The hash is not for the meek. We ask no quarter and we give none. The hare is under no obligation to adhere to any rules of procedure in determining a trail. By the same token, once out on a trail, a hasher is supposed to endure whatever chicanery the hare has deemed appropriate with stoic goodwill. Down-downs are assigned for the most minor offenses (although I've never quite understood the logic of being forced to drink as a form of punishment), and must be executed without protest. Even the term we use for newcomers is somewhat predatory. Still, on occasion, events are so heinous that one feels the need to confess fault, and seek redemption--just ask Basil. Such was the case with one co-hare last week.
It seems that at the AGM recovery run our esteemed JMs set a course, the primary feature of which was a fairly evil backcheck which kept the majority of the pack out for well over an hour. JM Unger had to leave early for a business trip, and was not present when the pack arrived. Rather than taking the appropriate attitude--The hell with them. I'm a JM and the hare.--she was wracked with guilt. Such was her grief that when she arrived at the airport, she put on her dark glasses, convinced the ticket agent that she was some kind of celebrity, wrangled her way into first class, had the airline assign her a beefy security guard, and spent the flight swilling gin and tonics with the entire flight service staff at her beck and call.
So it was that Lisa hared last week's run, with the able assistance of her partner in numerous nefarious activities, Pam. The evening got off to an inauspicious beginning as, upon arrival at the start, both hares were seen imbibing from paper bag encased bottles. Their thinking appeared to be that if this run became a disaster, at least they would be properly fortified. As is often the case on Wednesday runs, the pack featured a number of virgins and relative newcomers who seemed to be barely out of junior high school. Also appearing on this particular night was former JM Doug Guiley, visiting from San Francisco for the week.
While the instructions were being given, the group remained fairly boisterous and unruly. In a corner, former JMs Burke, Byron-Brown and Guiley stroked their long, white beards, and bemoaned the present state of the hash, remembering that when they were in charge, things went a lot more smoothly. Obviously, the older one gets, the more selective memory becomes. Lisa and Pam completed their dissertation, emphasizing that there were to be no backchecks, and we were off.
As far as the trail is concerned, Lisa and Pam took on the theory that a ton of prevention is worth an ounce of cure. As promised, there were no backchecks. In fact, there were hardly any turns. Perhaps the effects of their drinking while setting the trail made them think they were turning, or at least listing from side to side. In brief, the trail went south, then it went west, then it went north, then it went east, then it went south, and then it went west again to the start. Extra credit for the A-to-A trail. It was in all a pleasant run, though not without some strange occurrences. At the check in Union Square Park, I heard someone call that they had found the on-trail. Overcome by a sudden attack of goodwill (it doesn't happen all that often), I went back to set a pack mark at the eastern edge of the park, and saw Jonathan making his way towards me. I followed the trail the rest of the way in, and never saw Jonathan pass me, but somehow, he arrived at the on-in before me. I'm still trying to figure that one out.
Miladys appears to be an excellent bar, but as an on-in location for a Wednesday hash, it's a bit small. Future hares take note: For reasons that should be apparent, the warmer the weather, the more space we need. The place was fairly crowded with the few people on the East Coast not at home or at a party watching Ellen. (In case you missed it, she's gay.) There was a fine selection of beers, and the food--a variety of buffalo wings, fried chicken strips, fries and onion rings was superb for raising both the spirits and the cholesterol. On a slightly discordant note, our waitress appeared less than thrilled with our presence--as if it was our fault her boss had assigned us to her section. Additionally, for those in the back of the bar, much of the evening was spent dodging the various efforts of the amateur proctologists playing pool.
By the end of the evening, things deteriorated further. The owner reneged on buybacks on the beer. The bartender complained that a 30% tip for standing around and doing one's job was not sufficient. The waitress staged her own version of bumpercars with the hash patrons still remaining. It's so nice to see that service with a sneer still survives in New York.
For most, however, the evening was quite enjoyable--a good run, good beer, and good food. Lisa's redemption, while probably a necessity of her own imagining, is complete. She may now resume her JM duties with the regal detachment befitting one of her station.
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