I went out for some beers with some of my friends, and we ended up at a place in St. Paul called Half Time Rec. The bar is a bit of a shithole, but it has its charms.

It used to be an Italian place and actually has two bocce ball courts in the basement—a creepy, dank St. Paul basement. Moisture and mold on the walls...basement smell...an all around great place.

My buddy Scott, a half wop, challenged me to a game. With beers in hand, we descended the rickety staircase into the depths of the establishment. Once down on the uneven floor, we were greeted by six or seven fellow bocce ballers on the other court. They were there for a birthday party or some other sort of festivities. They were drunk, loud, and extremely friendly.

One woman stumbled over to talk to Scott. She was hard looking. In fact, she looked like the kind of gal who enjoyed hard-boiled eggs and Pall Malls for breakfast. The conversation went like this.

Teagan: Hi, my name is Teagan.
Scott: Hi.
Me: Did you say that your name was Tiamat, as in Tiamat, the multi-headed dragon that rules the first plane of hell in the Dungeons and Dragons world?

Long pause and then:

Teagan: What? I don't know what you're talking about. I just wanted to talk to your friend.
Me: My friend doesn't like you. I don't like you either. We're wanted men.
Teagan: You guys are weird. I need a drink.

That was enough for her. She turned around and stumbled back to her friends. It was a nice conversation, but I wished it went like this:

Teagan: Hi, my name is Teagan.
Scott: Hi.
Me: Did you say that your name was Tiamat, as in Tiamat, the multi-headed dragon that rules the first plane of hell in the Dungeons and Dragons world?
Teagan: No, I only have one head and am not capable of astral or ethereal travel between planes of existence.
Me: That's too bad, I'm a 12th-level Paladin and I am looking for a +5 Holy Avenger. My DM is the only bastard I know that won't let me fight Tiamat for a chance at the magic blade.
Teagan: My DM is a chick and she has us chasing sprites and unicorns. It's embarrassing. I'm a 9th-level dwarven she-fighter, chasing fucking unicorns like a 6-year old girl. I carry a red 20-sided die for big battles, but I haven't rolled it in six months.
Sean: What were you fighting six months ago?
Teagan: Beholder. My fire die never fails me. I scored 3 straight hits with my dwarven throwing hammer.
Scott: You guys are weird. I need a drink.

That would have been sweet.