The Nadir of My Existence

Let me preface this by saying I'm in Wales, but that's not the reason tonight is the low point in my existence. Wales may have unpredictable weather and sketchy phone and TV reception, but it's not really their fault that I have just had the saddest conversation of my entire life. In fact, I'm in Llandrindod Wells, a town I truly love to visit and in which I have had some memorable times.

Take, for example, the night two summers ago when a colleague and I were guests of local police at 12:30 in the morning.

My colleague, (let's call him Paul, because, well, that's his name), and I were sampling the ambiance of the pubs on the other side of the railroad tracks when a bit of a barny occurred. A rowdy patron was being encouraged to leave and he wasn't having it at all, so we thought it was high time to sneak out the side door. In the parking lot, Rowdy Patron had been ejected via the front door and was now hammering on the window with his fists, screaming that he wanted his beer.

Well, the window broke and the glass did what glass has a habit of doing but it didn't slow him down a bit. In fact, he turned to us, bellowed, "What the hell are you looking at?" and came loping in our direction, leaking copious amounts of blood from each arm.

Now, Paul is over six feet tall, and while I'm only five foot five, I'm in good shape. This guy wasn't big and, in addition to being grievously wounded, was so drunk a three-year-old could have knocked him over. So we did the only thing two brave men could do--we ran like a couple of school girls.

Rowdy Patron came shambling after us like Frankenstein's Monster but eventually crumpled into a heap on the sidewalk, still leaking and cursing and flailing. Unfortunately, his girlfriend, who was much more scary than he was, inserted herself into the equation. Fortunately, so did the police, the ambulance, fire department and a bevy of curious customers from the pub. Incredibly, Rowdy Patron continued to wrestle with the authorities until his girlfriend sat on him to subdue him.

Being good citizens, Paul and I approached the police and told them we had witnessed the entire event and would be happy to give a statement. They said they'd be happy to hear our stories and would be in touch. Then, without telling them how to find us, we wandered away

Several bars later, after we had nearly forgotten about the event, the police came in and sat next to us. We had just ordered pints and immediately set them aside and made ready to go with the officers.

"Don't rush," they told us, "finish your pints."

You have to love a country that officially acknowledges the priority of a beer.

While we drank and chatted I asked how they had located us.

"It wasn't hard," they said, "we asked around for an American bloke who smoked cigars. You weren't difficult to find."

When we finished our pints we were treated to a ride in the squad car to the police station where we taken to separate rooms to give our statements. In true eyewitness fashion, we completely contradicted each other and our testimony was practically useless, but the senior officer and I spent a diverting half hour discussing fingerprinting techniques and admiring the station's identification paraphernalia.

Now, you might think that was the saddest conversation I could have ever had, but tonight's was worse. Tonight, you see, is the season finally of CSI, and I'm missing it.

It surprises even me that I care so much, but I do. I've been following the story arc for three seasons and tonight is the big climax. When I found I was going to be in Wales, I made sure I booked a hotel that got channel 5. But when I turned on the TV in my room, all I got was snow.

Naturally, I panicked. I told the front desk and they checked out my TV but could do nothing with it. They even checked other empty rooms for me in case one got channel 5 and they could transfer me there. Alas, it was all for naught. When all avenues had been pursued to dead ends I lamented to the desk clerk:

"I'm in the middle of Wales, I'm all by myself with nothing to keep me company except CSI and you're telling me that you usually get it, but tonight, for some reason, it won't come in."

She shrugged. This is Wales; it happens sometimes. Then the other clerk perked up.

"Do you think they're really going to kill Sarah off? They can't do that, can they?"

"I'd don't know," I said, "They're not really into happy endings these days."

"That's right, they killed off Kate in NCIS. I couldn't believe it. And the new girl they got to replace her isn't nearly as good."

"Oh, and did you see the last episode? Gibbs left!"

"Yes," she said, "but he's back this season."

"No!"

"Yes. I have Sky TV. I've seen it."

It was then I realized that, without sinking to a lower form of life, it would be impossible for me to engage in a more inane conversation. So I'm now at the hotel bar (the only bar I have ever been in that doesn't have a TV), surrounded by people speaking every language but English and wondering how I ended up in such a sorry state.

Maybe I'll take a walk down to the police station and see if they want to chat about forensic identification again.