Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Worst pub quiz quote ever.

I've been called a lot of things since I started running the Globe's pub quiz. I've taken flak for questions, answers to questions, and questions about the answers, and I've done my best to weather all of those.

Tonight, with the air temperature being about 80 degrees (that's about 27 to my metric friends) in the back room, and me being all alone, and me being already pissy about something moderately related, took huge offense to a quizzer, sitting right next to my table, who said "you're probably not sophisticated enough to read Garrison Keillor."

Friends and neighbors, I grew up in the Minneapolis/St. Paul region. Sure, I lived in Chicago and Carroll County, Illinois, and Kitchener, Ontario, but if you really, really want to boil it down to where I spent the most of my formative years, it would have to be Minneapolis/St. Paul. During those formative years, I spent a lot of time being assigned works by, guess who... Garrison Keillor. I also, thanks to my mother and father, was exposed to the works of Kurt Vonnegut, Jr, Stephen King, and last but not least, to the movies of Stanley Kubrick. I learned hard and fast what I thought was important to the world, at least, what I thought should be important.

One of those things is NOT the works of Garrison Keillor.

So, I told that quizzer what I told you. And yet when, after this happened, I took a couple points off their score, they insisted that I return those points. I do not take insults likely, especially when too warm, and especially when in the middle of running a pub quiz. Instead of standing my ground, I gave them the two mystical, magical points, and asked them not to return, other than to use their certificate, good for any night of the week.

I can understand wanting to win. I am a competitor. However, when participating in a quiz for charity, well, I'm just happy someone is giving me the opportunity to have some fun for my meager contribution.

Perhaps that's just me. Perhaps my friend is right when she tells me that I'm the only one who really gives a shit about what I work for. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

I've had enough. Time for some sketch and my bed. The rest of the world can kiss my ass, frankly.


Post a Comment

<< Home