How The Bowling Hottie Came To Be

Back in my formative years, working in a run-down bowling alley in the smalltown city of Portland, Oregon, there was a personal ad published in one of the alternative papers (The Portland Mercury).

It was published in the "I Saw You" section. You know the one for chance incounters. The place where people write ads to people that caught their attention, but they were too nervous to give their number to. In other words, it was published in the best part of the paper and the ad read something like this:

BOWLING ALLEY HOTTIE
You're the hot one who works at that bowling alley across the street from that strip club. You gave me used shoes, retrieved my ball from the ball return and made funny jokes.

If I could find the archieve I would quote directly, but you get the idea.

Jason, my bitter love, found the ad and showed it to me and the others we worked with. He was certain The Bowling Alley Hottie mentioned was me, as was everyone else surveyed.

I was flattered, I was over-joyed. I tried to remember who this stranger who took such notice could be...an answer escaped me, but it certainly seemed plausable. I seemed more worth of the title than most anyone else who worked behind the bowl desk, handing out "used" shoes.

I was married, but I was also curious. So I went home and emailed the address linked to the ad. I wrote:

I am responding to the Bowling Alley Hottie ad. I work at Grand Central. Is that the bowling alley you were refering to?

My response came and informed me that yes, it was Grand Central. But it appeared that the name was somewhat feminine...hard to tell sometimes from email names. I asked if the bowl desk attendant was a man or woman. And she explained that it was a man with dark scruffy hair.

It took me a minute but I knew exactly who she was talking about: Dave. Dave is in his mid-30s. He is a very nice guy who plays in a band. He is a very nice guy, who has a bizarre temper that he frequently unleases on pesky, yet undeserving customers (an attribute he was later fired for).

I forward her message on to Dave.

I went to work the next day and explained to Jason and all that the famed Bowling Alley Hottie was Dave. Sneers were exchanged and I declared that I was the rightful owner of the title. No one argued and I have worn it proudly, drunkenly, nievely and honorably ever since.

I miss my bowling alley. I miss Jason. I miss Troy. I miss Portland. But the Bowling Alley Hottie in me lives on forever and always. It is something that formed me, something I can never forget and something that presents itself to me in the form of demons that I struggle everyday. The struggle is not in remembering, but in calculating and justifying that those years were not squandered away. Convincing myself that I was born, right there and everything I need to know, I learned by being The Bowling Alley Hottie.