There’s a limited number of jokes you can make of me while I politely question you the size of your feet, in exchange for your shoes in a bucket. You comment about the smell, crinkle your nose in disgust, and laugh at the stupidity of my job. But you’re the one who is paying to throw a ball down a lane in order to knock down the 10 pins. So the joke is on you. Welcome to the life of a ten-pin bowling worker.
There are a number of frustrations about working at a bowling alley. Firstly, do not argue with me about the size conversion between mens and womens bowling shoes. The sizes are standard. I am rather good at maths, and don’t usually get things like this wrong. If you do argue with me, you are likely to be handed a slightly sweaty un-Glen 20-ed pair of velcros.
Now, I understand that females want to have small feet. Nobody wants to ask for a size 12 in front of their date. However, if you are 170cm tall, you are not a size 6. I have no physics degree, but I believe this is anatomically impossible. Similar to Barbie.
And finally, I am not a professional bowler. The only times I have bowled is at a friend’s 8th birthday party, and on my staff induction day. When you ask for techniques, I will describe complete and utter nonsense, about the finger pressure to use, how many steps you should aim for, and where you should aim to let go of the ball. You will yawn, and most definitely know that I am lying to you.