Busy Morning

It’s Sunday morning, but …

There were three girls today working the food counter.  In the back, one man, in street clothing and a ball cap turned back, was manning the kitchen, he looked unkempt, no one was at the shoe station, and the only other worker was grease stains, who was wheeling bottles of beer from the pool room over to the food station.  The bar and the pool room are both closed.  The building is working with minimum staff, but the alley is as full as it is during the afternoon tournaments.

In the middle there is another party, birthday, a small one today, and another group next to them, also with young children.  Both groups were using the lanes in the middle that had railing.  The railing is bent and mangled, no longer pristine as it was when I first started my observations.  They are missing supports, and the ends are bent, as if they were pounded by a hammer.  On the monitors above them there is now a warning that players must agree to that states that bowling is a dangerous sport that can lead to many injuries.  The warning includes a set of rules, among them are, shoes must be warn when bowling, no one is permitted to walk down the lanes, that the staff must be informed anytime there is faulty equipment, and that people are permitted to only bowl one ball at a time.  On the scrolling marques that flash underneath during the entire game, and even in unused games, warning have also been added, including that people are not permitted to sit or place their hands on the stands where the balls come out, no sitting or standing on tables, no putting feet on top of the tables, balls must be kept dry and free of food, and finally that there should be no food in the lanes.

The music is country, a first in my time here, it is also lower in volume than normal.

One of the kids, when he went to bowl, threw the ball, it flew and got caught in the gutter, he waked onto the lane, looking like a penguin slipping on ice, grabbed his ball, then in the middle of the lane, ran towards the pins and threw his ball again.  He then slid back to his family, surfer style.  No one cared to notice him except for the girl who was next up to bowl.  She looked to be about 14 years of age and while waiting for him to finish she was scarfing down her pizza.  When he finished she briskly stood up chewing her last mouthful and reach for her ball.  She took the ball, and, halfheartedly, let it roll out of her hands, landing with a thud on the floor.  It rolled slowly with the same halfhearted attitude. Appearing discussed by the oily texture of her ball she wiped her fingers on her jeans as the ball still made its way down the lane and returned to her pizza taking a bit as she sat back down at the table (no she did not bother to finish her turn). A second girl, with the same haircut and similar outfit as the first got up next from the adjacent table.  She looked to be the same age as the first and she too took her ball, very casually raised it and slowly sent it on its way. Both seemed to be equally engaged.

Around this same time a family began to move behind me.  A man and two children, a boy and a girl, both under the age of 12 were preparing the pool table behind me.  The man got the balls in order while the son walked back and forth fetching the cue sticks and the cue ball.  The man took his time explaining the game to the kids as he prepared the balls to break them.  They played a quiet game together as a family. 

Families also occupied the tournament’s lanes.  They were families with older children; teenagers playing alongside the adults.  They were rowdy and rambunctious, but not as much as the children in the middle lanes, they also bowled following the many rules posed up.