So I went to the outlet mall, with the Dave & Busters (where we went for my bachelorette party) and played skeeball. I’d purchased a card months ago with the intent to go to D&B every weekend Gene is out of town. That card still has points on it, all these months later. So anyway, I’m playing along, happy as a clam (well, happy enough – if my lane is supposed to have 9 balls, why did somewhere between 11-14 keep coming down the shute when I’d start a new game?) when I finish a game where I’d scored 500,000 points.
And that was the score to reach this afternoon to win the “jackpot” tickets (206 tickets). So, the screen says JACKPOT and the ticket spitter just keeps spitting out tickets. I’m staring at them quizzically, head tilted like Betty’s, waiting for them to stop. A kid, maybe 8 years old, walks over. “Hey, did you win those?” he asks.
“Yep!” I reply. “Would you like them?”
He (of course!) says “Sure!” so I hand them all over to him and he thanks me, and then I walk out of Dave & Busters hoping I have once again scored enough good Karma to make it through another week. I always give the tickets to some kid at D&B because it’s admittedly absurd that a 31 year old would go there just to play Skeeball. And I always walk out hoping that because I’ve done something good, something good will be done to me.
(And then I got a caramel peanut apple. Yum. Okay, and then I tried on a ton of cute shirts with inexplicably tiny sleeves at Ann Taylor Loft – DUMB plan, but probably related to too many caramel apples…ya think?).