It was a day like so many and night like no other, like so many other nights have been. First there was the days enterprise at the camera junction, like any grouping of five days much was the same, but there were people on vacation presumably in Las Vegas, and people off because of days to work later in the week, and people on who were never on before. Miss Molly the youngest of the children of the boss was in attendance for the very first time as an employee and did a bang up job on the telephones and will be in attendance again this fine day as well. She will do in a pinch, for sure and is a bright and enthusiastic addition to the crew. So work was different, even thought the general set of events and time tables that make a work day work were still all there in metronomic fashion.

So Where are the Keys? Keys, Please; Mel Shoffner ©2007
So what happened after work? Another rare visit to the Chatterbox. Well not rare for me, well done for me please. It was a very busy eve on the Ave. I was warned that I might have to park in Jasper Indiana and hoof it due to constraints of a parking nature, this was what befell my bride when she was looking for her parking spot a few minutes earlier, and she supplied the warning. This was not the case for me as I got a spot relatively near the Box. That was the beginning of the end of my evenings luck. The attendees at last nights impassioned play were for the most part the same actors as one might normally (used for repetition of characters not the character OF the characters which is far from normal) expect on this small stage. I spied with my little eye, The Brooks, the Greens, Steph and Eric, David And Deanne and at my table Mel (the newly acclaimed wizardess of mathematics) of Blister Toe Hollow, and the aforementioned doom sayer of parking purchase my Loverly Bride with her new coif blazing in the evenings solar glow. Also in attendance for most of the affair and in the spot of royalty was the car of an unusually absent little buddy. Then Kay arrived and the little buddies ride was forgotten as stories of bloom, bud and blossom were entertained. Connie the Z, wandered in from stage right and took up a chair while trying to push a stool. She inquired as to the whereabouts of Rich, who was at home building the perfect beast and his bride a wedding marvel. She then asked if she could leave a stool in my back seat, I reluctantly agreed as long as it was a dry one and could be easily removed. Brooks easily removed himself, and Connie advanced one chair. Joan marched home and stopped only long enough to talk to each insect, blade of grass and anyone hapless enough to be on the sidewalks. Jack had another fermented vine swallow or two. Connie asked if I could help with the stool, and I made like a pigeon and got the roost into the rear of the Madchen, she then did as Brooks,Joan and now Steph and Eric had done and made her way back home. I paid my respects to the cast and my due to the tiller woman, and prepared for my next phase of the evening. Before I could shake a stick Mr. Travis DiNicola in the flesh (mercifully covered in finely tailored garment) walked in from stage left and asked for my cellular attention, that I may inform the Missus (Mrs. Missing) that he would be not home before a quarter hours interval with the Box peoples and a pint, sadly she answered neither her Cell, work or home communications, although an odd mans voice did on a subsequent retry. Quicker than Jack Green can identify a piece of cake, Travis cancelled his beverage order and was off in the green ghost, hula girl shaking her grass in his face which left a better parking space for Kay who went to Jasper to get her van and returned with me holding court on the parking arena in question. Now I could take a fine evening to the brink of ruination on the next phase.

Viper! The PBA Experience. Oil Pattern #2, Trounced me, bit me and constricted around my will to bowl, crushing the bones of my self respect and dignity in the process. I pulled a miserly 125 average for the evening from the fangs of this first attempt, and am no more familiar with how to overcome it now than I was when I walked in. The only thing that went right at the alley was the end, and the transferring of the stool from Bimmer to Jeep. I came home and attempted to sleep it off. A crushed spirit needs more than an evenings Zz's to replenish, oh I will get better once I get back to work and routine. Pinch me I must be dreaming.

Chuck Pace © 2007
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