Merlene s Memos MEN AND THEIR MONEY: EIGHT BALL, CORNER POCKET Money is not the root of all evil. People are the root of all money. People use money and people use people. It s the game of life. Life cannot be played without money. This is rule number one. Men became a subject of study rather than a subject of love after many years standing near the bar waiting for an invitation to dance. When I was young, I waited for hours while silently sipping my glass of wine trying to look sophisticated. I never tried to look sexy. I have since been told by many men this was my first mistake. Men like sexy. Men do not seek sophisticated. Many men have given me unsolicited advice on the subject of enticing men. Once, while standing in a dark corner watching couples dance, a strange man approached me. I was expecting him to ask me to dance and was only confused because a slow song had just started to play. Instead of asking me to dance, however, he leaned close to whisper in my ear. More men would ask you to dance if you would show some cleavage, he advised, before walking away. He looked back over his shoulder to see if I heard his words of wisdom, and then, approached another woman whom he escorted to the dance floor. While walking towards the dance floor with this other woman, he glanced back at me again as if to imply that I could have danced with him, if I had worn his desired attire to the club instead of wearing what I was comfortable in. Men frequently approach me when I am standing in a bar. They do not ask me to dance or offer to buy me a drink. Instead, they give me dating advice as though I do not know what men seek most. They assume I do not know the difference between me and the woman who wears six-inch high heels, leopard-skinned mini-skirts and hair dyed so blonde that the black roots cannot be seen between her bald spots. They must assume that I am blind or that I do not know where the closest Frederick s of Hollywood store is. Merlene s Memos Copyright 2010 Page 1
On a different night, while standing in a country bar holding a bottle of beer as though I drink the stuff, a good-looking man walked towards me and stopped next to me. He looked at me sideways, and then walked around to face me. He looked me up and down as though trying to estimate my weight at the local carnival. Finally, he speaks. More men would ask you to dance if you would wear a dress instead of blue jeans. I nodded as though I had never thought of wearing a dress to a bar. He waited for a reply before realizing that I wasn t going to respond and then walked away as though he had tried to help me. Later that same evening, another man stops before walking past me. He looks me over, and then says, I really like your hair cut. I like women with short hair. I thanked him for the compliment while also expecting him to ask me to dance. No sooner had I finished my words when I noticed another woman approaching him. She stops in front of him, grabs his arm and takes him out to the dance floor. They were on a date and she was quite upset that she caught him talking to a woman. As I watched them walk away, hand in hand, he grins at me and shrugs his shoulders. The woman he was on a date with had long, dark hair that was ratted so high she almost had to bend down to pass through a doorway. I even had to laugh while I watched him follow behind her like a puppy-dog in tow. At least he knew he was shallow. It is usually comments like these that will cause me to search for the billiard tables. After getting several quarters in change from the bartender, I will wander towards the pool tables to watch the games. I stand off to the side to avoid being seen. I will watch several of the men shoot a few games before deciding which table to place my quarters on to challenge the winner. After placing my two quarters on the table to challenge the next game, I watch how the men react. I can tell in two glances which ones hate me, which ones will shoot pool with me and which ones think I am there to flirt with them. They all instinctively react as though I just burnt their steak dinner. Men really hate it when a woman shows up during their male-bonding events. The hair on their necks starts to rise as though the pool tables are there for their private use only. Most of them secretly desire to put up a sign that reads, No girls allowed. They instantly hate me. Some of the men try to hide their reaction, others try to give me looks to make me go away and others shrug me off convinced that they are a better pool player and, therefore, assure themselves that I won t stay long and they can keep their table. All of them will look at each other to indicate that an outsider just walked in and that they will make it their personal business to socially shun me. The better-looking ones always assume I am there to flirt with them and give me looks to let me know they are not interested. The older ones will try to be polite and move over to let me get closer to the table for a better Merlene s Memos Copyright 2010 Page 2
view. The younger ones look to the regulars to try to decipher how to behave. The regulars always give a sideways-glance to let the younger ones know that they will send me walking. I watch and wait for my turn. I never talk while I wait for my turn. I watch the men finish their games and notice who won and who lost. I watch how they hold their pool cue, how they chalk the tip before they take their shot. I notice how they slowly bend over the table to study the pattern of the balls before deciding which one to aim for. I can tell by the nod of their head or the direction they point their cue stick which ball they intend to deposit in which pocket. I notice who calls their shots and which ones play sloppy pool. I stand in silence to avoid interrupting their concentration. I wait for them to take their aim and wait to see if the ball drops where indicated or scatters the balls throughout the table. I never react whether it was a good shot or a bad play. I just watch. The men never notice me. They concentrate on their game and each other. They drink their beer, exchange a few remarks with the other players and occasionally glance at their watch. They watch each person take a turn and politely wait while watching the results of each attempt. Once the game is finished at the table where I placed my quarters, the winner will look around to see who the next challenger is. I approach the table and reach for my quarters to signal that I am the next player. The winner of the previous game watches me reach for my quarters, put them in the money slot and then backs away from the table to let me rack the pool balls. He always assumes that I do not know how to rack the balls so he will check my rack closely to verify that I have put the balls in their proper position within the triangle, wood-shaped item called a rack. After determining that my rack is acceptable enough for him to break, he reaches for a cue stick to start the game. The winner breaks. It is customary. It gives him the first shot and the advantage. Men always know how to take the advantage. After taking the first shot to break the rack and start the game, my opponent will stepback from the table to allow me my turn. He will watch how I hold my cue stick, how I chalk the tip and wait to watch me shoot. He will usually look at the other players who are standing around waiting for me to lose so they can get back to their game. He silently gives them a look to let them know that this game won t take long and, therefore, doesn t want them to go too far away. Sometimes he will ask one of them to buy him another drink. He will frequently say this as though the game will be over before his friend returns with another pitcher of beer. After chalking my cue stick, I walk to the table and call my shot. Third ball, side pocket, I announce. My opponent watches. The ball drops in the designated pocket. It was my first shot, so my opponent always considers it beginner s luck. I quickly scan the table trying to locate my next best shot. By then, my opponent will typically glance Merlene s Memos Copyright 2010 Page 3
at the other men to indicate that I don t have a chance. They will respectfully watch my first shot, then look away as though bored and hope the game will end quickly so that they can return to playing with their friends. I call my next shot. I call my shot, even when I know my opponent is no longer paying attention. I will wait until I find someone who will acknowledge that I called my play before I take aim. There is usually at least one man who will watch from the sidelines and indicate that he noticed which ball I plan to aim at. I also use my head or cue stick to point towards the pocket I plan to drop the ball in. Once I find someone to watch my turn, I take aim and make my play. If my aim was good and the ball drops in the pocket indicated, my opponent will suddenly notice and look around to see if someone else saw it too. He wants to know if it was a good shot or a complete accident. Once my turn is finished, I back away from the table. My opponent approaches the table after me and quickly scans the location of each ball. He leans over, takes his shot and steps back to watch for the results. If he is a good player, he will stay near the table preparing to take his next shot. He assumes his play is good and is ready to go again. If he misses, he tries to shrug it off and backs away from the table. If he is a mediocre player, he will step back from the table immediately after his turn assuming that he will miss and, therefore, allow me my next opportunity. Body language is very important while playing pool. I watch. After the first two or three rounds at the table, my opponent typically gets bored playing with a girl and will begin to give more of his attention to his friends or other players at nearby tables. He loses interest quickly. He watches the room, instead of his game. I wait. I play my game. Then, somewhere around the time I have only two or three balls remaining on the table, my opponent will suddenly notice that I am winning and get real annoyed as though I somehow cheated while his back was turned. He will look around the room quickly to see if someone caught me cheating while he was distracted by the pretty girl who walked by on her way towards the restroom. This is when the man who was watching gives my opponent a look to let him know that it was a fair game. My opponent will then rush to get his cue, miscue on the cue ball or scratch. This really ticks him off, but he will walk away from the table and return to his post near his bottle of beer. I return closer to the table and begin to finish the game. If I played my game well, I can pocket the remaining balls and call the final shot, eight ball, corner pocket. After hearing my call, my opponent gets real angry. He will huff and puff and make all sorts of deep breathing sounds. Air starts shooting out of his nose and his face gets real red. Then, he watches as my eight ball glides across the long-stretch of green felt towards the indicated pocket and makes that nice sound when it drops right in and makes Merlene s Memos Copyright 2010 Page 4
a loud clunk when it hits the bottom of the pocket. It sounds so good when done just right. I especially enjoy the sound when my opponent has been rude. My opponent this particular night had tendency to ignore me and his game. He was real angry when all his friends saw me practically run the table while he was prancing around like some pool shark who didn t want to waste his time shooting pool with a girl. I really enjoyed my win that night. Then, I no sooner heard the splendid sound of my eight ball dropping in the corner pocket, that my opponent grabbed his pool stick, broke it over his knee and threw the two halves on the table. The broken halves of the pool stick bounced on the table a couple of times before landing in the middle. He was so angry at losing the game to a woman that he started to rush towards me as though he were going to punch me for having won. I was on the opposite side of the pool table, so he couldn t get to me before five guys grabbed him to hold him back. After the other guys released him, he stomped out of the bar. He was a poor sport. After leaving the bar, the five men who kept the sore loser away from me began to apologize for their friend s behavior. They seemed rather shocked and somewhat humored by his reaction to a losing to a woman. The older gentleman, who had watched me shoot and call my shots, seemed almost proud of me knowing that I had played a fair game. It was also comforting for me to know that he and the other friends knew that it was not beginner s luck. They knew that I had called each shot and that if my opponent hadn t been so arrogant, he might have played a better game. As it was, he played sloppy pool and knew it. His attitude afterwards showed his true self. Despite whatever else I may say about men, most of them play fair and follow the rules. As a result of this opponent s actions, his friends now know what type of person he really is. They may not ask him out again. As a result, one man was able to ruin my night out. If someone had asked me to dance, I wouldn t have gone near the pool tables. I would have danced, shared a conversation or two and considered it a good time. Instead, after finding myself standing alone way too long, I decided to shoot pool as an attempt to salvage my rare evening out. By the time I arrived at the pool tables, however, I was no longer interested in socializing. That s why I didn t talk, didn t flirt and certainly did not try to engage in their conversations. I just wanted to shoot some pool and be left alone. My good mood had turned sour. Besides, I already knew that I am a pretty good pool shoot and an even better one when I am angry and, therefore, feeling a little competitive. I played a great game that night. As I watched the poor sport stomp out of the bar, I was somewhat relieved that he had not asked me to dance and that I was the one who was able to challenge him and, therefore, take his table away. Merlene s Memos Copyright 2010 Page 5
As an attempt to see the brighter side of things, I consoled myself with the knowledge that it only cost me fifty-cents to cause a grown man to throw a temper tantrum in his own bar. This memory was only improved by the fact that he did so in front of all of his friends. Merlene s Memos Copyright 2010 Page 6