The Legend of The Guy
This isn’t just a story about family fun and injury at a maximum-security roller skating rink. This transcends mere storytelling. It is a timeless tale, one where we simply served as honored witnesses to a legend. The Guy.
The Fortress of Roller Skating
When Max and Cody and I pulled up to the brick building, there wasn’t much to indicate that it was a roller skating rink at all, except that you could fit one in it, I guess. It could just have easily been a DMV or furry toilet seat manufacturer. We piled out and saw a ticket window nestled next the only visible door in the building. As I got closer, it was evident that the window was bullet-proof. Odd.
Looking up from her tabloid, the angry bag of used mashed potatoes that was running the ticket window sneered and took open pleasure in informing me that I could not enter with the coffee I had in my hand. As I paid for our tickets we learned that hats, tied sweaters, loose change and other such weapons of mass destruction were not allowed as well.
See my amazing videographer skills combined with roller skates. The long period of blackness was when I jammed my iPhone into my pocket because the on-rink security patrol sighted me. If you have sound you’ll hear them announce the upcoming “Hokey Pokey Macarena.” (Yes, you read that correctly.) Max won! I had mixed feelings about this.
So, I finished my coffee as quick as I could and then slammed into a door I had expected to open when pushed, but was actually locked. “I have to buzz you in!” Miss Potato barked at me. What kind of place was this!?!
We sorted out the right sizes and I spent the next 30 minutes or so lacing up all three sets of our skates. Then we were off! I used to play roller hockey, so I helped the boys out on their maiden voyage onto the rink, and pretty soon we were speeding along nicely together. And not much longer than that, I had my iPhone recording video (which was of course against regulations). →
We’re not to the legend part yet, though.
Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha, WIPEOUT
Lizzie bought me these jeans only a week before. Whoops!
I wish I could blame my total FAIL on tied sweaters, spilled quarters, or over-sized shampoo bottles brought in by terrorists, but all that stuff was caught at the security checkpoint as we entered.
I was explaining leg-over-leg turning to the boys and then demonstrated, which is a recipe for disaster. How many tragic accidents were preceded by: “Here’s how you do it. Watch… Aughrrahhh(THUD/BOOM)!” To say the boys were entertained would be like saying Hitler was naughty.
As I sat there taking a break, I looked out at the rink and saw something I would remember for the rest of my life.
That’s when I saw him…
The Guy
Every roller or ice skating rink has got one. Each is legendary. He floats around like a ghost, aloof to the kiddies and amateurs invading his domain, frozen in another era where he and his trusty ponytail were both really cool. I watched as he spun and sped around with a skill and a famiarity that suggested his attendance at the rink was as regular as the sun’s is to the Earth. He was The Guy.
I wanted to talk to The Guy. Just to say “hey” so could say that I said “hey” to The Guy. But, alas, his faraway stare was mesmerizing and seemed a sort of self-protective enchantment, as if he was far away, beyond reach, staring at the former hordes of bygone friends and love interests, still cheering him on, from rinks of the past. His smooth moves. His ponytail. His multi-colored armbands.
Maybe he was still just gliding around out there every day waiting for The Girl. She’d be wearing feather earrings and leg warmers, so he’d know she was The Girl immediately. He’d activate headband mode and a glittering disco ball, normally reserved for 16th birthdays and mitzvahs, would descend from the ceiling on cue. They’d join hands and kick off together and the sun would explode.
You see, The Guy isn’t just a guy (hence the capitalization). He is a symbol. An icon. He stands for all of the unanswered dreams, unfinished songs, un-thrown footballs and unrequited loves. Watching him, I realized that everyone has a The Guy in them. And that’s when I also realized I should have my knee checked for any kind of infection that can rapidly get to the brain.
““
We can’t really shut ourselves up, so you might as well sit back and enjoy the freakshow, click here.
Amit says: 
MotherDuck 
The Girl 
Pete 
