Bowlerama

There’s a bowling alley in a strip mall near my house.

Or at least there was.

The strip mall is no longer. It has been devoured by a colossal hole, which will serve as the foundation for a new building. By its scale and scope (not to mention depth), the size of the work crew and the recently mounted cranes now there, I’m guessing an office building or (more likely) a condo.

Lots of condos in this city.

I haven’t done much bowling in my life. A few get-togethers with friends, a birthday party or two. A school trip once – a reward for good behaviour and nice (but not spectacular) grades. Five pins and ten; big balls and small.

I never went to the strip mall, let alone the bowling alley in the strip mall. The street was always seemed too busy to cross, and the strip mall didn’t have a convenience store or coffee place or restaurant. Nothing to entice someone out, say, for a mid-day stroll.

But I always liked the idea of having a bowling alley near me and that it was in the strip mall (a rather odd though innocuous thing to have in the neighbourhood, and therefore not without its own charm), and, admiring it from afar, I thought I might go someday. The hole reminded me of all that and confronted me with the fact that it’s too late for any of it.

Come to think of it, I actually never really ever enjoyed bowling, good grades or no. The lighting, the sound of constant thudding. Those shoes… Not that I begrudge anyone those things. Besides, not liking something is not the same as hating it. Nice enough, but not spectacular. Good to think on.

Then again. My friend lived in a condo that had a bowling alley as one of its amenities. The two are not mutually exclusive. Maybe it’s not too late after all.

This is probably the most time I’ve ever spent talking about bowling.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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7 Comments

Filed under Change, City Life, Entertainment, Friends, Hobbies, Places

7 responses to “Bowlerama

  1. In the 60s they had bowling on television. Boring.

  2. Heather

    I bowled in that Bowlerama.

    I used to hate bowling because I wasn’t good at it and I felt like my parents made fun of me for not being good at it. I can’t tell at this point what was my own perfectionism and what was my parents being unable to coach me supportively. I definitely still harbour a grudge for having to have a bowling birthday party one year when I didn’t want to do that. But bowling was, like, a thing that people did on the regular as a social kids event and I hated being bad at it. I’m not really good now but I have more control of my motor skills and I, I don’t know, live in my body in a way I didn’t really when I was a kid, and so I can find the fun and the challenge in it.

    In my neighbourhood there is a restored old-school bowling alley and if you ever want to check it out, I would be happy to go and bowl terribly. The best part of bowling is that there’s a snack bar, and while other people are bowling you get to sit and eat snacks and chat. I like that.

    OH. But I actually came here to say:

    “What time is your play tonight?”
    “Why? Are you coming?”
    “Well, I have to, don’t I?”
    “You probably won’t enjoy it. There’s nothing about bowling in it.” *pause* “Oh wait, there is.”

    • I would love to go bowling with you!! You and “STELLAAAAA!!! Can’t you hear me yell-a? Yer puttin’ me through Hell-a. Stella. STELLAAAAAA!!”

      We will bowl terribly and we will have snacks while others bowl it will be fabulous.

      When I was a kid, my parents decided to have my birthday party at a McDonalds. I loved McDonalds, but hated birthday parties because my parents usually delegated the task of organizing and supervising them to some inept relative and didn’t actually attend the party themselves, thus ensuring the event devolved into unmitigated disaster. I don’t begrudge them for trying, not really, but I feel like they should have known me well enough by then not to pull that kind of shit.

      I did not enjoy that party. It was so loud and the kids ran amok, jacked up on McNuggets and sugar. Dear LORD.

      I did, however, learn during my behind-the-scenes birthday girl tour of McDonalds that: 1) the dehydrated onions they use come in giant drums not unlike those used to store and transport crude oil and; 2) their bacon comes in giant spindles that you pull and tug for bacon. So there’s that.

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