Losing Points in Originality

Back into the swing of life, I decided leaving the house sounded like a good plan when Char called tonight. She suggested grabbing some food up at Tom's work and then agreed that shooting some pool would be fun. In no time at all, I had my pool cues slung over my shoulder and I was walking into RC's, a sports bar that emphasizes billiards more than it emphasizes liquor.

Pool is a passion in my life, I enjoy the feeling when I make a good shot or watching another player improve. It is a game against oneself mostly. No one can change the way you play. Being that I enjoy the game so much, I liked being back in the pool hall, laughing with Char and Tom.

It was a slow night up there tonight. Only three other tables were lit up, making the green felt glow. Pool halls are typically filled with men and classy is not a word I would usually use to describe the majority of them. It is a boy's club, yet I have always enjoyed getting a table and doing a bit of showing off.

As we were playing, a man, whom Tom has deemed "The Drifter", decided that he would stop over and introduce himself. Except he didn't introduce himself, he just wanted information. He approached Tom, trying to buddy up to him. He was not a hustler, he was a sleaze. I was taking a shot as he talked to Tom and he made the comment, to both Char and I, "You've got a nice rack."

My first thought was, "Oh. Baby. Oh. How original. Making the comparison to my chest and the triangle of balls in a pool hall. Yep. You're a winner." The man got the 'You are waste of flesh' look. The man asked Tom, "Who are your friends?" complete with the cocky eyeing us up and down look.

Now, Tom is a fantastic guy. I do not ever feel worried if Tom is around. He can judge character well and his loyalty to Char is superb. If Char is in a tough situation, which she can handle all on her own, Tom will be there, backing her up. He knows when to step in and he knows how to handle men whose talent in life seems to be honing in on "nice racks". The first words out of Tom's mouth were, "This is my wife, Char." He also introduced me as a friend of theirs. The man looked me up and down and I gave him the eye roll.

Luckily, the man had a bit of a clue and did wander away from our table. I knew that if he tried anything, Tom would make sure both Char and I were perfectly safe.

The hall was closing so we gathered up the balls and paid up our bill. When we got outside, I hopped behind the wheel as "The Drifter" was leaving with his friend. He looked at me, focusing about a foot lower than my face, and did the complete sleazeball signal. He cocked his head to the side, pointed his finger at me, and did that stupid half grin where he makes that dumb sound with his mouth. You know the look. The "I think I'm hot stuff and you should automatically jump me" look. I didn't buy it. I pulled out of my spot, glaring at him, and sad that I couldn't run him over with my car.

Tom termed him "The Drifter" because he was new to the place and didn't seem to have others to converse with other than his traveling drifter. They were driving a van and just had that auroa to them. I am glad this was all the problems we had with him. But hey, I have a nice rack. Joy. I am so glad that this man told me. I would have never known otherwise.