Date: Sunday, November 13th, 2005
Start: Bar East, First Avenue and 90th Street
Hares: Joe Pennsylvania
On-in: Bar East, First Avenue and 90th Street
Scribe: Salt Lick
Lessons From London
People by nature are resistant to change. Hashers are no exception, especially when it means less beer for the buck.
The first change happened when Lisa and Dave Long decided to bail on their haring duties to go watch the Giants pitiful loss to the Vikings. Then we received an email at 9:52 p.m. on Thursday warning us of another change: Joe Pennsylvania will be haring a London-style hash.
What the hell does that mean? A whole bunch of things, but the one that seemed to matter the most was on your own for booze, which Tim quickly translated into British rules are a rip.
To Joes credit, most of the r*nners agreed the trail was a decent one that literally took us over the river and through the woods. But several flaws existed in his execution, despite his claims he had hashed in London several times.
Following are some complaints expressed by those who either speak from experience or just like to bitch:
It wasnt a very British trail, The Saint declared. To start, as Mean Jean promised in her email, the Hare was supposed to set a P trail from the subway to the start. She admitted she didnt know what it meant, (Id venture to say it stands for Pub) but there was no trail leading to a P, B, or any other letter of the alphabet.
Joe decided to play a game of Whos the Boss, refusing to give any of us chalk, telling us hed be sweeping (a scary declaration being that it was A-to-A) and telling us there would be a spot marked RG, which translates to Re-Group and means we are not allowed to move until he tells us where to go. You got a problem with dat? Apparently, we did.
Theres always a sweeper in London, according to The Body, so frontrunners like Chad have to slow down. But these checks were too short, and Chad complained about having to wait too long at the Re-Group for the slow pokes among us, causing him to freeze in his sweat-soaked clothing. (Peter and Mike later got down-downs for not waiting for the turtles). The spot in question was in the middle of Central Park where visitor Great at Giving Head put down his bike horn to change the R to a B and the G to a C. (That means Beer Check for anyone still trying to do the puzzle here.)
When Joe FINALLY emerged up the hill, he was greeted with boos and demands for beer. No such luck. Nor was there the traditional salt and vinegar potato crisps that The Body remember or the sherry that The Saint has come to expect. Joe then sent us off to the next mark on West Drive, which no one seemed to know the location of (and when your faithful Scribe tried to get a geography lesson she was distracted by the hare scratching himself). Once the mark was finally found, calls of checking quickly changed to cheating as Jumping Jack Gash declared I know where the on-on is. Hilary was a trooper and decided to find true trail, however.
Then came the down-downs, which were preceded by yet another inconsistency pointed out by Steamer: In London, hashers get a whole pint for their down-downs, and pints they drink on their own are 19 and 1/3 U.S. ounces, not 16, and they arent as cold.
The trail bloody blows, one angry beer-deprived hasher demanded. As Joe downed his warm Bud Light (so non-British) and the rest of the crowd sang that his mother may adore him, Alex yelled I doubt it. Other troublemakers included:
- Dave and Gene for paying in pounds instead of dollars;
- Visitors Great at Giving Head, Victoria from Moscow who was wearing white cords on trail and talking on her cell phone the entire way telling her friends where she was; and Roo Dog from Australia.
- Jumping Jack Gash and his two friends aka Penn State alumni who tortured the rest of us with their stupid college songs.
- Pussy Repellant and Tiara-Wearing dude (whose name escapes me) for bdays.
- Your Scribes friend Mike, the virgin from San Francisco daring to try to hash (despite the fact Jumping Jack Gash encouraged me to leave him to fend for himself)
- Steva for getting run into by a child on a bicycle
- And the AOTW went to Mastercard, for being the crappiest Hare Raiser of all time.
Of course, there are always lessons to be learned OFF trail. As Steamer learned your Scribes name, he forced me to temporarily surrender the notes in my left hand so he could lick it: A lady who wants to be shaken hands with offers her right, he explained. A lady who wants to be kissed offers her left.