Yesterday’s Hash went well–lots of compliments on the trail, no one got lost, and no one was injured. Some of the hard-core guys were surprised that the trail was as challenging as it was. I told Pubic Head (Scott) as we marked the second hill that people aren’t going to believe you did this climb voluntarily. The skies were threatening in the early afternoon, but the rain held off until we had completed the Hash circle rituals.

During the circle, we honored Fucking Old Man for the rare accomplishment of completing 1000 runs. I just did the math in my head, and that’s at least 20 years of Hashing with the Subic Bay Hash House Harriers (SBH3). Coincidentally, next week our kennel will celebrate its 29th anniversary.

We also named one of the gals I’ve been sponsoring (there are three) upon completion of her 5th run with the SBH3.

I’ll share some photos from the Hash trail later in this post.

When you Hare, you are not required to hike the trail you laid, although some Hares do. In fact, 18-Kilo Ass did that yesterday. We’d finished marking the trail at around 11:00. I went back to the VFW at 2:00 to give the Hashers last-minute guidance and then sent them on their way. I figured we would not see anyone back until 3:30 or so, so I took a walk to the Snackbar to kill some time. I was disappointed to see the Dick sitting outside, but I’m not going to be dissuaded from going where I want by some asshole. I went inside and had my first beer in a week. Bought all the girls an ice cream cone, had a second beer, then headed back to the VFW for the Hash circle.

By the time the circle was completed, I’d had a few San Miguel Zeros and wasn’t feeling the need for any more. The girls I sponsored were even drunker than I was and wanted me to join them for some after-Hash bar hopping fun. I declined and suggested to the drunkest one that she should go home. I even offered to pay her trike fare. She refused my offer, insisting she was okay. A few minutes later, she dropped her beer, and of course, the bottle shattered and sprayed its contents around. Shortly after that, she fell down on her ass. Well, I sponsored her, but I’m not responsible for her actions. I’d seen enough, though, and headed out. (For the record, she did message me this morning apologizing and saying she would refrain from overdoing it in the future. I respect that and tend to believe her.)

I decided to walk to Kamto and grab a bite to eat before heading home. But before I’d gone far, the skies opened up, lightning flashed, thunder rolled, and the rain poured down on my umbrella-less head. I took shelter in the recently reopened Johansson’s. They didn’t have Zero available, so I did a Light. It wasn’t busy, and I didn’t know anyone there, so I entertained myself with my phone. And that’s where I encountered a beggar. She was relentless and didn’t want to take “no” for an answer. I know she had been drinking, but damn, I wasn’t in the mood, and I told her so, but she wouldn’t accept my refusal. I was actually getting quite perturbed, so I just ignored her continued entreaties.

Oh, one thing was different about this. She wasn’t asking for money. She wanted to come home with me. And as hard as it is to believe, I just wasn’t interested in what she was offering. Now, regular readers may be thinking that doesn’t sound like me, and yeah, I can’t really remember saying no to an otherwise attractive woman so clearly in the mood. Just goes to show that my “big head” still can veto the usually horny little head on occasion. (She also messaged me this morning and apologized for her “naughty” behavior blaming it on all the alcohol she had ingested and feeling overwhelmed by loneliness. I told her no apology was necessary; it just wasn’t the right time to get together.)

After my second beer, the rain let up, so I paid my tab and made a dash for Kamto. A couple of friends were there as well as the sexy and sweet bar staff. I ordered up some food (quesadilla and chicken wings) and a beer. I’d been there maybe thirty minutes when it occurred to me that the waitresses might be thirsty. I reached for my wallet to ascertain that I had sufficient funds for that act of generosity–and it wasn’t there! I checked all my pockets–nothing. Looked under my seat and on the floor–nope. Well, I had just used it at Johansson’s, so I must have left it on the bar after paying my tab there. I dashed out of Kamto and literally ran up the highway back to Johansson’s.

The bartender seemed surprised to see me back. I asked her if I had left my wallet there. “No, sir,” she told me. I looked around under my barstool and thought, “oh, shit. I’m fucked.” I had my credit card, a little cash, my Alien Registration Card, and some other stuff in there that would be a pain in the ass to replace. I decided to retrace my steps to Kamto on the slim chance that I might find it on the street. The bartender followed me outside as I began my search. I’d taken just a couple of steps when she called out, “what’s that on the sidewalk?” I’ll be damned; my black wallet was lying there soaked with rain. I picked it up, looked inside, and all the contents were intact. I must not have placed it securely in my pocket and it fell out unnoticed not far from the door as I exited. That was dumb. I was lucky that no one had walked by and noticed it on the sidewalk (most people walk on the shoulder of the road).

It was quite a relief, and I was glad to be free from the burdens that would have ensued trying to replace my shit. Back to Kamto, bought the drinks for the girls, ate my food, and triked home, resolved to be smarter and more careful in the future. Could be I’ve used up all my luck.

To the Hash pics then:

So, that’s how things went down before, during, and after the Hash. Is there a common denominator?