If you are a religious reader of this site you know that I am supremely competitive, especially after a few drinks. Last night was no exception. We went to a restaurant/bar in Canton (of all places) to celebrate our friend’s birthday (happy birthday, Scott) with trivia! Trivia is so fun! It’s challenging and funny and everybody has a great time AS LONG AS NOBODY CHEATS WITH THEIR FUCKING BLACKBERRIES.
The Internet. It’s a double-edged sword. On the one edge of the sword it is great and allows me to stay connected to people I care about and meet new people and read feminist blogs for free and write my own asinine blog and all that garbage. That’s the good edge of the sword. Then there’s the other edge. It’s also sharp but in a bad way. This side of the sword cuts you on your hip when you try to put it back in its holster or that’s what I assume the saying refers to. The bad side of the sword means that nobody is honest in bar trivia anymore. Nobody cares about nobility and challenging themselves and actually engaging in competition with strangers for a $25 gift card to a middling neighborhood restaurant. They cheat with their fucking blackberries. And when good, noble, concerned citizens like me go up to the girl who’s running the trivia to tell on those spineless fuck faces she says she will make an announcement reminding people not to cheat but then she never does because she is also a spineless fuck face. WHATEVER. The point is this: I may have tried to fight some dudes. Let me start at the beginning.
Billy and I drove down to Canton after work last night to meet Scott, Ashley, and Dana. We got some delicious wings and a bunch of beers. Everything’s going along great so far. Soon Scott and I are going drink for drink. At first it wasn’t on purpose but then we realized we were drinking faster than everybody so we should just go for it. We had a shot. Birthday shot!!! Woo!!! Let’s play some fucking trivia! We start playing, we are basically kicking ass. We get about halfway through the game and we feel pretty confident. Everybody’s contributing, we know the answers, we’re feeling good. Then the girl running the game announces the scores so far. And what? We are almost in last place! How is this possible?! I’ll tell you how it’s possible: EVERYBODY WAS CHEATING. At one point Billy walked up to the front to hand in our answer and he leaned over the table next to us to look at somebody’s blackberry to confirm that they were, indeed, googling navel oranges and not just knowing the answer to the question about navel oranges. Come on! I’m typing really angrily right now just remembering this bullshit. CLICK CLACK CLICK CLACK ANGRY TYPING ARRGGHH.
Anyway. I decide, once it’s been confirmed, that I will complain to whoever is in charge. I march up to the front of the bar and tell the girl running trivia that people! are! cheating! This girl could not have been more apathetic. I marched back to our table. I decide to take matters into my own hands. I notice a group of douchebags by the bar clearly googling the shit out of the next question. I start giving them the death stare. I do not take my eyes off this group of a-holes. Eventually one of them sees me and starts staring back. haHA! I’ve got them now! I start mouthing the words “are you cheating?” to him and then I start miming a person googling on a blackberry. It was pretty clear to me. Point. “Are you cheating?” Mad thumb google mime. Obvious! Then I give him the finger. I decide to stop the death stare because I think he knows what he’s done. Then I notice him telling his friends, pointing at me, and all of them laughing. Fine. That’s fine because I know you feel bad about what you’ve done deep down inside and I am justified. Then he gets up. And he starts walking over. Oh. That’s how you want to play it? I turn death stare back on. I don’t take my eyes off him. He comes over to our table and says “Hey, what’s up? You guys playing some trivia?” We commence a conversation in which this jolly guy is totally pleasant to me and all of us and I, being thrown for a loop, continue with the bitch-tastic death stare and am really mean to him. Eventually he wins over all the people I’m with including my freaking fiance (thanks for backing me up, Billy) and everybody wants to play softball together. Great. Now I have no wind in my sails and my hopes for starting a fist fight are all for naught. And I am still riled up. All this energy and nowhere to put it. So we finish the game and totally lose and pay the bill and drive home and I can’t fall asleep until like 2AM because I’m a mess of unrequited trivia rage.
In conclusion, I should not go drink for drink with Scott Files and then play a competitive game of ANY KIND.