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A Cross Dresser, a Drag Queen, Two Drunks and an 8-Ball

By Stef Matthews

Fall Harvest '97 was finally over and I had gone to my room to change out of my gown and put on something a bit more comfortable. I headed up to the hotel bar to enjoy a nightcap, relax and socialize, hoping to get some sleep really soon. I sat chatting with JoAnn Roberts when Barbra Love called me over to her near the pool table. She had a concerned look on her face. Most of our convention had invaded the bar after the festivities and we were getting more than our fair share of looks from the "straight" crowd.

Barbra told me that the two big guys on the table now (who were obviously drunk) had taken the quarters of some of our members by intimidating them until they backed down. Barbra had placed two quarters on the rail and wasn't taking her eyes off of them. When their game was over, the bigger of the two reached for our quarters and Barbra immediately went into her "in your face" act. I happened to be holding a cue stick and backed her up, just in case. Not to brag, but Barbra and I are two of the better pool players in our group and it was our intention to teach these guys a lesson that they probably wouldn't remember in the morning anyway. Of course, this was a bit risky on our part, but we had them outnumbered and I know that high heel bruises take much longer to heal than the regular kind.

Barbra slotted the quarters and I racked the balls up for a game of partners "bar-style" 8-ball. I shuffled the balls around, tossed a couple in the air, lay the 8-ball on top of the rack and slammed it on the spot where the 8-ball fell into place and gracefully, almost daintily, spun the triangle back into it's slot in the side of the table. The big obnoxious one was behind the line and just looked at me with icicles shooting from his eyes. He reared back and let loose a strong break, pocketing two stripes in the process. He then missed a straight-in shot on another stripe and I offered the table to Barbra, which she declined. I eyed the table and began to form my strategy. Most of my pool is without a partner and I wasn't used to compensating for another player. But, I knew that Barbra was a strong enough player to pick up whatever I might miss. I shot a solid and missed. I hoped Barbra could support my flubbed shot. Suddenly the larger drunk says, "Hey, let's make this interesting! Let's play for drinks. Winner buys!" We knew what he meant, even if he didn't. As the bartender just made last call, we had one of our friends buy a couple of shots for the winner of this apparent grudge match with people we'd never met before and would likely never see again.

Uh Oh

The game continued. They shot and made a stripe, then Barbra shot and made two solids. She was on her game that night. That was good, because it looked like we might need it. They shot and made a solid on what looked like an accidental shot. That left us with four more solids on the table and they were laid out fairly nice, but I had to bank one to get shape on the next. After I made that shot, the larger drunk says, "Hey, what you doin' shootin' at our balls!" I let the "guy" in me take over and said, "Wrong! You're stripes! Look in the window in the side of the table!" He yelled back, "You callin' me a liar?" That's when I figured out what this game was about.

I walked over to him, slowly of course, and focused on his bloodshot, darting eyes and whispered in his ear, "We don't have to finish this. It's only a game. We'll just quit now and give you and your friend the drinks." He said, "No, you're cheating by switching balls and then calling me a liar!" I placed my hand on his shoulder and again whispered, "I don't want to play any more." I twirled the cue right past his ear and laid it on the table and he flinched back a bit. I wasn't sure what was going to happen next but I turned my back to him, never taking my hand off of the cue stick I had laid across the table. He said, "Awright! I'll let you have that shot, but you're STRIPES!" I picked the cue stick up and said, "Fine! Let's finish this." My blood was damn near boiling at this point. With the stress of the previous week (another story that I'll write for Snow Storm Forum) and the stress of working Fall Harvest left me with very little patience, or seemingly any common sense.

I removed my cue from the table and let them try to take the two remaining solids. Barbra made one of the stripes on her turn, and they missed a solid on their turn. I was just pissed off enough to forget about things like watching my back, taking my time to line up shots, but I was lucky enough to run the remaining three stripes in and leave myself an almost straight-in shot on the 8-ball. As I lined the 8-ball up in the upper corner I could see the big drunk guy standing at the end of the table trying to stare me down. I just smiled at him, looked down at the cue ball and let a nice easy lag roll the cue ball into the eight and all around the corner pocket. It never fell! They started laughing as it looked like I had just blown the game. Their remaining two balls looked too easy to miss. Well, when you're that drunk the odds are you couldn't hit the floor if you fell over. They didn't disappoint us. They missed another easy shot. Barbra easily rolled the eight in from its nest in the corner pocket. We had won.

The two drunks went back to their equally drunk friends at the other end of the pool table. Barbra and I walked over to the two shots laying on our table and clinked glasses together and threw them down our throats in one swallow. Barbra then went over to collect the money for the shots. She tells me the large obnoxious drunk's girlfriend said, "I can't believe you let them beat you!" At which point he pulled money out of his pocket and paid Barbra for the drinks we had won. Life was good.



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