Unbeknownst To Us, We Are Regulars

Our bowling league ended last week. It was a sad day for competitive alcoholics everywhere. For nearly half a year I've been going to a bowling alley every Thursday without fail. (Except for Thanksgiving and a couple other bullshit holidays.) It was a wonderful tradition.

Every Thursday I'd leave work around 3:30, go home, make myself a hearty meal and patiently wait for Mike to get home so we can head to bowling. Good times all around.

Now bowling is over so we have to we aren't assured of that one night a week where we actually have a beer sport scheduled. So we decided to go Tuesday night.

We went to the nearest bowling alley which is in the beautiful town of Menands. Back when I was an ice delivery boy we'd make stops in Menands. I referred to it as the armpit of the Capital Region. Now I live within walking distance.

Anyway, the bowling alley is huge. It's like an old airport hanger. Whenever we would drive by it we'd see the huge parking lot outside the old building at the end of a dead-end street we would joke that it was the perfect parking lot for a rape. (I paint a beautiful picture, don't I?)

So we decided to go to that "house" to "roll." We got there around 9 and Mike v-lined for the bar door to get the first pitcher. I walked towards the main entrance to head to the front desk, but found the door locked. On the locked doors was a piece of white paper with the summer hours written on it. They were basically Friday/Saturday/Sunday sometime to sometime. I have a great memory like that.

I felt a little defeated because I didn't really want to go to another alley. I was already at this one. Just open the damn place up. I'm special God dammit!

I walked over towards the bar entrance and met Mike on his way out the door. He had information that confirmed my diagnosis from moments earlier - the alley was closed.

We turned and started to walk away when an old guy came out the bar door and said:

"You guys are regulars. Come on in. We'll turn on a lane for you."

We responded with an eloquent: "Really?"

See, we aren't regulars. I've been there...twice. In my life. Mike too. I'm fairly certain the last time we went was on the day of the morning of the Super Bowl. (See, despite the strike through, I really was bowling. See what I did there?)

Basically, we hadn't stepped foot on that property in over 4-months. I don't know how that makes us "regulars," but they were ready to let us in and turn everything on just for us.

Keep in mind that this place is what we imagine as Rape Central so heading inside as 6 older Greekish gents ate dinner and watched the Yankees might not have been the best decision. The guys who were there all looked like the Greek from The Wire. It was a little terrifying.

Of course, we were never violated. (Ed. Note: Aw, shucks!) Or robbed. (Yeah!) We just bowled like we owned the place. Let me tell you, it's weird to be in a 48-lane bowling alley without another soul in sight. Every time the pins reset it sounded like a horse "neighing." (Sic?) All very weird.

When we left we paid some unknown rate and left as the old Greeks' poker game was just getting going. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I want to own a bowling alley. These guys were living my dream!

In conclusion - Aim for the stars kids!