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Playing Pool Near Omaha, Nebraska

A complete cross-section of the American population can be found in pool rooms. My local hall, Eastside Billiards, had a plaque which stated “Pool and Sex: two things you don’t have to be good at to enjoy.” True. Any of our regulars would agree. They included a divorce judge, an opera singer, a plumber, teachers, immigrants, lawyers, CEOs, artists, construction workers, and my favorite, J.V., a computer analyst from Nebraska. He once invented a data encryption method that he sent to the FBI, and his uncle was a “cleaner” for the Hells Angels. “Let’s just say he carries a wood-chipper around in his truck,” J.V. told me, “and he don’t know much about tree surgery.”

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The Stereotypical Boss

I just got fired. It’s not the economy—after all, this was the third time I was fired from the same job. But it was probably deserved.

To begin with, the job was beyond me. Starting off behind the bar at Eastside Billiards I had the honor of being able to call myself “the worst bartender in Manhattan.” Until the day I left I still never learned what goes into a cosmo or a martini. My customers couldn’t complain, as any time they asked for a cocktail I couldn’t handle I’d glance at a cheat sheet and give them a heavy pour.

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Monsters in our Midst

- This was the title of an essay I had been set for class, which reminded me of the first time I went out for a drink with my soon-to-be girlfriend (and now ex-girlfriend), AK. The boss, JWS, was also along, trying to get lucky.

Monsters in our Midst

We’ll get underway at a locals’ bar on the Upper-East Side, a dark room with an open front, an ill-used jukebox, and three of us—AK (the new bartender), JWS (my boss, who you already know) and myself—nestled around a small, circular table. On it lie our beers in various states of repose; mine worriedly contemplating its end; AK’s enjoying enthusiastic attention; and JWS’s replete with an obnoxious calm after several dull, untouched minutes, its owner too busy to sip as he talks, and talks, and talks…about himself.

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Dear boss, please don’t:

Dear future bosses,
from my experience, this information should help you along. Please, don’t

1. a) Take coke with one of your staff. b) Also, don’t buy coke off her boyfriend in the toilets. More importantly, if you are going to take steps a and b, do not fire her because she is taking coke or because her boyfriend is selling coke in the toilets. Check first: are you the only person who has bought coke off her boyfriend in the toilets?

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Playing John Smith

After thanksgiving theater, a.k.a. a family event, I went to play pool. At about 1:30am an “open” player, one who likes to drink and gamble at the same time, asked me for a game. For those who don’t know, his rank puts him about four or five levels above me. I told him I only wanted to play for $20 and he said he wouldn’t play for less than $100 a set. We settled at $75. I found a “backer” who put up $50 on my $25, so we had enough for one set. He gave me a poor handicap (2 games in a race to seven), well below what I would usually expect — perhaps 4 in a race to 9. I was not expected to win.

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Another one I just found

- I know I’m not supposed to be repeating a lot of content on a blog (hits, etc), but I thought this was too good to let go:

Customers at Work

Three customers, there before my shift started, around 9:30. They’re playing on one of the middle tables, although most people choose the ones around the edges. One was an unremarkable grey-haired man, in shape for his sixties, sounds southern, drinking Jack on the rocks. David. The two women were drinking chardonnay. One was a brunette, tall, packed tight into a skirt and tights, her hair bunched around her head like a mango split down the middle to expose a tyrannosaur. She was powerful, held her body very aggressively, and you could see the guys she spoke to (including the thirty-something “player” players who are part of my late-night crowd) scratching behind their ears.

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A Character Study

To help with an essay I was writing, I decided to do a character study of one of my characters. Any relation to non-fictional characters is probably not a coincidence.

Name: Jerry W.S. The W is his grandfather’s name, a man he feels a distinct connection to.  The story is that Jerry felt W.’s spirit push his car a little back from a cliff edge, thus saving his life, and proving that he was his grandfather’s favorite.  S., of course, can be traced all the way back to the Mayflower…

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