Last week I went to a bowling alley for the first time since I was a young kid. First, let me tell you about my childhood memories of bowling alleys. They were a kid’s wet dream (I probably shouldn’t say that); bright colours everywhere, fun music and the perfect location for birthday parties. In fact, there was a time when you were a total nobody unless you had a birthday party at a bowling alley.
The bowling alley I remember was in an Irish town called Carlow. The perfect bowling experience as a kid was a meal in Abra Kebabra, followed by sweets and fizzy drink while playing the game. The sides would be up, of course, and the bowling balls were light and kid friendly. You would be home by 9 p.m. and damn it, back then, that was late!
So, when I got a text from a mate suggesting a night of bowling, I thought to myself, how exciting! I’ll get to revisit my youth! The first thing I did when we got to the place was buy myself a strawberry milkshake. I wanted a chocolate one but was too afraid to ask for one, because I didn’t know if the brown one was chocolate or butterscotch. Now, I know I could have just asked if they had a chocolate one, but while revisiting my youth I apparently also revisited my very shy and awkward years. I also spent 50p on a handful of Minstrels from a vending machine. Ah, childhood memories!
Other than that, I was thrown into the unfamiliar world of “bowling as an adult.”
1) Your mum no longer pays for you.
So, the adult bowling experience is expensive. We booked a lane for two games, which turned out to be under an hour of playing time, for £11 each. There were six of us, so that bowling alley got £66 out of us for less than an hour. There were approximately 20 lanes, all of which were in use the whole time we were there. Now that’s the business to be in!
Everything is a con, though. It turns out that when you’re an adult, the “bowling experience” is actually the “day-light robbery” experience. I mean a small hand full of sweets for 50p. In my day, you could get FIFTY SWEETS for 50p. Also...
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| Well Kitty, you can't go bowling with it. |
Dear Claw Machines,
FUCK YOU!
Love Kelly.
Seriously, why do people fall for the claw machine trap? “It’s not grabbing, it’s not grabbing.” THEN STOP PUTTING MONEY IN IT!!!! But I guess if the prize in there is good enough, you just know you’re going to give in. Omer, becoming a regular feature in these articles apparently, was the one who explained to me how they are rigged to only grab every so often. Shockingly, he still spends his weekly wage down the amusements in Leysdown trying to win Angry Birds.
As for “win every time” claw machines? They can stay.
The bowling alley, to give them some credit where it’s due, must know how expensive it is, as the DJ spent the night running competitions to win free games of bowling.
Speaking of DJs...
2) The DJ is most likely there just to make you feel good about your life.
DJs are a very strange breed of human, aren’t they? They spend their time trying to be loved and regarded as popular, but they use other people’s songs to achieve it. Saying “he is such a talented DJ,” is basically how you politely say “he presses that play button well good.” Well, as embarrassing DJs go, this guy took the metaphorical biscuit. I almost felt sorry for him.
So, we’ve arrived at the bowling alley, we’ve sat down at the bar (yes there’s a bar, money money money, remember?) and then we realise it’s very difficult to chat, because Don’t Stop Believing is coming out of the speakers so loud our ears were bleeding. Yes, this DJ was a fan of the “recently popularised old classics”, and he liked them to be heard. Looking around for the source of the annoying music, we set eyes on the poor man.
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| Now that's what I call an impressive DJ |
A middle aged skinny bloke in the baggiest T-shirt you’ve ever seen, the glare of the spotlights bouncing off his tiny, perfectly bald bowling ball... I mean head. Well, I’m not being totally honest here. He did have some growth. As I got closer I counted 3 hairs behind his left ear. Probably just missed them shaving, because let’s get this straight, HE’S NOT BALDING. He chooses to be bald.
Well, he played some awful, awful tunes. He was also the worst kind; the talking DJ. Between lyrics the songs would fade out so that we could listen to “mumble mumble mumble!” Bless him though, he did keep saying to us not to use the claw machines, and two members of our group managed to score some free games out of his ridiculous competitions.
3) The germs! Oh god, the germs!
Well, I know I’m a little bit OCD so probably not the best person to be writing this section, but well I guess if you’re reading my blog, you want to see the world according to Kelly Prior. Well, that world is fucking dirty. I know what you’re thinking, and yes you’re probably right, but I’m not talking about that kind of dirty. I mean, the world really is full of germs. And I am not okay with this.
I’m traumatised... I may never recover... because... oh, it’s so hard to say...
YOU HAVE TO WEAR SOMEONE ELSE’S SHOES.
Oh dear god. First, I panicked about what to say when she asked me my shoe size. I had a little speech prepared where I would explain to the lady that I was sometimes a five, sometimes a six, and sometimes a seven. I wanted to explain to her that the delicately curved feet that I was so proud of simply had to have the perfectly shaped shoe, just like a pair of divas (Jessica Sarah Parker joke, anyone? Don’t make me explain it... She looks like a foot, okay?)
Well, when she asked me, I had a mini heart attack and just blurted out “six please.” Well, turns out I am not a size six in bowling shoes. Should have just brought them back, you say? Well, what you must understand is that with me you are not dealing with a logical mind. I’d tied the laces and everything. There was no going back.
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| DIE YOU LITTLE C**TS |
Bowling shoes are the sweatiest shoes in the world. I don’t care if they have a “special spray” they use to freshen them up after each use, I knew I was walking in other peoples’ foot-sweat and that made me uncomfortable. Add to that the fact that my feet were sliding around in the massive clown shoes, and you have the most uncomfortable shoe experience ever.
The only thing that was possibly more traumatising than the shoes was that every time it was my turn to bowl, I had to put my lovely clean fingers into three little pits of disease to pick up the bowling ball. Thoughts were screaming through my head. How many people had used this ball since it was last cleaned? Had someone gone to the toilet and not washed their hands before picking up the ball? Had someone picked their nose? Don’t get me started on my phobia of mucus.
I pretty much had to lump it, though, as I wanted to play. So, as a result, my fingers were a germ ridden nightmare by the end of the night. Scrubbing them with soap was like heaven.
Kelly’s Final Thoughts:
Well, apart from the fact I had to re-mortgage my boyfriend’s house to pay for it, I actually really enjoyed my night of bowling. Sure, the DJ was a man made out of CHEESE (terrible, terrible joke if I do say so myself) and I had to have several showers afterwards, but it was a really fun night with some awesome mates. I enjoyed bowling, and will definitely go again soon, even though I came second-last in both games. Turns out I’m not very good at it.
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| Sweets. Enjoy :) |
