Hi. I bowled last night. You might remember me. My game was a little off, as I hadn�t played in a while. My score was in the lower nineties. My arm is kind of sore now, owing to my unorthodox bowling style. I don�t even use the large thumb hole. I just use the top holes and try to give it that crazy spin like you see on TV. Sometimes it spins right into the gutter, but I guess that�s the price we pay when we agree to bowl. Well I�ve spent a better part of today reflecting upon what you said. Remember when I told you I wanted to bowl a game and tried to pay you my eight dollars? Four for shoe rental�you said I couldn�t bowl in my socks�and four dollars per game. I only wanted to bowl one game. But you said, no. You said I must pay ten dollars. Why? Why must I pay ten dollars? To be honest, I�m not really sure. You told me, �It�s time for extreme bowling. It�s a much better deal. You�ll see.� Well I didn�t really see, now, Guy Behind the Counter at the AMF Lanes Bowling Alley in Chandler, AZ, did I? I didn�t see at all. So far as I can tell, �extreme bowling� consisted of you turning off lights and playing loud music. This might be considered a �better deal� to the crowd you run with, but I�d just as soon have the lights on, the music off, and two extra dollars in my pocket. I thought we were friends, Guy Behind the Counter at the AMF Lanes Bowling Alley in Chandler, AZ. I really did. The way you sort of rolled your eyes at the lady in front of us because she wanted a scorecard. You were rolling those eyes for me. And remember how I didn�t know the shoe size of Tommy, my bowling buddy, so I asked you if I could get a size eleven, and if those weren�t the right size, if I could take them back for an exchange? Your eyes lit up when I asked that. �Yeah!� You said. Then, you punctuated it with a confident, �Sure!� Sure? Were you really sure? Just how �sure� were you, Guy Behind the Counter at the AMF Lanes Bowling Alley in Chandler, AZ? Tommy didn�t bother exchanging those shoes, even though he wears a size nine. He just walked around like a clown and his game suffered because of it. Tommy�s too passive to say anything. But I�m not. I can no longer live in a world where I fear you and your constantly rolling eyes. That olive-green counter you stand behind is like Cerebrus to your Hades. A backdrop of Disney cardboard cut-outs and trophies and cubbies filled with maroon and tan shoes. And that one bowling ball in the glass case. What�s so special about that ball? Did it bowl a perfect game? Did it? And was it worth our friendship? You have betrayed me. Well I have a confession, Guy Behind the Counter at the AMF Lanes in Chandler, AZ. I bowled the tenth frame in my socks. And you couldn�t even stop me. If you tried, I had a plan devised where Tommy would trip you with his big shoes while I made a run for the west exit. But you didn�t even look over. You were too scared. Darin. |