You know what yesterday was? That’s right. Tuesday.
You know what that means? Aw yeah. Pub Quiz.
My brother’s in town from college and was looking forward to a good Edinburgh throw down. I rallied the Usual Suspects and our team of 12 convened early to drink, eat and secure the biggest table.
Turns out, there’s some Spots history at Edinburgh Castle. My folks used to go on dates there, back in the day, and dad and his cronies once held their Democratic Club meetings in the room upstairs. So, it was easy to talk the Spots patriarch into joining us and dominating the U.S. History/Foreign Policy category.
Once again, the subject of our team name kicked off the conversation and we settled on Alex’s offering, “Jesus is coming. Look busy.”
We’d previously rejected “Chris’s Unwarranted Ego.”
It’s tough having a team of twelve, especially when everyone thinks they’re right. For most of the game, both ends of the table scribbled down answers, comparing notes when it was time to turn ‘em in. This got heated.
Jason screamed at me across the table, “You’re losing control, Beth!”
No shit. These bitches are playing to win.
At one point, even dear old dad turned on me. “Can I join another team?”
Nice, daddy. That’s really nice.
By Round 5, Pa was exhausted. “But, Dad!” Alex screamed. “You’ve only been here for 3 hours!” He left anyway, perhaps worried about his precious car in such a dicey neighborhood. Dad graciously made the rounds and departed as we started the next set of questions, entitled “Bridges and Tunnels.”
What? Dad come back!
Literally, my father could be considered a national expert on this very subject. And at the only moment in the history of my life that his expertise could be of any personal use, he bounces. Alex whipped out his cell, desperate to catch dad. But it was too late. Our secret weapon split just when we needed him most.
Well, that’s not true. He did buy beer.
True to form, Big Chris dominated in his standard categories: Sports films and has-been Playmates. If only there was a Question Round pertaining to Tecate beer can art and randomly screwing nameless co-eds. Maybe next time.
After a while, Pub Quiz takes it out of you. Well, that and about 8 Dixie cups of Chardonnay. I mean, really. Some of us have jobs.
Mikey couldn’t take it anymore. He headed home, and left us to fend for ourselves.
We finished with a respectable 44. I think we may have been beaten by team “Fresno: The only place where a Puerto Rican can be considered white trash.”
Our team broke up, I kissed Kate and Armando goodbye, and Jason, Alex and I headed out for midnight pizza and gossip.
“So that’s Pub Quiz.” Alex said, chomping on GhettoPizza.
“Yep.” responded Jason. “Next time we’re going to Harvey’s in the Castro.”
Gay Pub Quiz? Um, yeah. Leave it to Metro to know about that one.
So, Mom. How about it?
*I'm sure Berkeleyist will have her version of events...