Decaf Kingpins

Frannie’s cane rapped sharply against the cheap laminate floor. “Ernie! Wake up!” When he didn’t respond, she jabbed his good leg. “Ernie!”

“Mission abort! Abort!”

This time, Frannie bawled into his ear. “Ernie!”

With a snort, he jolted to the present. “I’m awake!” He snapped to attention, as much as he could from his wheelchair. He wheeled to the front of the room, slapped a map up onto the whiteboard, and snatched up the pointer.

“Mabel is going to cause a distraction at the front counter here,” he tapped the map, “while Frannie sneaks off to the electrical room at the back to deal with the lights. Once the lights are off, you know what to do. Myron, you’re our lookout, along with Mabel. Any sign of trouble—which shouldn’t happen, the lights will be out most of the time—raise the alarm. Fake a heart attack, dementia spell, something. Whatever you need to do to get attention away from the lanes. Got it?”

Grey-haired heads nodded.

“Now, you’ve all agreed to the immense physical risks—going out in the rain and having to move fast once the operation starts—but I know you’ve all been putting in extra sessions with the occupational therapist, so you should be ready.”

It’d been a long time since Ernie had been in charge of a mission, and the rush made him feel important. And young again. “Once it’s dark, you move in teams of three, snatch your prizes, and get back to the starting point. This is critical. You’ll only have five minutes, so move fast. Anyone caught out of place when the lights come back on is to fake an Alzheimer’s episode. Questions?”

There were none.

“Okay. Mission is a go for the next rainy day. Dismissed.” The group filed out of the room, just as the nurses came to fetch them for lunch.

“What have they been doing in there?” Amy asked.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Betty responded. “At least they’re docile again. I thought there was going to be a riot last week when they found out seniors night was cancelled at Bob’s

Bowl-o-rama.”

“Yeah, we almost ran out of sedatives that day. Didn’t Mabel call Bob and complain?”

“Yep. He said they wanted a younger crowd, that seniors didn’t spend enough. They grumbled for a week then forgot about it.”

“Thank god. Riled up seniors are not fun.”

Two days later, there was a palpable buzz in the air. Betty ran into the kitchen, frazzled. “Did we accidentally give them real coffee again? They are bouncing off the walls.”

“Nope,” Amy said. “They got decaf.”

“They’re insisting they want to go bowling.”

“In the rain? They hate the rain,” Amy said.

“Well, today they wanna go out.” Betty sighed. “There’s nothing scheduled tonight; the bus is free. I’ll take them. They’ll be tired in an hour.”

After dinner, the bowling group piled into the bus. It was raining hard and everyone had a wheeled tote filled with extra sweaters, boots, and raincoats for the weather. Once everyone was bowling, Betty turned her attention to her book.

After signaling Frannie and Ernie, Mabel made her way to the counter for step one. “These balls are too heavy! Don’t you have any smaller balls? And the finger holes are too far apart. I can’t fit my fingers in. I need smaller balls!”

The attendant tried to be patient. “Ma’am,” he explained, “we don’t have any other balls. What is out there is what we have.”

“But look at Myron’s balls!” Mabel pointed to Myron, who waved. He was holding a ball identical to Mabel’s. “He’s got nice balls! They’ve all got small holes. I want nice balls like Myron!”

A line was starting to form behind Mabel: the new, younger crowd the alley was hoping would replace the pesky seniors. The young ones liked to bowl and drink. That’s where the money was—beer. And boy, did the student crowd ever drink.

“Let gramma play with whatever balls she wants,” one snickered.

The attendant saw only one way out of this. “Okay. I will go get Myron’s balls and bring them to your lane. Where are you?”

“Six,” Mabel said and turned away.

Just then, the alley was plunged into utter darkness. The attendant forgot all about Myron’s balls as he groped for a flashlight under the counter.

“Goddamn rainstorms,” he muttered to himself. “The breaker always goes out when it rains.” Flashlight in hand, he flicked it on and headed toward the electrical room. “Hang tight!” he yelled to the crowd. “I’ll have everything back on in a few minutes!”

He did, but there was no more bowling that night. Each lane had only one pin left. The attendant gaped; the students looked confused then started shouting and drinking faster.

Frannie materialized at Betty’s side. “We’re ready to go, bring the bus round.”

Betty nodded and headed out; the seniors shrugged on their raincoats and packed up their wheeled totes. They took their time, harrumphing loudly about the bowling alley that couldn’t even manage to keep track of its pins. What was the world coming to?

The next day, as Bob sat in his empty bowling alley agonizing over the cost of new pins, a courier dropped off a letter. A snort of laughter escaped his lips when the saw the ransom demands. He picked up the phone and dialed the local nursing home.

“I don’t know who you need to tell—Muriel? Maple?—Mabel, you say her name is? Just pass her a message. Every Tuesday will be free bowling for seniors. Endless tea and peppermints included—as soon as I replace my missing pins. And tell her I lost my keys; the place will be unlocked all week.” He paused. “Just tell her. That wily old bird will know exactly what I mean.”

Over creamed wheat and decaf coffee the next morning, Mabel and her crew high-fived each other.

Don’t mess with senior’s night.