SAN FRANCISCO – The worst part of Dave and Busters: it is nothing like the commercials. My wife isn’t crying in the commercials, my coworker John’s wife isn’t making out with a stranger as he pukes in the bathroom in the commercials. People seem happy in the commercials. They’re smiling, laughing, holding comically tall beers. I’m down $300 dollars, the plastic card’s jagged edge is cutting into my palm as I squeeze it intently as the claw machine fails to grip the PS5 for the 12th attempt in a row.

I brought my Jordan 12s to play skee ball. I’m locked in, runny nose, dry cough, the works. I’m hitting the corner pockets. I have backspin. I’m in my happy place. My wife is not.

This throws me back to my days at Chuck E. Cheese. I blame that establishment for my fear of giant animals and animatronics. But I also blame it for my love of slightly burnt pizza and my gambling proclivities. I wonder if they will release a sports book app.

I miss the old logo.

Time for a bit of NBA Hoops. As I approach the row of rims and nets a group of youths surround me.

“If you lose, one of us has to do 25 pushups,” one challenges me.

Little do they know that I’ve been greasing the groove. I brick 12 shots in a row. The little fucker nails nearly all of his. I drop down and bust out a tight 25 in under 2 minutes much to their dismay. Old man still got it.

I order a comically large beer. My wife is crying even harder at my Hoops display. I’ve creased my 12s in the pushup contest. This is the worst day of my life.