waterloo - i was defeated, you won the war

so nikki got the bright idea to play the song 'waterloo' fifteen times in a row at the jukebox in the bowling alley bar. we fed the machine our five dollars and punched in the code 29-19 fifteen times and then waited for the magic to happen. 'waterloo' blared once. then 'dancing queen' came on, which, while puzzling, was acceptable. then, nothing. no 'waterloo,' no ejected money. we were out five dollars and pissed. then i saw the phone number on the jukebox.

now, this was not a good idea, and i would not recommend doing it. the thing is, i had had three martinis with dinner, and now i was feeling crazed with a sort of drunken, stupid power. i took nikki's phone, since mine was not working correctly, and gave the service line a ring. surprisingly, on a saturday night, somebody answered.

"jukebox service, this is patrick."

"yes, patrick. we found your number on the jukebox machine here at such-and-such bowling alley and wanted to call because there's a problem here. you see, we put five dollars in the machine as to play 'waterloo' fifteen times. you know 'waterloo,' it's by abba, right?"

"'waterloo?' could you spell that please?"

i spelled waterloo. "anyhow, it only played twice, and we either want it to play thirteen or more times, or we want the rest of our money back."

"'waterloo?'"

"yes."

pause. then he took down nikki's name and number. "he's going to call us back," i told nikki as i handed her the phone, and ten minutes later, she was answering a call. "we just wanted to hear 'waterloo' fifteen times," she repeated to the manager. they went through their whole thing, and then he called back again, this time to notify us that they were sending a repairman.

"they're sending the jukebox repair guy," i told nikki as i hung up her phone, suddenly freaking out. "oh, my god, it's ten o'clock on a saturday night. i feel like such an asshole." my little prank was turning into an image of the poor jukebox repairman having to either get out of bed or leave the bar he was at, one of the two. neither scenario made me feel that good.

"i want 'waterloo,'" nikki declared stubbornly. "they should send the guy. that machine ate our money!"

ten minutes later, she didn't quite feel the same way. our change of heart over the whole matter was not only completely predictable but totally pathetic as we stood around and attempted to calm ourselves with the rest of the pitcher of beer. we were polishing the brew off when an older man in a flannel shirt with a ring of jukebox keys on his belt walked into the place. "go talk to him," nikki's boyfriend said, pushing her towards him. in response, nikki squealed, and, since i was decidedly incapabale of laying down in the bed i had made, the four of us shrugged on our jackets and walked out, right past the poor bastard without our $4.25 or whatever, and without hearing 'waterloo' thirteen more times, and without apologizing for making him drive out. we went our separate ways, and a few minutes later, the jukebox repairman called nikki's phone and told her that he would mail her our money.

i don't think she was willing to give him her address, for fear of repercussions.

moral of the story- don't drink three martinis for dinner, because somebody in the service industry is bound to be affected.