Is there anything in the world worse than college kids in a
bar that isn't located on a college campus?
Ohmigawd, really.
I am sitting at a local watering hole, and by local I mean
totally Townie-dominated, "cannot believe anyone from out of town would dare
walk in here" kind of place. I am
here to play some trivia, to see if it's remotely as good as the trivia in
another town on Sundays. (It's okay -
standard fare, same rules, etc.)
The entire pub is distracted from answering questions as we
watch these young urbanites attempt to play pool. Now, by "attempt," I mean they
cannot even find the rack (triangle) to set the balls to break, so they are all
leaning over with their arms, attempting to settle the balls into place. Mind you, the rack is on its regular shelf
right above where the balls come out to be loaded … um … into the triangle. Hence the term "Rack 'em up," and
hence why the rack is located where the balls are that need to be racked.
Finally someone takes mercy on the bumbling out-of-towners,
none of whom has ever played a moment's worth of billiards, and shows them
where the rack is located. Oh ho ho ho,
don't they feel like idiots.
Well, almost. Not
quite yet.
One of them scratches, meaning the cue ball sails into a
pocket. The clearly clueless boy, and I
do mean boy as he looks like he isn't even shaving yet, reaches his hand into
the pocket and tries to worm his wrist around until his fingers might be able
to grab the ball. One of his pals asks
the trivia lady to please announce if there is anyone who knows how to retrieve
the white ball once it's gone.
That's not even the saddest part. The saddest part happens when Trivia Girl
actually asks over the loudspeaker, "Is there anyone who knows how to
retrieve the white ball once it has fallen into a pocket?"
The entire bar falls deadly silent. Surely this question has not just been asked,
let alone repeated via the sound system.
Dude! Seriously! Look at the end of the table. No really.
Look. Take a glimpse. I dare ya to. Oh, lookie.
Lookie what we see. It's the
white ball, rolling into the bin at the end of the table where you can easily
reach in and grab it back out.
Uh-DUH.
Please, please go back to the college. Please maybe even go home to wherever you've
come from because clearly you shouldn't be out in public, at least not after
your bedtime and especially not without your Pull-Ups securely taped.
To add insult to injury, this clown and his equally retarded
(and I do mean this word in its purest denotation) friends stand with their
backs to the game being played after theirs, in a huge group, leaning on the
outer siderail of the table, unmoving when anyone tries to take a shot from
that side of the table. They do not even
have the decency nor common sense to move away so the area is clear for the
paying players.
Look, kiddos. If you
want to drink in public and play with the adults, you might want to at least
try and walk the walk. Practice your
game on the school pool tables that litter every common room in every dorm from
here to every far reach of the United States.
As a matter of fact, practice your drinking and your goddamn manners
before you come out in public, too. It's
a good thing I have tiny hands because I want to wrap my hands around your
throat and choke you until snot presses out of your ear canals.
No matter how poorly I do at trivia, I can be secure in the
knowledge that I will not be snaking my arms down the rabbit hole of the
billiard table like Alice chasing after the White Rabbit. I'm heading home.
Someone tell College Frat-Boy it's about time he does
likewise.
