The Pinball Moment

Several weeks ago at my seester’s wedding, Peas was seated next to a friend who has dabbled in Pinball ownership. Somehow, at the end of the reception, Pinball became a new religion.

For a week straight all I heard about was Pinball machines. What is rare, what is common. What is fucking cool and what one can live without.

I was completely enthused.

But not one to hate on my man’s hobbies too hard, I listened and even entertained the idea of bringing in a monster Pinball machine into my home.
Once Michael is finished with school. And, you know, tuition payments. And has a j-o-b.

We agreed.

“Next year.”

Fast forward to three days later and I have a text from Michael:

“I bought a Pinball machine. I found it on Craigslist and it seems like a great deal and they don’t know what they have.”

Hold up.

What happened to the plan? Where is this machine? Does it even work?

Plans are for suckers, the machine is an hour away and your dad and JB are coming to help and I don’t know if it works or not.

SO. There was a solid plan.

A couple days later, we (hells yes I went. I was not about to miss this sure-fire adventure) road-tripped about 70 miles with my dad’s truck and trailer.

To….a suspect place. You know when you are going someplace new and you scope the area out? And sometimes you see a place and think, “I really hope it isn’t that place.”? Yeah. It was that place.

^Nope. Not this house. Why couldn’t it have been this house?

Michael BAILS out of the truck while I’m double-checking that my dad is armed and just goes in. I sat in the truck still belted in thinking, “My husband is a goner. He is already chained to the basement. We should just cut our losses and go.”

Bravery is thy name. So we walk-in. We are welcomed by two dozen empty Busch cans lining the window sill. Keeping the Busch cans company were dozens of spray paint bottles. I don’t want to jump to conclusions but METH.

Also seen? Lovely kitchen word-work that read, “I LOVE VAGINA.”

Michael is miraculously unharmed and upstairs assessing the pinball situation. Not in the basement. But still a flight of stairs away with a mass of machinery.

So I walk on up. To a room that honestly would have been awesome if it was in my house. The things I could have done. It needed some de-cluttering. The old wall-mounted plastic phones laying in a pile along with old skool AIWA speakers would need to go. Oh, and there was a live bunny. Which is better than a real dead bunny. I thought very seriously of liberating that poor bunny. I just didn’t quite have the balls.

So we huffed and we puffed. And we realized that this Pinball machine was really effing big and would be hard to get down.

There were some failed attempts.

Some curse words.

Some brainstorm sesh’ing.

Luckily, my dad always comes prepared with tools. And I always come prepared to help a small bit.

So I did my part, then realized we all wouldn’t fit down the stairwell so I just took pictures instead.

Gold star for me.

We somehow got the thing down. Once it was to be trekked out of the house, I went outside to wait because I just couldn’t watch. And there were some creepy ass people inside.

^That head of hair belongs to a 66 year old man. Impressive, I know.

There was a guy who had things pierced I wasn’t aware could be pierced. And tattoos of faces that had earrings pierced into the eyes. Who were smoking a really legal rolled cigarette. Oh, and I was invited to join the local Roller Derby team.

Because something about me must scream, “I LOVE violence.”

We finally got out of there. With a pinball machine that yeah definitely doesn’t really work.

Michael apparently fashions himself as a pinball mechanic suddenly.

I made him buy me a blooming onion as penance.