A girl from the fourth floor popped by my office yesterday and asked, "Do you like wrestling?"
And perhaps I do. Regardless, the last time I admitted that to a female was... 1993, I believe. I saw no reason to break with tradition, so I shook my head sadly. "It's not really my thing, sorry," I replied. "Why did you want to know?"
"Oh, it's just that if you want to go to a new wrestling league that's just moved in from Lethbridge, talk to an electronics associate at Zellers named Devin. He'll hook you up."
"All right, then. Thanks."
"No problem." And she was off.
Now, there are a number of curious things about that sentence, not the least of which being that it was actually spoken. (Once again: I love my job.) Oddly enough, I was actually delighted to hear this. Why? Because it means that there's a place in Medicine Hat where I can go, exchange a casual glance and a knowing nod, and have him arrange for my admission to view a brutal contest of strength between two gladiators, undoubtedly while I sit back in my balcony seat, twirl a snifter of brandy, and make outrageous bets on the outcome with rail tycoons. Then, one of the young turks in the pit below will dare to smile at my mistress... in order to mask my heartache at seeing the smile returned, I'll fly into a rage and demand that he fights three of my henchmen at once. When he bests them handily, I'll offer him a job, figuring to keep a close eye on him, and perhaps arrange his humiliation at a time and place of my choosing. He, on the other hand, will have a different betrayal in mind, as my lady's breathless anxiety makes plain. And so, our little tarantella begins.
At least, that's how it would happen in my mind. In real life, however, I took one look at their website, and decided that there's no way on Earth I'm even going to be in the city at the same time as that show.
EDIT: I almost forgot: Naturally, my fellow patrons and the staff of this combatorium would refer to me as "Mr. Denton". Really, that's one of the most important details.