Bowling with demons

I'm not a huge fan of bowling. I enjoy it on occasion, but due to my lack of precision and accuracy when sending that ball down the lane, I never score well. Even so, I agreed to join my coworkers for their monthly bowling excursion. What follows is a horrifying tale of terrifying travesties and frightening foibles...

Last Friday, as work's end draws near, JJF reminds me of the upcoming bowling excursion and beckons me to follow. I oblige. Prior to this day, they had asked my average score, and I answered unashamedly: about 100. Like I said - I am bad. After finding seats on the bus, next to fellow bowlers, he again brings up my score, as if mocking me. But, being a JJF, I know he's not. How could he!

We arrive at the train station and continue our harrowing journey to the bowling alley. Upon arriving, I declare my shoe-size: 32cm. But, uhhh... I try out 32cm and they are way too big. So I put on 31cm. They feel a little too big, still, but I figure I'll give 'em a shot first. I walk over to our 8 or 10 lanes (I forget) reserved for our group. At the moment there is only one other person. He dons his bowling shirt.

JJF returns, now bearing his own bowling shirt. Someone else arrives with donuts. I eat one. It is a donut.

I glance up from my donut and am greeted by an army of my coworkers, all wearing the same bowling shirt, rubbing some crazy chemicals on their fingers, man I don't even know what the what!

A woman arrives and takes a seat at the lane to my left. Her bowling ball is encased in a Hello Kitty wrapping. The pressure is overwhelming! The walls, closing in! Calm down. Caaaalm.

Some kind of voodoo magic shit going on. Yeesh.

We bowl a few practice frames. I manage two strikes. Above average for me. (Usually one a game.) In the first five frames of the first game, I manage to get two gutter balls. On the first throw. Nice.

My boss tells me to relax. Makes a show of rolling his shoulders. RELAX! How the hell am I supposed to relax you've all got some steampunk apparati surgically attached to your wrists what is that gear even FOR?!

Three games. 119. 95. 135. Not bad for me. Phew.

Time to drink.

I <3 my JJF

I have what I like to call my own, personal jovial Japanese fellow.

His name is Kobayashi-san, and he always greets me with a smile.

Every day, at least once, he walks by my desk, slow as a sleeping rabbit, until I notice him. Then he smiles and waves, and walks away without a word. Some days it is as soon as I arrive in the morning, and other days it is almost immediately before I leave.

He also sort of looks ancient, but has the posture and energy of a five year old, and smokes, of course!

Every time there is a work event (whether it is an after-work party, or a during-work festival preparation or perimeter cleaning) he is glad to lead the way and show me how it's done.

When we go drinking, he is always prodding me to try the food, whatever it may be. Or encouraging me in my slowly-developing alcoholic habits.

He is so cheery! It is adorable!

I recommend everyone find their own jovial Japanese fellow to brighten their day. It works wonders for me!