Recently, I decided to become a less fearful person, to experience a year of living dangerously. Trying new things, leaping where previously I would creep, that sort of thing.
So Sunday was the second dodgeball tournament I had signed up for. The first one I went to was a great deal of fun, even though my showing was less than stellar. However, I had just finished a rather difficult few weeks at work and needed the exquisite release of thwacking balls at others’ heads. And we were to play a version called traitor ball, where you try to get out people on the other side and people on your team. How clever and rage inducing/releasing!
Except. We arrived at the dodgeball court and immediately saw: people in coordinated outfits. This caused a glimmer of fear at the back of my throat. Swallowing the sour taste, we proceeded inside the overly hot dark gym (no aircon AND exercising going on all around. come ON people. At least fire up a fan!). There was another group of folks whipping dodgeballs at each other with what can only be described as lightning speed. The fear at the back of my throat eased on up again in a bigger mass. Looking around, I see only one or two other people I know, everyone else in matching outfits or looking unreasonably fit or having shaved heads and all ALL with an air of intensity that I’m frankly not in the mood to see on a Sunday afternoon.
After frenzied discussions with my friend who came in the cab with me, we bailed.
Fear won that day, my friends. Fear won.
And fear then rubbed salt in the wound and spat on my braveheart grave by having me watch the movie ‘Max Payne’ and ensuring that I will for all time regret not staying for dodgeball. For those who have not seen the film yet, I won’t mention any plot points. But i will say, the Norse got jacked.
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As I typically behave in a rather respectable and dull manner when out in public, I have never been in a fistfight, run from the cops, or gotten thrown out of a bar. A be-wigged waitress at a martini bar the other night felt these things missing from my great list of life experiences and decided to help me out as much as she could. So my friend and I were kicked out of a martini bar at a very respectable hotel.
Unfortunately for me and future stories, not for anything interesting. But because I was wearing flipflops. Flipflops kept me from drinking lovely martinis, getting gently drunk, and harassing australians unlucky enough to sit within conversing distance. Fine, dress code, blah blah blah. I normally respect and understand the rules. Fair enough. You don’t want my pretty money because my feet are inappropriately shod whilst girls who are wearing skirts that turn the world into their gynecologists are prancing about your noble establishment. Okay.
BUT.
They seated us. The waitress walked us over to a table by the window, left menus, and waltzed away. To some mysterious person who then told her to come back to us and say, “I’m sorry, we have a dress code, no slippers”.
The twin straps dividing my toes were clearly offending the two other people in the bar.
But as I said, fine, I understand rules, normally love them, appreciate them, I like boundaries. But don’t seat me and THEN say, oh wait, get out your feet aren’t properly covered. I said as much to the doorman, very politely, when I left. And he said, well I had to get clarification on the rules. To which I said, you’re the doorman, you should know these rules by now.
Which I also think is fair enough.
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I have decided that the grossest thing in the world is a cheeseburger with onion rings on top of it, served with a side of fries.
Luckily for me, I was drinking a double strength vanilla thyme martini so the grossness, though acknowledged, didn’t really matter at the time.
That martini was so strong that I then dragged my friend over to the feng shui shop, flung open the doors startling the two salesmen inside, and loudly asked, WHAT DO YOU HAVE FOR LOVE?
My friend quietly slunk over to the astrology book section while I turned my nose at the peony necklaces and the dzi bead necklace (only one, and I was buying love luck for two) when I saw rose quartz duck dangling tassels for your bag. As delightful as they are practical, I asked after the price of increasing my love luck through rose quartz ducks. Around ten dollars each. I was appalled and loudly proclaimed, THAT’S TOO MUCH!! DON’T YOU HAVE CHEAPER LOVE IN HERE? WHERE IS THE CHEAP LOVE?”
They then tried to interest me in a variety of bracelets that would increase my fame, increase my wealth, etc etc. Finally I had to leave with empty hands and the realization that true love isn’t worth ten dollars to me. and if ten dollars is too much to pay for love, do I really want love in the first place? When I asked this of the salesmen, they simply shook their heads and smiled, grateful to see the back of me.
