The Road to Pinburgh: Apocalypto

I was playing some TRON after work today.  A woman was on Apollo 13.  I noticed there were three PPM post cards on the glass right above the lock down bar on her game.  I figured maybe the staff had put them there for people to take, but they were very noticeably blocking the flippers from view.

Being a freakin’ Dudley-do-right, I mentioned to her that it was fine to move them out of the way, thinking maybe she didn’t know. “You know if those are in your way…”

Then it got weird.

Without looking up she said, “You’re TALKING to me while I’m playing?” in a wildly angry and incredulous tone of voice. My hair stood on end and my pulse flew.

It was the sort of voice where if it had come from Idi Amin, or some other third-world crackpot merciless despot, a military officer in khaki uniform with sweat-glistened brow and lifeless stare would have immediately and quietly moved right behind me with a pistol leveled at the back of my head.  I’d hear a hammer being cocked and then BLAM my brains on the adjacent game.  Meanwhile she’d chuckle and collect a Super Jackpot.

“I wasn’t trying to distract you…” I attempted.

“DON’T TALK TO ME!  GO AWAY! NOW!”

“Okay, okay, fine.”

“YOU MADE ME LOSE MY BALL. YOU WERE THE CAUSE!”

I reached into my pocket.  “Look, let me get your next game.”

“GO AWAY.”

“Fine, fine!”  I started walking back to TRON, but decided to put another game’s distance between us, and went to Transformers instead.

As I was moving away she dismissed me with this: “Go play some game… with some of your other lost souls…”