Hey Tonight

You know that weird sensation when you first wake from a dream where whatever was going on in the dream still seems real?  How sometimes you might actually stop and ponder the circumstances of said dream for a moment?  Well at some point this morning, while it was still dark out, I woke up wondering exactly how much a bowling ball could possibly cost.

Let me explain.

In keeping with what seems to have become tradition of late, my dreams are, to put it lightly, pretty wacky.  (If you asked me to put it heavily, I might be more inclined to use the phrase "fucked up" in some instances.) This one was no different.  For whatever reason, I was on a serious mission.  Late some humid night, it was necessary for me to visit an old couple from whom I could buy, you guessed it, a bowling ball.  These were the only people who could possibly provide what I needed for some reason, and I had to come calling at this strange hour for some reason.  Turned out these people lived in a trailer park.  I knocked on the door, and after a second I’m pretty sure Christopher Lloyd answered, looking a lot like Doc Brown with his wild white hair.  He reluctantly let me in, as though he knew I was coming but couldn’t avoid the visit.  I said, "I hope I’m not intruding on anything…" as I looked around at a multitude of grocery bags his wife was in the process of unpacking.  At least, there were groceries in the bags– the bags themselves were the large, colored plastic variety you get from clothing stores.  They even had what appeared to be a store logo printed over and over down the front like those stores think is cool.  He said something smart-ass in reply, like, "No, no, what could you possibly be interrupting, it’s not like we just got back from the grocery store, please, come in." 

Anyway, the scene changed like a low-budget movie, and the groceries were put away and we were sitting in the living room discussing what I’d come for– bowling balls.  I asked, "Do you still sell bowling balls?"  Not-Christopher Lloyd replied, "Hell yeah we still sell balls! But we only got one right now, and he’s very old and particular, and I’m not sure you could handle him."  It was weird, somehow, in the dream, I knew that the bowling balls weren’t manufactured so much as raised.  From what I don’t know, and I didn’t question it, nor did I seem perturbed by it in the least.  Despite his prior comment, Not-Doc Brown fetched the ball in question.  It looked like a giant version of those multi-colored rubber bouncy balls you get out of a machine for a quarter, a random pattern of red, white, and blue swirls.  "Well whattya know," said not-the guy from Camp Nowhere, "I think he likes you!"  For some reason this whole exchange reminded me of the Miracle Max scene in The Princess Bride.

"How much?" I asked, pulling out my wallet, which, interestingly enough was identical to the wallet I carry in real life.  …I find it interesting anyway.  The old couple chuckled and said, "5000.  A Year."  I must have reacted the way they wanted, because the roared with laughter at their joke.  I fumbled around with my wallet and said, "I’ve only got $38!"  By this time it was quite bright out.  I have no idea what time any of this took place.  One of them said, "Well, tell ya what, why don’t you go to the bank and come back with at least $500 and we’ll talk."  This must have been enough of a shock to jolt me out of my slumber.  I sat up in bed, looked at the window in an attempt to figure out what time it was (all I got was "still dark") and wondered, "How the hell much are bowling balls??"  I swear I almost got up to find out right then and there, as if it was the most important thing in the world.  Then I realized it had been a dream, that I don’t even like bowling, and that finding out how much a ball costs could wait till I was actually awake if I happened to remember the whole thing at all. 

Turns out a bowling ball can be had, depending on what brand and where you get it, for under fifty bucks.  I guess that changes when the dealer has actually raised the balls from a young age and all.