Unsupervised Activity

Once a month, my wife Helen plays Bunco with eleven other women. She has been playing with the very same women for five or six years now, if not longer. In any given month, one of the regulars, due to unforeseeable circumstances, cannot be part of the camaraderie. There is a substitute waiting list for those longing for an opportunity to fill in. The game itself is an afterthought if you ask me. It’s the social interaction that all these women look forward to one Saturday evening each month.

To this day the game of Bunco remains a mystery to me. At one time or another I have inquired as to the rules of play, yet retain none of the information my wife has provided. I have considered that my inability to grasp the game’s objective perhaps lays in my subconscious awareness that Bunco and all that goes with it, is not to be part of my realm but Helen’s alone, her activity to be enjoyed, her time away from the trappings of our relationship.

This much I do know about Bunco. It is a dice game. Twelve people are needed to play. Helen and her friends play for money. Just this morning while considering this topic, after several moments of contemplation, I proudly declared to Helen, as if discovering some previously unknown strand of DNA, that I was of the belief Bunco was some sort of advanced form of Yahtzee. To which she succinctly replied; “No, Bunco is nothing like Yahtzee.” I am forever doomed to wander the earth for the rest of my years unfulfilled, tormented by my ignorance of Bunco. So in any given month, once the date and whose home for the rendezvous is set; I make plans to go out. (See Where Everybody Knows Your Name).

Since I no longer drink, I cannot simply go to a bar like I used to do when given a night of unsupervised freedom. Besides, just going to some watering hole lacks a certain amount of social creativity. I tried going alone to the movies; once. I was dying to see Gran Torino. If you are a regular reader of this blog, you’ll know that if Clint Eastwood was doing a two hour infomercial or public service announcement; I’d consider that “can’t miss” entertainment.

I had seen the trailers. I read the glowing reviews. I heard those who had seen Gran Torino gush at Eastwood’s latest cinematographic triumph. I would go while Helen played Bunco.

When I arrived at the theater, I saw how it had been taken hostage by a generation of individuals exceedingly younger than myself. I am well aware of the behavior of these miscreants. They talk throughout the picture. They don’t turn off their cellphones, allowing them to ring indiscriminately during the course of the movie. They have not-so private conversations with acquaintances that are within shouting distance. And if anyone were foolish enough to “shhh” this unruly mass, you are met with the vulgar catcalls of “Fuck you!” and “Up yours,” or the popular alternative “Shove it asshole.” I have experienced these moments firsthand. I vowed to only attend matinees henceforth. I waited for Gran Torino to come on Pay Per View.

Every now and again Helen’s Bunco night coincides with my friend Gregg’s plan to attend the Mosaic Theater, a small, wonderful theater group. I jump at those opportunities when Gregg offers. I love live theater. Particularly really good live theater, and Mosaic productions are just that.

I have had the good fortune to be out of town once or twice on Bunco night though it wasn’t planned that way.

Sometimes obligations arise involving groups I am affiliated with. These obligations provide the perfect outlet for my limited solo social activity.

There have been evenings where I was perfectly content to stay at home while Helen and her band of merry women did their thing. I stayed home to watch March Madness. I’ll stay at home if the Mets are going to be on TV. If I’m lucky enough, someone may invite me to take in a Marlins game.

I’ll stay home if there’s a movie I’ve wanted to see being premiered on HBO, Starz, or Showtime.

Last January, Helen was the designated Bunco host. I stayed home, in the bedroom, with the door shut, and watched the first of two NFL playoff games. I went out to a local sports bar Bokamper’s, to watch the second game between the Colts and the Ravens because I felt uncomfortable for reasons unknown.

Within the last year, the internet has given me something new to do on Bunco night. Facebook has reconnected me with people who live locally that have gone missing from my life. One of them is Ari Gelfant.

Ari was my boss when I sold cars, if you could call what I did “selling,” much to Ari’s frustration; so confounding in fact, that when I informed Ari I could make more money if I collected unemployment and social security disability, Ari did his part by obligingly firing me. However, I neglected to tell Ari that I had to wait several months before the first disability check came. Hence, I did not have enough money to pay the bills during this period and found myself in a terrible mess. Along came Ari to the rescue.

Ari developed a brand new position for me at the dealership; Customer Relations Manager. Together we broke new ground and paved the way for those that followed in proper customer care practices and procedures. He truly held out a helping hand to a man when he was down. I never forgot him for that, though we eventually drifted apart, in no small part due to my burgeoning alcoholism. Facebook brought us back together. I was delighted to see his “friend request,” and quickly accepted. I called him immediately.

We did our share of catching up and promised to “get together” in the near future. I had heard and made that promise many times over the years, only to see the “get together” never come to fruition. Not so with my friend Ari. When the opportunity presented itself in the form of one of Helen’s Bunco nights; I seized it. I called weeks in advance to see if Ari truly was interested in “getting together,” (is there such a thing as vaguely specific?). He was, so we did. And the townspeople rejoiced!

Ari is in the midst of restoring a 1969 big block Corvette Coupe. Knowing Ari as I do, when he’s finished it will be better than it was delivered from the factory. On this particular evening he was doing some tedious fiberglass work. This did not dampen his spirits nor the conversation. We inquired of our children since it had been many years since either one of us had laid eyes on the others offspring. Aside from that, it was like there had been no gap in real time. This past Saturday Helen had Bunco again. There was no play to go to. The Marlins weren’t in town. Ari and I’d be getting together.

This time I got to see his kids and his wife Suzy (Suzanne to you strangers). I was fortunate enough to see his youngest Zach now sixteen, play hockey. Coincidentally, the first time Ari and I socialized Suzy was in North Carolina visiting a friend. Last Saturday, that very same friend was visiting Suzy. It was a grand afternoon which led into a grand evening. A reunion like this could turn out to be like stepping in dog poop. Initially, you’re surprised, but essentially it’s an unpleasant experience that leaves residual bad feelings.

Months may pass before I get an opportunity to enjoy Ari’s company again. That’s okay, probably for both of us. Most people can only take me in small doses. No sense jeopardizing an evening out when Helen has Bunco.