So I’m a local here in Ormond by the Sea. I belong to a group of about 600 journalists across the country who participate in a blog about their experiences. Here is the recent post I sent my journalist friends about my experience at Frank’s, and then Hanky Panky's, and the responses I got from fellow journalists:
DANA WILKIE writes:
How to Get Kicked Out of a Pool Hall
So, for years I’ve been shooting pool recreationally. Typically, that required having a pool table in my home, which I sometimes did, or frequenting pool halls and bars to seek challengers.
Recently, I began playing in tournaments at our local hall and, boy, is that learning curve steep. APA rules are different from bar rules, and so I’ve learned new terms like “ball in hand” and “in the kitchen.” I’ve acquired new accoutrements, like a break stick, a shooting glove, and a pool tip shaper.
These are high competitors, these pool tournament folks, and they don’t suffer amateurs patiently. Compared to them, I’m a rank amateur. I was schooled about A) not chalking up the table too much; and B) not hovering too close to the table to view my opponent’s shots; and C) how to improve my piss-poor, anemic breaks.
So it was that I frequented another local bar here in Ormond Beach, Florida, by the name of “Frank’s.” There, beyond the view of these tournament sharks, I practiced on my own – perfecting angles and bank shots, learning about “walking the dog” (pool slang for rolling a ball against the rail all the way down to a corner pocket) and trying not to chalk up the table.
This went well for some time, until I ran afoul of Frank’s bartendress, who apparently took an instant disliking to me. Surly and rude – to several patrons, I’ve heard – she chided me for leaving my debit card behind, for playing music on my iPhone that “nobody wants to hear” and for – you know – chalking up the table (even though Frank’s provides abundant chalk for just this purpose).
So apparently, according to patrons, I further irritate said bartendress – she is inaptly named “Charity” -- by talking too much with her boyfriend and shooting against him. So, things started to get ugly.
Charity’s boss, the two of them friends, marches up to me one evening after I walk in, and declares that I was spotted lifting someone’s purse the night before. First, the purse in question belonged to a friend and fellow shooter who asked me to move it from one chair to a chair closer to her. Second, while I’m hardly made of money, I’m not yet at the point where I need to pilfer purses.
I try to object, but then realize that this owner, her name is Annette, has it out for me. So, I return to Frank’s and try not to chalk up, keep my iPhone on silent, retrieve my debit card dutifully, and avoid said bartendress’s sometime boyfriend.
Only to be confronted one more by “Annette,” who claims that there have been “too many complaints” about me and then announces she’s banning me from “Frank’s.”
Now I fully recognize that an establishment’s owner has the freedom to refuse service to anyone, for any reason. I’m also aware that what went down here was about jealousy, pettiness, and retribution. Regardless, there are other local halls – including the tournament hall where shooters are tough -- but friendly and helpful.
In any event, I sort of consider this a badge of honor. I’ve been kicked out of a pool hall! Wait ‘till my future grandchildren hear about it.
Meanwhile, the rumors of my apparent transgressions drifted down a few blocks to the new pool hall I began frequenting -- entitled "Hanky Panky's." Before long, the owner there, a man by the name of Mike, had it out for me. So did the woman running the tournaments there, who quickly found reason to kick me out of said tournaments after I beat her a few times. Eventually, owner Mike --a thoroughly messed up and apparently coked or methed up guy -- kicked me out as well.
In any event, my journalist friends found this all very amusing and responded...
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