It was only my first time there, and I accidentally tried to hustle the PSU bowling alley.
I stop by the desk to pay before I head in, and the guy at the desk says, “Nah, your boy already got you.”
“Thanks!” I tell my boy inside.
He’s only my boy in the colloquial sense, however; I don’t have any kids.
It’s a ghost town in there; we’re the only people in all six lanes. We start playing, and the balls are badly chipped. The bowling machinery at the end of the lane clanks loudly at regular intervals, like there is something stuck back there. Projectors display the score on the walls.
Matt and I play through a few games, and then a few more. As the minutes turn to hours I develop a strange fondness for our bowling alley, and even the annoying clanking seems like personality and flavor. It’s cheap and it’s right here, and it’s really not too bad for what it is.
Suddenly the guy from the desk comes running out.
“Hey! You gotta pay if you’re gonna keep playing!”
Whoops! Got carried away there. Unlike other bowling alleys you’re not automatically cut off when you’re done. I go and settle up.