at Jillian's.
And so I was on my way to Mercer Island and then to Queen Anne Hill. This was the gathering of future opponents into one vehicle. After a little search for parking, and a very frozen walk to the door, we were at last inside. This is where the adventure begins.
While waiting for the bouncers to do the math with our ID's, two of them began to chat about another co-worker. "See that guy at the other door? He's hard-core. He'll yell at ya. He'll tell people stuff like, 'I only gotta tell you once!'" One of my friends confused this statement as being directed at him and the bouncer seemed almost embarrassed that he was so obviously "talking smack". Curious, I looked to the other entrance to see what sort of demon they were talking about. Oddly enough something about the stature and profile of the other bouncer made me wonder if I didn’t, in fact, all ready know this terrible ogre.
After receiving the stamp of approval I followed my friends inside to check the place out. None of us had actually been inside this particular pool hall. I use to play pool at a Jillian’s back when I was in college, so the set up was pretty much familiar. While everyone else checked out the surroundings, I was still trying to figure out if I knew the bouncer. No matter how smooth I tried to be about checking out the guy, he would never turn the right way to let me see his face. In some situations I can be pretty outgoing, except when I’m not one hundred percent sure what I’m dealing with. I figured I’d worry about it later and upstairs we went.
First destination was the bar. The boys wanted beer and nothing was going to stand in their way. Waiting in the line as always, the place was pretty busy. The “frequent types” were in place at the bar. These are people that you can tell are always there rain or shine. Then there’s the middle aged men in business suits wanting to unwind from the day and of course on their cell phones, they always hang one step out from the bar. There is that row of single seating that over looks all the action on the pool tables. It’s like they want to be apart of the fun yet work is still calling. From there it was the every other type of person you could put in a room, including an older gentleman that looked like Tony Montana and sported a leather “Scarface” jacket.
While scanning the crowd there’s always that accounting for possible eye-candy in the room. Looking certainly doesn’t equal shopping, but a girl never wants to be caught unaware. Besides something nice to look at, other than my team partner that could pass for Jude Law, might improve my game.
By the time we got drinks the rest of the party had gotten a table practically right where we already were. With the setting down of drinks came the undressing of layers. The weather was more that frigid that night and with the walk from the car I was more than grateful to have those layers. But we were about to embark on the ultimate competition; I needed to be free in form and able to show my best skill. That and it was freakin’ hot inside the building.
We were then informed that the roving waitress was very unhappy with our choice to purchase our tasty beverages at the bar and not through her. This basically was the foundation for our hard feelings towards this woman for the rest of the night. The first round should have been forgiven since it was more than obvious we had just gotten the pool table. It’s one thing to request the ability to receive the tip for the “fetch and carry”, but it’s a whole other thing to get into someone’s face and start making demands.
Well on we went with our game of pool. Pairing off into two teams; the couple that we came with against Jude Law and I. We proceeded to break the first set and get to work at making each other laugh. In a nutshell my love of the game is greater than my talent on the table. I was a little bit nervous about looking stupid in front of the other two, as well as making my friend wish I wasn’t on his team. But after the first couple shots were taken I felt extremely better. We all had our quirks but none of us was really any sort of expert.
After a while we started adding rules to make things harder since some of the games were getting so “sloppy” that it just didn’t seem fair. I was even improving as the games went on. At one point I ran the table for four different shots until I made a totally stupid mistake and tanked it. But at least I did have one shining moment of achievement for the night and made my partner proud of me for those five minutes.
So as we played pool, we played with that silly waitress. Well, more like she played with us. After she randomly appeared to take orders for the second round, she received a meager tip from one of the guys and nothing for the other. We had been all of one mind, that she would get the tip when we ordered our last round for the night. Apparently she completely disagreed, as she never returned to our section again. Really it was her loss; she was the one making the assumption that we weren’t worth her time. Anyway, the boys were happy enough with their beers, I on the other hand went to the bar to start a tab. I have never been blessed with that ability to always have cash on hand. This is a trick I hope I learn soon.
Some where in the middle of our evening a DJ had started spinning Hip Hop for a very empty dance area. I kept going to the railing to see if anyone was dancing. Not that I wouldn’t normally run down there and start the floor myself, I was off duty that night. I wanted nothing more than to continue dancing in-place with my pool cue. But if a dance floor did happen to start I wanted to be sure I didn’t miss out. I had thought I was being slick about this as well, but got cornered by my partner. “You want to go dance don’t you?” So much for playing off only a mild concern for my surroundings in that department, or proving my total focus on the rousing game of pool we were involved in.
This comment only seemed to be the springboard for my running analysis of the DJ’s talent. Since I started going to clubs, made acquaintances with those that do DJ, as well as fueled my own passion to one day spin, I’ve become quite the little critic. This particular DJ had an obvious passion for the musical arts that centered more in the “House” variety but had this strange compunction to switch back and forth between Rap and Trance like a light switch. Very annoying.
Well as the evening continued, and I continued to drink, the outcome should have been obvious, but I never think about it until it’s too late. I now had to pee and figure out where the bathroom was. Oh joy! But being the smart little cookie that I can sometimes be, I used the opportunity to go down stairs and figure out if that mysterious bouncer was indeed someone I knew.
The Bouncer of Death did turn out to be the person I thought it was. This is a man of huge stature, combined with a personality of equal size. Having been someone I’d gotten to know at a dance club downtown, I’ve always described him as one that has no fear. Several years ago I use to regale co-works with this man’s antics on an empty dance floor. The image of a six-foot five African American in a Secret Service like suit, doing either a River Dance or ballerina impression was, and still is, completely hilarious.
He recognized me immediately as I walked toward him. It was sort of nice to be greeted so warmly, such as his normal vibrant hugs that lift you off the ground. We talked for several moments before I had the courage to ask the terrible question of “Where’s the Bathroom?” Not only did I get directions, but I also got sent to the super secret bathroom that the public tends to miss. There is nothing quite like a clean, hardly used bathroom. Talk about nice!
Upon my return I talked with my bouncer friend a little longer, making comments as to the empty dance floor. This was returned with his statement that I needed to go start the floor and that the DJ sounded like he had just gotten his first set of turntables for Christmas this year. That was pretty much what I had thought earlier, but it was a better way of putting it.
I was feeling awful good with myself since I had come to a new place and was already acquainted with someone that was working there. I call these my “Rock Star” moments. As I’ve said before, and will say again, most of my teen years were spent as a quiet little person who no one noticed. I would watch and envy those people that just seemed to know someone everywhere they went. Now, it must be said that the ability to meet and make friends in the clubbing industry is not simple. But that is the stuffs of a whole other post.
Anyway, my friends were pretty much done with the evening when I returned. Upon going to close my tab I ended up with a person different than the one who had been serving me. This meant I had to try and pronounce my unpronounceable last name in that loud environment I like to call “too close to the DJ booth”. Once we got past that look of confusion as to why someone of my obvious nationality has such a complicated last name, then comes the search for my debit card while the person is trying to sound out my name and match it to the spelling on the card. Such a fun little game I have to play every time. This is why I want to learn that whole “cash in wallet” thing, and fast. Ordering one last drink and then signing the receipt, the bartender made some sort of silly ass remark over the obvious meager amount of alcohol in the contents of my choice beverage that just made me want to roll my eyes. Men can be so completely clueless as to how to be funny.
Promptly making fun of him to my friends, we then collected the pool balls and headed downstairs to pay. Problem was I had to put back on the layers I had shed when I first got there. Everyone else seemed to forget that and forged on without me. Drink in one hand, other arm caught in the sleeves of my coats; I’m sure I made quite the attractive sight.
Waiting to pay did leave me with more time to talk with my friend downstairs while he checked ID’s at the door. It was then that he decided to announce to my group of friends that he knew me from way back, and that the hat I was now wearing was only in answer to my patented dance move which always seemed to include me hovering my open hand over my forehead. This of course was to be followed with an impression of me, which he’s always loved to do. From the moment he said I started doing this at the dance club where I met him, he’s always loved making a big production over this move I never knew I did. At least I had a hat to validate the move now and I did my best to play the whole thing off while ushering my friends past him as quickly as possible. With those Rock Star moments, comes the embarrassment of people actually getting to know me well enough to also see my less than Rock Star quality quirks. Oh the double-edged blade!
As I drove home from Mercer Island I remember thinking how glad I was to know my pool partner. He has always proven to be an awesome friend. As for my friend the bouncer, I appreciated the fact that I learned humility with my Rock Star moments. It’s not about being a snob and flaunting your connections. You got to know that person for whatever reason and in return they got to know you. It’s not about being the flawless Rock Star. It’s about being a real person, which includes dorky little flaws.