Last night, I found myself at a table in a house I had never before been in. Seated at my right was a British scientist. On my left was a classical guitar virtuoso. And on the other side of this small round table were two professional male ballet dancers. We were playing poker–Texas Hold ‘Em–and I was losing.
Heh, no, this wasn’t a dream.
I had known that one particular group of my friends had a few poker players. I was somewhat aware that they had a Tuesday night poker game–tournament style–but I either had not expressed enough interest to get invited, or had just not made myself available. But then the subject of poker came up in a conversation with J., and three days later I traveled a surprisingly few blocks to the house of S. in the early evening.
Our host, S., was like his house: normal, average, almost nondescript on the outside, but when he first spoke, his British accent filling the room. And while he doesn’t look exactly like Ricky Gervais, the boss in the English–original–TV show The Office, his mannerism and speech patterns were almost a perfect match. Remembering S. talking a bit about Cambridge, and that he just got a patent, geodes popped into my mind. You know, those lumps of rock that have an amazing array of crystals inside? Yeah, that was what S., his house, and last night were like.
I’ve known the classical guitar virtuoso for a few years, but the male ballet dancers–the ballerinos–were new to me. They were all skinny, muscular, and even while lounging, at any time they seemed like they could spring from their chair and over the table in a single leap, just to get another beer. And I know what you’re thinking, but no, all but two were married–to the ballerinas that had been their dancing partners–and even those two had girlfriends. They all were nice, and pretty good poker players to boot.
There were enough of us that we used two tables; the dining room table and a fold-up one in the living room. We used the pick-a-card method for table and chair assignments. I drew a six of spades, so I was at the poker version of a card table in the living room, and got fourth pick for a seat. After about forty-five minutes of watching my chips slowly dwindle, I looked around the table. Every step of the evening had proceeded normally, but at that moment I realized at some point it had all become a bit bizarre.
Don’t get me wrong, S. was a great host, everyone was friendly, I had a good time, and will go back soon–to get my revenge. But come on! How many of you even know a single person who had seen a table like mine last night? Two ballerinos, a classical guitar virtuoso, a British scientist, and a writer sit down to play poker… it’s almost the beginning of a joke–or a weird murder mystery.
And that’s what I started thinking about there at the table, “There’s a story here, dammit; maybe two.” The Secret Lives of Ballerinos? The Odd Job Club? I don’t know yet, but I’m working on it.
So here’s the writing tip you can take away from this snippet of my life: You don’t have to look far to find story ideas, you just have to look around.
