some wednesday nights, some friday nights, some saturday nights, and almost all sunday nights are spent at the harp, playing darts with people from work. nearly everyone but me had their own set of darts, until the other day, when chris and mike bought me some. they are great, with their own little case and a special set of flights! see?

it should be noted that, among the avid-dart-playing waitstaff, i am the only female. nobody else wants to throw with my man-darts, not even daniel, who doesn’t have his own darts, either. they are all mine, and they sit there on the table right next to my vodka sour and cell phone while i wait my turn to play. most of the talking that goes on during darts is either encouragement or trash-talk, depending on if the current player is one’s teammate or not. “come on, ali-girl!” chris says as i get up to throw. “all right, mike!” i say as he chalks in his score. it’s next to impossible to have any sort of meaningful conversation during darts, as it will always be interrupted by throwing or getting another drink or going to the jukebox or bathroom. instead, we are focused. we drink. we play. someone wins. we play again. when “under the bridge” comes on the jukebox, we all sing along, zombielike, staring at the dartboard.