4. Cliques
You have the grandmas, the newbies, the English majors, the math majors, the sociopaths, the asthmatics, the Birkenstocks, the intermediates, and finally, the experts. They sit in their own corner and refuse to play unless you have ProTiles. Sometimes they press down so hard on their timers that the spring breaks. Obviously, the experts won’t even talk to you unless you have a rating of at least 1800. Or if you can give them a ride back to the 7 train.
3. Army of Skanks
The experts are haughty, but it’s the grandmas that are vicious. They get together every week in their Long Island Scrabble clubs and are suspicious of any new blood. They were sweet to my face, but the minute I turned my back, they whispered about how I didn’t have the decency to let a person lose gracefully by less than 200 points. It’s hard to really despise them though. Homemade rugelach is, after all, very tempting.
2. Africa
It’s both presumptuous and sad that I relate most to Lindsay Lohan’s character in terms of Scrabble. This was my first tournament, so the other newbies were kindest to me. I genuinely liked them, too. They often spoke of playing in tournaments “just for fun,” and I believed that they meant it. At the complimentary deli lunch, they let me set at their table. But when I started winning and the experts deigned to speak to me, I was flattered. Until…
1. Prom
At the end of the tournament, there is an awards “ceremony.” It turned out that I had won the beginners division, which was a cause for consternation among the grannies, the seasoned intermediates, and the more fragile beginners. When I went up to accept my check for $90, I was met with tepid applause. I could feel a miasma of hatred coming my way. I had my key to join the experts, but instead, I returned to the beginners. They welcomed me back anyway. It’s exhausting, this hierarchy.
