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A Life on the Lanes
What a high school job in a bowling alley taught me about life, people, pressure, and pinsetters
I spent the better part of high school inhaling the sweet musk of industrial disinfectant and aerosol shoe spray (Lysol, fresh linen scent if you’re curious) at the local bowling alley — a second home lit by flickering fluorescents and the neon hum of vending machines that hadn’t worked properly since the Bush (the first one) administration.
But first, let’s back up.
This was my first ever paying gig. The first time I learned how to fill in a tax form. The first time I got a real paycheck. The first time I had to clock in or out anywhere. To my credit, my boss told me I was the first high schooler he’d ever hired, and I wore that with pride…perhaps a bit too much at the time. While other kids were flipping patties or slinging burritos or collecting shopping carts or topping off snow cones, I was in the wonderful world of the bowling alley 20+ hours a week for almost three years during high school, starting the summer before my sophomore year.
My job title was “lane attendant,” but spiritually, I was something closer to a monk. A Zen disciple of the lanes, Brunswick B-2 pin setters, worn-in rental shoes, and snack bar nachos that came out of a microwave older than the…
