“That’s Clop’s work.”
Myah, my youngest granddaughter, was sitting in her car seat in the back of her grandmother’s car when they passed the corner of E. 10th Street and N. Emerson Avenue. Myah, who calls me “Clop,” pointed out my “work” to my second bride. Amusement was in Teresa’s voice when she told me of our granddaughter’s notation. I’m not sure how the pool tables at Si Greene’s Pub came to be identified as the place where I “work.” Perhaps, whenever Myah saw me with Esmerelda, my pool cue, she expressed curiosity about where I was going with my pink pool case. It’s possible that I may have told her that I was going to work, but I am unsure about this. But I do labor there, often.
When I moved to the Irvington area of Indianapolis Indiana, I told my first landlord that I was looking for a place to play pool. Brian Van Buskirk gave me the name of a place, and I spent some time there, but I soon discovered Si Greene’s, which was closer to my Bolton and Julian apartment. I expanded my “workplace” when I joined an American Poolplayers Association (APA) league; the teams in the league traveled to different bars to compete and I learned of new places to work, but I always gravitated toward the ones that were closest to where I lived. I had already retired from playing team pool with the APA when I moved from University Avenue to North Irvington, though not from playing pool. I was within walking distance of Si Greene’s, the pub where I met two young men who had developed a community garden. (“The Giving Garden,” Weekly View, Aug. 25th, 2016.)
At a neighborhood block party in 2024, I met a neighbor who expressed an interest in playing pool. When I told Chris Kraft, a graphic designer and web developer, about playing at Si Greene’s, I also told him about my granddaughter’s description of the place as my “work.” Thus began our meetings at “The Office.” Our text exchanges to arrange those meetings are rife with humorous references. Chris: “Are you still heading to the office this evening?” Me: “I’m going to the office today; are you up for earlier than 5?” Another time, my message: “I’m headed to the office. Y usted?” (My bad Spanish was a reference to the many Hispanic competitors we face. I should have written “y tú?”) Chris: “Is 4:10 too early?” Me: “4:10 to Yuma?” Chris: “…+1 for a movie reference!”
The office is a place for both sport and community. When we cannot contend against each other in either 8-ball or 9-ball on the felt, we sit at a table and talk. Chris is a Cincinnati Bengals fan; I am a Pittsburgh Steelers fan. Our musical tastes are similar, though our respective ages are decades apart. Chris is more “tech savvy” than I, and he is able to “gank” the jukebox from his phone. I plug dollars in and tap the screen for options. But we do enjoy the work on the tables, contending with and against the players who show up. We learn Spanish and demonstrate English, both the language and the spin placed on a cue ball. And the Si Greene’s bar staff are happy to brighten our office visit with our requested beverages. When we have finished our “work,” we take the same path home, walking and talking.
Now, when I tell Myah that I am going to work, she tartly corrects me: “Clop: You’re going to play pool.”
cjon3acd@att.net