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It was a dark and stormy night. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly dark. It was more like twilight. Well, maybe a few hours before twilight. But it was stormy! Somewhere on the planet earth. Just not in San Antonio, Texas, which is where I happened to be at that moment. I remember wishing that it would storm, instead of having to deal with the smoldering air that held so much moisture it made you think you were breathing in about two-hundred gallons of warm water every second. I was not on one of those dream vacations you win by filling out some goofy, contest entry form at the temporary fitness booth in the mall. Nope, no dream vacation for me. I had to be on one of those “exciting” company sales expeditions, doing what I hated most. Selling. The job involved traveling to a vast array of unfamiliar and, more often than not, deliriously dreary cities. Upon my arrival to one of these cheerless metropolises, I was supposed to attempt to coerce innocent people into purchasing a medley of useless objects, such as decorated dog dishes with matching pooper-scoopers. (What happened to regular old paper towels and stainless steel bowls, for crying out loud?) It wasn’t my idea of the ultimate dream job, but it paid the rent…or at least most of it. And it did give me plenty of time to fantasize about what a truly successful career would be like. You know, the kind of work that would be fun, exhilarating and fulfilling all at the same time.
What I really wanted to be was a championship ping-pong player. Now that would be a thrilling career! The sound of that little white ball whizzing through the air at the speed of light. The feel of the paddle swinging wildly, yet effortlessly, in the air, from side to side, as the resonance of “Ping! Pong!” echoes in the silent room, filled only with an anxious audience. Seeing fear in the eyes of a competitor that knows he is incapable of returning the razor edged shots being plummeted toward him. Ah, yes, sweet victory without even so much as breaking a sweat.
I could see the final conquest in my mind…I slam the winning shot directly into the right hand corner of my opponent’s side of the table and the crowd goes wild! The band plays “Hail to the Chief” as the masses carry me on their shoulders, into a packed street where ticker tape floats from above in a parade commemorating my awe-inspiring triumph. Toting my three-foot tall, gold plated trophy, I grin and wave humbly to my adoring fans, while trying not to lose any of the cash dripping out of my pockets. Okay, so I hadn’t ever actually played a ping-pong game, but it looked fairly easy. And I was into easy.
The hotel I was staying in that night happened to be about a block from an all night gym, so I thought I would head over there just to see what was going on. (I also hate exercise, but gyms are great places to meet babes.) I sauntered into the establishment, looking cool and calm, when to my astonishment, I spotted a ping-pong table in one of the back rooms! I watched a couple of guys popping the ball around, and mustering up my courage, waltzed up to the table and offered to play the winner. I thought, “This is going to be so simple”…I could feel my dream coming true just standing there. As I tarried at the side of the large, green table, watching the game in progress, I took note of how to hold the paddle and hit the ball with it. Piece of cake. No problem.
The two gentlemen finished their game and it was my turn to show my extraordinary expertise in this sport. (Oh, Lord, what had I gotten myself into this time? Okay, calm down…remember: you are a natural at this.) Stepping up to the table, paddle in hand, I held my waning confidence in check. (After all, if you have a dream of being the very best at something, aren’t you predestined to do so?) This was going to be easy. My gracious opponent allowed me the first serve. I accepted the gesture as a sign of weakness on his part, and took full advantage of pounding the ball his way. Right into the far wall. I was just warming up. All I had to do was bounce the little white ball on the table (Was it suppose to be this light?) and whack it into my contender’s mid section. BAM! The ball zoomed right past his left cheek and into the nose of the young man standing behind him. I determined that I was probably better at returning the ball…I’d work on my serve later.
It was my adversary’s turn to serve and my opportunity to show him, and the crowd gathering around the table, my incredible, natural ability at recovering any spiritless effort he tried to pass off as actual playing skill. I was ready for anything he could possibly toss my way. He took his shot and I…watched it dart past my left shoulder as it seemingly came close to breaking the plexiglas wall behind me. (Was that a bullet or a ball?) Okay, now I was ready. I, somewhat apprehensively, positioned myself in the newly unearthed “challenge-me-not” stance I had acquired. Bent low to the table, legs spread in the traditional triangular posture, shifting from foot to foot; I was prepared for my competitor’s next advance. He raised his paddle, smashed it into the ball, and just as I was about to make the most gallant return of my career, my athletic career came to an abrupt end. With a black eye the size of a ping-pong ball and an ice pack drawn to my face, I slowly moved toward the exit door of the gym.
Maybe people really do need decorated dog dishes.
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