pearman

blast from the past

Today, you get to read a previously unpublished vintage OMGWTF story.

 

 

It was early afternoon and I was one of three people practicing in the pool room. I had a table way off in the corner. I liked the isolation because it allowed me to concentrate. I was having problems concentrating this time, though, because there was a middle-aged, somewhat heavy set guy who was sitting at a cocktail table next to my table and, as he had every day for the past week, he was just STARING at me. He hadn’t yet spoken to me, but having someone watch you for a couple of hours a day can be unsettling.

By the way, this was before the Age of iPods – you know, When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth and I played with a glittery Cuetec.

I never said anything to Pearman (for so I had named him) and I didn’t complain about his presence. How do you complain to management about someone sitting next to your table staring at you? It was not life threatening (yet, maybe), only annoying. After the first couple of uncomfortable days, I determined that as long as he didn’t talk and stayed out of my way, I would work on ignoring him.

Today, I was working on running six balls. I would throw out the balls 1 through 6 and try to run them all in numerical order without missing. I was not consistent. Sometimes I ran four, once I ran five, more often I ran three and disturbingly often I ran two. Adding to my frustration today, Pearman was shifting around more than usual. Hemorrhoids, perhaps? I didn’t know, but it was distracting and he had also taken to clearing his throat softly. Since the pool room at this hour had the jukebox turned off, I heard every rustle and cough. F#cker.

It had been three hours and I threw the balls out on the table again.

“Hmm, uh, what exactly is it that you are, um, doing?”

So Pearman speaks English and not Pearmanese. I turned and regarded this man warily for some seconds before answering in my most neutral, deadpan tone with a strong underlying hint of discouragement and the faintest threat of violence, “I’m trying to run six balls without missing.”

“You’re not doing very well.”

As much as I would have like to cut him open from the navel to the chops and turned this asshole inside out the way I would fold a sock — he was right. As such, I gave him the Stare of Death but nevertheless said in the same neutral, deadpan tone, with a strong underlying hint of discouragement and now the unmistakeable promise of violence, “Yes.”

“Why do you think that is?”

I wanted to say, Because asshole pricks like you creep me the F#CK out by sitting next to my table and staring at me FOR HOURS and then interrupt my practice. But, you know, back in those days, I was a kinder, gentler sort of pool player and the filters in my brain worked on occasion.

I said slowly and very carefully, “Because I am not a good player, yet. I am working on it.” Having said this, I signaled the end of the conversation by turning back to the table and considering the layout. I picked up the cue ball and placed it in front of the one-ball.

In a surprising display of agility and unconcern for his own personal safety, Pearman got off his stool, swiped a house stick off the wall, and came up to the table. I stepped aside immediately, as I do not like physical contact with people I don’t know, and creepy pearmen even less. He might have mistaken my swift movement as a sign of deference and not the loathing it was. He walked up to the table with confidence and starting running the balls.

From my observations, he was a pretty good player. However, I must post my disclaimer that I had only been playing for a couple of years at that point, and was not a good judge of speed. He threw out the six balls again. This pissed me off royally. I f#cking hate it when people jack my table time. Nonetheless, I kept myself beautifully under control, that is to say, I said nothing and waited for him to f#ck off. After he ran the six balls, he said, “Now, wouldn’t you like to do that?”

“One day, I will.” I was plotting ways I could regain control of my table whilst maintaining my detached formality (with a suggestion of I-Will-F#CK-YOU-UP-ery).

“I can show you how to do that right now. And you’ll be able to do it more than once.”

“Really.” This put me on Threat Level Orange as I knew there had to be a catch. I was under no delusions of grandeur and was of the faction that believed there were no shortcuts to greatness. Also, the dude was annoying, creepy, and strangers who offered me any sort of instruction unsolicited immediately got red-flagged. Also, he had plumber’s butt every time he bent over to shoot. Eww.

“Hey, if I show you, will you have lunch with me?” Threat Level immediately shot up to Red.

“NO.”

I delivered this unequivocal answer quite forcefully and with no attempts to hide my distaste for Pearman’s presence.

“Great! Come over here!” Male selective hearing: a tale as old as time (a tune as old as song).

I didn’t budge, and reiterated, “NO.”

“Let me just get these balls back out…”

Now, I was faced with a dilemma. I said no, TWICE, and yet, this f#cking asshat was plowing forward with all the grace of a cape buffalo as if I had said yes — enthusiastically! I wanted to remain polite, and yet, I had to get rid of this f#cker, preferably without use of a chainsaw and shovels. As I mulled over varying polite versions of “go f#ck yourself” Pearman tossed the balls out on the table.

“Are ya ready?”Pearman’s creepy eagerness snapped me out of my thoughts. He indicated the table, with a sweep of his arm. I looked at his face and the glint in his eyes was extremely disturbing. I looked at the table.

 

There were six balls on the table.

Each ball was sitting in the jaws of a pocket.

 

OMG!

WTF?

 

“C’mon! Let’s see you run those six balls! I know you can do it!”

He was right: I could run those six balls, but running them in that manner — each one hanging in the pocket — was not the point of my practice. I was a serious player and this asshat was not taking me seriously.

I looked impassively at Pearman’s face for a long minute. I could not tell if he (thought he was) being funny, being genuinely enthusiastic about helping me run six balls, or a condescending prick with pants that were fighting a losing battle with gravity.

 

It is moments like these that have great effect upon who I have become as a pool player.

 

I decided that what he was thinking or feeling was unimportant. He had ruined what enjoyment I found in the game and I no longer wanted to be here. He had staked out my table for a week and made me uncomfortable for those days. He had interrupted my practice. He had tried to ask me out to lunch and when I said no, he had not heard (or pretended not to hear) my answer of NO. And now, this.

I said nothing and collected the balls and put them in the ball tray. I unscrewed my cue and put it in the case. The whole time, Pearman was babbling something but I did not hear him. F#cker sits there all creepified and sh#t for a week and doesn’t say a word, now he can’t take a hint and shut the f#ck up. Eyes straight ahead, I walked up to the counter as he fluttered around me.

I paid the time and walked out.

“Now where should we have lunch?”

“Go f#ck yourself, asshole.”

I began walking down the street.

He stood for a moment, and then walked after me, “Aww, c’mon! Don’t be like that! I thought we were going to have lunch. I’m buying, you know! I’M BUYING!

I turned around and yelled, “AND I THOUGHT YOU HAD SOME COCK TO GO SUCK!” People across the street flinched. Pearman stood there, slack-jawed in surprise regarding my excellent command of the English language which he probably never thought could exist in petite Asian pool-playing girls who are formally polite to assholic strangers who hijack their practice time for their own f#cked up reasons.

I turned back around and continued walking.

Pearman did not show up the next day.

I finally ran six balls two days later.

 
 
 
 
up up and away!   will trade craftiness for more table time
I had the idea of stocking up my Etsy store, OMGWTStuff, and posting the link here with pictures of available items, but CERTAIN PEOPLE ended up buying quite a few things (and I love them for it!) almost immediately after the listings went live, so now my store selection is a bit low.
I’ll be adding more items to the store when I can. If you’d like an item that has been previously sold, you can email me a request. All proceeds go towards table time.
 

Super Mario! racoon mario tanooki mario statue mario question block Reverse side GLOWS IN THE DARK! fire flower digger fygar cherries! 200pts! bub

If it so pleases you, kindly forward this post and/or my Etsy store links to those you think may enjoy them.

🙂

 
 
 

34 Replies to “pearman”

    1. It’s in invisible ink. If you hold your monitor over a fire, the names will show up.

  1. i have a 17″ tube monitor so it was difficult to hold my monitor against a fire. instead, i lit a torch & held it close to the monitor so i can read the invisible lines. but now my monitor is on fire & pieces of it are melting.

    what do i do?

  2. You should have let him show you what he wanted to on the pool table. You never know, he may have been in innocent old pool player with a lot of knowledge stored up in his brain.

    Lunch is a totally different story.

    1. if they start off wanting lunch, then they will always want lunch. Pandora says: walk away.

      1. YES.

        Also, if I let him show me how to make six hanger balls, then I will be required to go to lunch with him. Whatever “knowledge” he has, it’s not worth it to me to have to deal with somebody like him.

    2. No.

      Did you read what I wrote about the layout? He hung a ball in every pocket.

      Fuck that shit.

      That’s either idiocy or condescension on his part and I will tolerate neither.

      Also, and you know this: When I want advice, I will ask for it.

      1. You won’t listen, but i’ll try anyway. A theory as to why he hung them in the pockets may be not to teach technique, but to build confidence. When your slumping or struggling for a while, a “win” may just be what the doctor ordered.

        1. There are better ways to get that point across which don’t involve stalking me at practice, treating me like an idiot, or not listening to what I have to say.

  3. I find it interesting that men are defending Pearman’s behavior. I think perhaps only women can appreciate how uncomfortable and annoying the situation was, probably because it has happened to them before (and not just once). Or perhaps this is something men in pool all do on a regular basis and it is an accepted practice.

    I am sure there may be many who enjoy false praise and condescending encouragement, but I am not one of them.

    Furthermore, there is NO justification to take over someone’s table (especially someone you don’t even know!) without their invitation when they are paying for it. It’s fucking rude.

    1. Ironically, this happened to me in my earlier years. Unsolicited advice is hard enough to stomach, but I did not have to fade the creepy old guy thing. Those defending his actions (or at least trying to reason them) would likely do the same, or something similar… and to this day, I don’t get it. He was being condescending, just in a more passive way. I have knowledge in my head, but the last thing I’d ever do is walk up to someone, especially a woman practicing by herself, and say “hey, let me show you how it’s done”. Even just typing it out here makes it sound condescending, doesn’t it? Most men just don’t get it. The world is made for those who aren’t cursed with self-awareness.

      1. Well said.

        Pearman’s presence made it especially difficult to concentrate. I knew at some point, if I did not initiate contact (which he was passively-aggressively trying to make me do), HE would. The best analogy I have is knowing someone is going to punch you but not knowing when or where. The anticipation puts you on edge (there’s a Family Guy episode about that).

        Pool was my stress reliever but he had made it a stress-inducer. I enjoy learning on my own, but Pearman made the common mistake that all women want (as one of my lady friends put it) “man-help”.

        Once he was gone, I didn’t have worry about what he might say or do and fully focused on my practice, resulting in success and improvement.

    1. Perhaps hungry as well.

      I was 20 when this incident happened and I look young for my age, which makes this even more unsettling.

  4. Regarding Pearman’s behavior, it’s something I see all time. I think your posts made me notice this type of behavior more but pretty much anytime a reasonably attractive girl (very broad terminology) practice ALONE at my pool hall, usual suspects will make their way over to her table, uninvited, and give their two cents worth whether wanted or not. Some of these guys couldn’t even beat me at 9/10 ball. I can see how this might be irritating and discourage some girls from coming to practice.

    I just oggle from safe distance 🙂

      1. Momma didn’t raise no foo’. There’s a reason god invented smart phones and laptops with discreet cameras 🙂 … ergo, god is a male or a pervert. I’m a perv and sometimes a male, thus I’m g??

  5. Pearman = dirt bag. You handled it perfectly; his motivation wasn’t to share pool advice. I feel for you and all who have to suffer that shit.

    1. I always make it known (as politely as possible in the beginning) that I do not want their attentions or advice, but it is amazing how many Pearmen completely disregard what I say.

      It is not until I cut loose with the expletives that I am heard.

  6. Thank you for another good story. My favorite was when you tackled the pervert ass-grabber and got him arrested. I even told one of my friends about that.

    I also believe you handled it well and I have also noticed that attractive ladies aren’t granted the privilege of practicing alone without uninvited “help”.

    Paul (also in VA)

    1. I think my Knuckle Sandwich post will be the most popular one, ever!

      Women in pool deal with all sorts of harrassment. After a while, you understand it is part of the territory as much as sharking or cheating is. I believe what makes me different and unpalatable to so many is that I won’t take it and I won’t be polite about it when I decide I’m not going to take it. Everyone gets three strikes. If, after three indications I do not want to interact, a person persists — then I turn off the filter and they are free game.

  7. Between this clod, the Butt Fondeler, the broad that stiffed you, Buggy Retina Guy, and John Lennon girl, you seem to attract the oddest people, but in a pool hall you really do encounter all types (though some types we could do without). If in those days you were playing with a Cue Tec I would have suggested after breaking down your cue the butt to the right side of his head would have served as deterrent from further unwanted contact of any kind and would have likely given you a reason to upgrade. I admire your independence though, I think that watching women like you in similar situations is the main reason that women outside of my normal circle scare me and are better left alone to do whatever it is they do.

    1. I think a lot of women go through the same amount of crap I go through — the difference is, I write about it and they, perhaps, just internalize it. I have been told, however, that I may encounter more of these situations because my general appearance is harmless and I prefer to remain silent in situations with strangers. Thus, my reactions to these situations is unanticipated and considered very unconventional. Small, harmless-looking Asian girls who don’t talk very much aren’t supposed to come armed with knives, fists, and expletives. 🙂

      This video (thanks go to Pool Minnow) illustrates my situation very well.

      Ah yes, fiberglass never warps — not even when applied directly to the forehead (of a deserving individual)!

      1. I just have one thing to say about that video illustration:

        BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAHOOOOOOHOOOHOOOHOOHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!! 😀 Awesome-ness.

        That is all.

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