| A guy takes a pool ball right in the groin as I arrive at Henry’s in the Sheraton Cavalier.
"You caught that?" deadpans his opponent, scooping up the ball he’s just launched. This is as crazy as it gets this Tuesday evening in the smoky but tidy wood-panelled sports bar. It beats the New Year’s Eve Jackass show at the University of Calgary’s MacEwan Hall. After watching wacky, self-abusive stuntman Steve-O wandering the stage and being pelted with beer cans for what seemed like hours before eventually balancing a ladder on his chin, I’ll take an eight ball in the corner pocket any day.
I’ve walked in on an informal tourney. "That’s the worst part," says the ball launcher. "You don’t make the shot." Meanwhile, his friend may never shoot again. The bar is nearly full. The VLTs are 100-per-cent spoken-for. A bearded man gets five oranges. No one flinches, no one talks, no one stops pumping the machines.
In the lobby, two old friends are reconnecting outside a job fair being held down the hall. "I still have your bird," announces the local to his visiting friend. "It sits on my shoulder and picks at my ear. Any of that sound familiar?"
"Uh, not the ear picking," is the reply.
"Real nice bird. It’s a good memento of you."
If only the government had approved same-sex ear picking back when we were in college. Our lives might have turned out so much differently. But for tonight we have memories. And the hotel bar.
Small, plush, with a single waitress on duty, Barrington’s at the nearby Coast Hotel is quiet at first. Then a business meeting down the hall lets out.
"Mike was right behind me when I came in," says a cheery, well-groomed junior exec. He takes a seat.
"Maybe he’s in the washroom," replies a woman colleague.
"Enjoyin’ himself all the way!" junior quips.
"Tall, dark and smelly!" he exclaims, greeting a new tablemate. Then he turns to a male colleague and says with a straight face: "So, I figure I got a good kick at this portfolio." Yes, if Mr. Trump wasn’t sensitive about his height, complexion and soap aversion. You’re fired.
"Did I leave my smokes with you assholes?" asks a pantsuited businesswoman as she sits down.
"Honey," comes the reply, "you don’t smoke. I forgot to tell you that."
"Can you get smokes in here?" she persists.
"Yeah!" cheers the table.
"Oh! I’m saved!"
As they say in those motivational seminars: Quitters never win and winners never quite run outta cigs.
Another young pantsuit tries to maintain her workplace cool amid the forehead ties and tipsy cackling. "We’ve hired people with varying skill levels," she explains to a middle-aged gent wearing a conservative blue suit.
"People that’re my age don’t wanna work," he replies.
"You’re, uh, near retirement?" He is, but he doesn’t mean then, he means now. He turns to the lone waitress who’s listing off the beer menu, yet again. "I want one o’ them, too!" he interjects when she gets to Heineken.
Mr. Trump is sensitive that his enlarged liver needs a walker to get around. You’re fired.
The first round of jalapeño slammers and teriyaki chicken wings arrives at the next table. A very shrill, blond storyteller yucks it up, wagging a longneck beer bottle for emphasis. A double-entendre bubble loudly and rapidly inflates as she and her business-conference buddies loosen up. "I never felt anything like that in my life!" she giggles as the bar fills with more of her workmates. "It’s like a roller coaster ride. He went in and out of five cars and I didn’t even move in my seat."
"I don’t smoke cigars often," says a male suit.
"I haven’t smoked one in 10 years," replies a female suit regretfully.
"It tastes even better when you take your time and spit it out," says another he to a she.
As the dirty-implications index hits record highs, the suits continue to invest hard and fast.
A paunchy golf shirt pulls out his Home Komedy Kit and has an overconfident go at the fun. "I didn’t tell you, I’m like the birds – all feathers and no tail! Ha ha ha!" He’s muffed it! The bubble has burst. Desperate dozens attempt to hurl themselves from high windows. The price of wieners, cucumbers, longnecks, the Camaro, the Chunnel, chocolate muffins, vanilla muffins, strawberry muffins, pony rides and Hawaiian flower necklaces plummets.
At the VLTs: No one flinches, no one talks, no one stops pumping the machines.
Good Listener is a monthly column dedicated to eavesdropping. |
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