Back in the Game

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[And thanks to Josh for clueing me in and getting me out of my frames world.]

I played hockey last night for the first time since getting back from London, making it something like an eleven-month absence from the game. [Viewed from far enough away, any flesh-coloured picture looks like porn. I am watching the designer guy a couple of cubes away, and it turns out they are just pictures of wrists and hands with bracelets, but it sure looks like porn. Maybe it is just me.]

I did not even remember how to put on the equipment. I had some vague recollection that if you put something on first, you would be totally unable to put on something else later, but I was darned if I could remember what. I surreptitiously watched everyone else dressing to try and glean a clue.

After I was fully dressed, I realized I had my pants on backwards, and the cup was in back, protecting god only knows what, but certainly not the interests of future generations of McJannets.

Then we got on the ice, and my left knee said, ?you want me to do what??, and I did not remember how to stop, much less turn, much less skate backwards, much less even hope to skate and handle the puck at the same time.

However, once we started playing the game, it was great. I was merely okay in my defense slot, but I had expected to stink. I had expected to have regressed to a skill level as if I had never been on skates before. I thought people would go whizzing by me, stepping over my defense like a child on a bicycle would avoid a dog turd on the sidewalk.

But I was definitely less than terrible. Once in the throes of the game, body memory or something took over and I was skating up and back like a regular Joe. I even had cool stopping-while-skating-backwards skills. I had a couple of great saves and steals, and only a couple of embarrassing moments of accidentally passing the puck to the opposing team.

Mostly, though, what a great feeling it was to be back out on the ice.

This morning sucked, getting up early to get some exercise after having both exercised and played hockey the evening before. Not enough sleep or recuperation time.

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I would like to win the lottery and be rich, and then go to work at Burger King.

I would meet some new cutie, and she would see me in my swank new clothes, driving my cool M3, and they would ask me what I do for a living, and I would say, ?I am the assistant shift-lead at the Burger King on Aurora and 200th ? the one kitty-corner from the Costco in Shoreline??

People?s reactions would just be great. Maybe I would have to carry around my pay stub and name badge in case people did not believe me. I would have all variety of lies ready for their questions. ?But... where did you get your car??

?Lost and found. You would be amazed what people leave behind.?

Dating potential or not, you have to figure it would be very revealing how people treat you when they find out you are smart and funny but work the crappiest of crap jobs.

And I do specifically want to work in the Burger King by my house. It is such an unpleasant restaurant to go to, and for no good reason. In the five years I have lived in the house, I have maybe only been inside that many times. It is always too cold, and just a little bit too dirty, and the tables have always needed bussing.

Put me in charge of that Burger King, and I would double its business in the first year just by turning up the thermostat eight degrees and keeping the store and lot immaculate. It is a crime that I have fast food within walking distance and I end up getting in my car and going to Wendys, two miles away.