We skee-balled vigorously, but the tickets did not flow like wine. Then we found the machine in which the token is dropped down a rather hip runway, and one is awarded the number of the tickets equal to the number of the slot on a spinning wheel through which the token passes. My nephew had unique dexterity at this machine, which will no doubt serve him in good stead should he ever toss a nickel onto a cigar box in a Twilight Zone episode.
When we went to the desk, and put our new-found ticketed wealth in the hands of a kind attendant who ran them through a hyper-electronic ticket counter, we found tha rather than the 2,300 tickets we needed to win a stuffed tiger, or even the 600 tickets we needed for a kite, we had between us but 425 tickets.
I revel in my new-found paper airplane glider, returning bouncing ball, and a world of "wait until next time!" arcade enthusiasm more fervent than being even a Cubs fan.
Tomorrow is yet another next time for work. I love having meaningful work to do, but it is an occupational hazard that sometimes I must work weekends to do it.
