Butter me up, Scottie

by

As a kid, it seems like you’re always being sent to your room unless that’s the only place you want to be. Then you’re stuck in the dining room with all your prehistoric relatives.

All my dad’s third cousins and great-somethings loved to play gin rummy. Whenever they visited, participation was mandatory. The moment we cleared the dinner table, the card deck appeared, closely pursued by amaretto cordials, Lucky Strikes and ashtrays the size of soup pots from an Army kitchen.

Then the thrills would begin: 

Great Aunt Gerry: Puff. Sip. Draw card.  

Third Cousin Ann: Puff. Sip. Shuffle cards.  

Great Uncle Hal: Puff. Sip. “Yippee! Gin.” 

Ugh. Since children aren’t supposed to question sacred family rituals, it probably took a decade of playing cards with chain-smoking relatives before it dawned on me that it wasn’t fun. Nor is any activity that requires hours of waiting in vain (and smog) for something momentous to happen. It’s like waiting for a car chase during a curling match. Unless Vin Diesel is playing, don’t hold your breath. 

Games are particularly hard on right-brain (OK, artsy-fartsy) types. Some say we’re blessed with insatiable curiosity, but what they mean is we have the attention span of a cabbage. Like preschoolers deprived of recess, we can’t stop fidgeting or feigning interest in anything for more than 30 seconds at a clip. Not without an Adderall prescription, anyway. 

Since becoming an adult (in theory) no longer held captive by family rituals, my friends have provided new ones. That means weekly participation in popular activities like karaoke and team trivia. Both usually take place in bars where dozens of self-styled paparazzi hover with cell phones, ready to pounce on your most humiliating moments before you can change your identity and move to Peru.

Now that my peers and a few hundred strangers (courtesy of YouTube) have heard my rendition of The Village People’s “Y.M.C.A,” I’m safe from future karaoke nights, but there’s still trivia. The prevailing belief is the older you are, the more obscure facts will be floating around your brain like space junk. If anyone should know where you could be arrested for riding in a taxi with an unchaperoned sheep or plowing your field with an elephant, they’re betting it’s me. 

I tried playing with them because I like having friends and I might be a rising star. The best trivia players have an insatiable thirst for obscure facts, like I do. At least, that’s what Scott said when he was buttering me up to join his team. Unfortunately, remembering where I left those facts is another story.   

During my first month of team play, I contributed approximately two correct answers. After yet another defeat, dejected team members still helped me scour the parking lot for my missing car. We’d been searching for about 45 minutes when it occurred to me I’d taken an Uber there. 

My last shot at social vindication was Pictionary. In a game where you draw clues to help your team guess the answer, you’d think artists would be the starting quarterbacks, right? Not so much.

Friend Scott: “What’s taking her so long?”

Friend Linda: “She seems to be shading a rhino.”

My defense: “It’s a unicorn. You have no appreciation of fine art.”

So now that all invitations have been revoked, I have weekday nights free again. But it’s a good thing. Babar and I needed some extra time to plow the yard before we move to Peru.  

Jan A. Igoe is starting a Pictionary team for artists with Prismacolor pencils, Copic markers and Rembrandt oil paint. Everybody is invited, but it’s BYO Adderall. Game night invitations may be sent to HumorMe@SCLiving.coop.