I know it is a bit late, but I'd like to contribute another reason
why Ewa Mobus is Asshole of the Year: the mysterious repeating hare syndrome.
I could have sworn that the last writeup I did was one that skewered STB for
faking a live trail. And I could have sworn that Christine's latest missive
covered a trail just set by Fireman Bob and Lipstick Leslie. But here we were
at a second STB live trail in a month, and the schedule shows Fireman Bob and
Lipstick Leslie setting two more trails within the upcoming four week period.
And of all the people to have set trail after trail, Bob, Leslie, Ed and STB
are hardly the ones anyone with any sense would look to first. It was only later
that I stumbled upon the answer to this strange display of un-creativeness by
a famed former haberdasher. But first, the trail.
When a sufficient number of hashers had gathered at the Lincoln Center fountain
as directed, STB immediately had us lug our bags to the taxi stand, where he
whipped out the very same list of taunts that had gone over like lead balloons
a few weeks ago. He only got through the first two before being booed into silence.
STB, thus humbled, turned over bag responsibility, and took off for a ten-minute
headstart. Once the proscribed time had passed, we went south to the first check,
which was quickly solved heading east. Then the trail doubled back on itself
after turning one block south. Shortly thereafter, the pack scampered in all
directions, leaving Christine, Elaine, Jennifer and me to fend for ourselves
at the back of the pack. Fortunately, someone ahead of us had thought to make
use of their chalk, so we were actually able to follow the trail as it made
sharp turns and traverses through a very small area around Central Park South
and Lincoln Center, while not being distracted from exchanging important gossip.
Eventually, running east on 56th Street, Elaine crossed to the south side to
investigate pack marks that a visitor had spotted. Naturally, we couldn't be
bothered to wait for her, and as luck would have it, Devo cycled up 6th Avenue
on his pedicab just as we got to the corner. Having had enough of running around
the same ten-block area in the dripping humidity, Christine, Jennifer and I
piled on, called for the on-in location, and directed Devo east to the Carriage
House.
We were hoping to be first in, but our trot along the first portion of the trail
was so slow, that even with a lift from Devo, almost the entire pack was standing
around outside the bar when we arrived. If ever anyone feels tired or bored
on trail, I highly recommend this mode of transport to the on-in. Bring cash
on trail, just in case. Once inside, we had barely enough time to admire the
new artwork on the walls (which complements the creepy mural in the entryway
nicely) and the cut flower arrangements (!) on the tables before Dave and Peter
gathered us for down-downs.
I am having some difficulty deciphering Dave Long's axe-murderer scrawl, but
it looks as though down-downs went to STB and Junior for their trail, though
no one could figure out Junior's role beyond handing out chalk. Patrick came
up for being the lucky hound to catch STB, and STB stayed for refusing to hand
over the flour bag, and for wearing a second pair of shorts in case of a de-pantsing
attack. Next up were Christine, Jennifer and me for arriving at the on-in via
Devo's pedicab. I got another one for trying to frame Elaine for the pedicab
incident, and threw the dregs all over Peter. Steve Douglass, who outed his
girlfriend at this exact same bar a few weeks ago for trying to disguise her
new shoes, was busted for running home from the start to change into old, grungy
ones. He redeemed himself by drinking out of the filthy shoe, though it remains
to be seen whether he was able to convince Rebecca to give him a goodnight kiss
after chugging from those sneakers. Shockingly, the coveted AOTW honors went
to me, for being such a huge loser that I not only did a ½ Ironman the weekend
before, but then wore the t-shirt to the on-in. I managed to drink most of the
beer from the plunger rather than spilling it on the floor, or Peter. Final
chug tally, I drank more beer via down-downs than I had for the rest of the
spring combined.
Shortly after down-downs, many pizzas arrived, with a spinach pie landing in
front of Lesley and me purely by happy coincidence. While watching the feeding
frenzy closer to the bar, the reason behind the repeating hare syndrome suddenly
became glaringly apparent. Ewa was glued to the table most heavily laden with
pizza, defending the slices she coveted from onslaughts by famed pizza-hogging
bastards Ed, Bob, and STB, thus limiting her on-in exposure to more restrained
members of the pack. So that's it! It isn't lack of imagination, or laziness,
that causes Ewa to sign up the same hares over and over. Her reluctance to move
away from the food simply puts the same few people in her path over and over
again. So if anyone is feeling insulted about not being invited to hare a trail,
try waving around a few pizza crusts. On out.