SIT MAT38

Riddle:

You are on a horse, galloping at a constant speed.

On your right side is a sharp drop off, and on your left side is an elephant traveling at the same speed as you.

Directly in front of you is a galloping kangaroo and your horse is unable to overtake it. Behind you is a lion running at the same speed as you and the Kangaroo.

What must you do to safely get out of this highly dangerous situation?

If you do not know, see answer below.

It was 10:00pm Friday night and we were about to begin. I flipped the dome light on in my car so we could go over the assignment one more time. We were to focus on 1) the skills of observing and interviewing 2) the process of entering and belonging to a new culture and 3) translate the learning into teaching questions.

We got out of my car, walked up the old wooden steps, and I hesitantly opened the door of the Sportsman Bar & Lounge for Sunny and Akisha. The three of us, a Korean, an African American, and a W.A.S.P., were an unlikely group to enter a Vermont workingman’s bar.

We drew a few glances from a few folks playing pool in the back as we inquisitively walked up to the bar to order and were nonchalantly greeted by the bartender, “What can I get ya?”

“Um. Uh,” I stuttered, “Bud, please,” thinking it was the most generic beer.

“Well,” began the bartender, “we got a special ‘cuz the Sox game is on. Bud Light draft is only a buck.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

We took a seat at a nearby table with two beers and a Kahlua milk that came in a beer mug. Next, we began to take in our cultural surroundings. Akisha and I, being somewhat familiar with American bar scenes, decided to just sit back and try our best to be flies on the wall.

Sunny, on the other hand, took a much more active approach. She started walking around the bar surveying all the various wall hangings. Amongst Red Sox banners, Bud beer posters, and neon signs, she spotted some thing that caused her to pause.

“Who… who’s this picture?” she asked to any willing patron seated at the bar.

A scruffy fellow, named Tony, in the corner seat of the bar decided to answer, “That there is Warren Wilcox. He was a regular here; lived upstairs, and those are his ashes in that urn. Now, he’s always with us.”

Shocked and chagrined I abandoned my passive state to check this out. Sure enough, there he was; a picture of Warren sitting with elbows on the bar and a grin from ear to ear placed directly on top of grey urn.

Meanwhile, Sunny kept exploring. “What this?” she asked and pointed to a piece of white poster board over the bar.

“That’s for Kyle Gilbert. He was killed in Iraq in 2003,” answered the bartender without batting an eye.

Again, not believing my ears, I walked across the room from Warren to Kyle. The white poster in question was nothing fancy, just a piece of white poster board with photo of a young man in uniform with the date August 6th 2003 and the words “Just Don’t Forget Me” written in a black felt tip marker.

“GEORGE BUSH!!!” Sunny hollered and pointed before I could even finish processing the poster for Kyle.

“Did George Bush come to this bar?” Sunny asked bluntly and pointed to a framed picture hanging above the bar next to Kyle.

“Naw,” the bartender shook his head. “Kyle’s parents went to D.C for a memorial service and got their picture taken with President Bush. The flag from Kyle’s coffin is downstairs in the basement.”

I think I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Then, I had to bite my tongue to keep from asking why a bar has a memorial flag in the basement.

Sunny, still investigating, managed to make her way back across the bar towards Warren’s urn. “What’s this?” Nothing could have prepared me for what was coming.

“Hup! She found the trophy!” exclaimed the bartender as he eagerly darted out from behind the bar as if he’d been waiting for that question all night. “That’s a Butt Dart trophy.”

“A what?”

“A Butt Dart trophy.”

“A what?”

I walked over to see this trophy with my own eyes. Wiping away the disbelief, I saw it. It was a standard softball trophy, but instead of a gold figurine on top swinging a bat, there was a 5’ inch, whittled wooden derriere with a 25cent piece wedged between the cheeks.

“It’s a game we play here in the bar,” came the explanation. “Ya see, here’s what ya do. Ya put a shot glass on the floor, a quarter between your butt cheeks, and ya try to drop the quarter in the glass.”

“You’re kidding, right?” is all I could muster, but in the back of my head, I was wondering if this happened with pants on or off.

“The owner of the trophy is on her way down here right now. She’ll be here in about 15 minutes.”

Fifteen minutes later, a tornado blew into the bar. “Wheeeeeew!” was the first thing I heard, and before I knew it, a heavyset woman with long blonde hair was standing on a chair and spinning around a pillar by a nearby table.

“Gina! Gina!” yelled the bartender. “Before you git goin’, we got someone here who wants to see Butt Darts.”

This perked Gina’s interest because without hesitation she jumped down off the chair, sauntered up to the bar, and demanded “Gimme a roll of quarters and a shot glass with water in it so they don’t fuckin’ bounce out.”

“Who wants to see Butt Darts?” she slurred and looked around before the bartender could point her in our direction.

“Alright, here’s what you do,” she said as she placed the shot glass on the floor next to our table. “Ya insert the quarters in ass; ya know where the glass is; ya know where yer ass is, and ya know where the quarters are, right?”

I watched in pure astonishment as Gina proceeded to insert a dollars worth of quarters into her rear end (with pants on, in case you’re still wondering), hobble over the shot glass, and successfully plop three of the four quarters into the glass.

“Yeeeaaaahhhh!” she howled and started cavorting around the bar. “Okay! Now you try!” she pointed at Sunny.

Sunny voluntarily got up and received the wet quarters. “Okay, but you have to help me.”

Gina reassuringly walked up behind Sunny and told her, “You need an inserter? Okay, here,” she said as she took the quarters from Sunny’s hand and bent down and began placing the change in Sunny’s gluteus maximus.

Sunny squeezed and shambled over to the shot glass with a look of total discomfort and determination.

“Whoa! Back up a little bit,” Gina coached her from behind. “That looks good. Let ‘em go!”

Sunny relaxed her backside and to her own amazement, all four quarters fell directly into the glass without touching the rim. “I win! I win!”

“Fucking bitch,” huffed Gina. “Peter, pour me two shots of tequila. One for me, and one for the new Butt Dart champion.”