I went out drinking last night in Adams Morgan, and, as is often the case, me and my buddy took the metro to get there and back. No drunk driving, and no parking woes; you gotta love it.
I had too much to drink, again often the case, and on the way back to the train my buddy found a random tennis ball. While we were on the platform waiting for out train to arrive he was joking about bouncing the ball off the wall on the far side of the track and catching it, but wasn't going to actually do it. While they don't usually hassle patrons, the fines for fucking around are pretty high, and a cab ride back from there home would probably be at least $30-40.
I was egging him on to do it, and when the train was coming so I tried adding some excitement and urgency by counting down his window of opportunity until the front of the train was even with us. He, of course, ignored all this. Most likely due to his intelligence and lack of severe drunken stupor.
As the train slowed to a halt in front of us I had a random flash of stupidity I mistook for brilliance. While I wouldn't have been able to appropriately voice my idea in my state, I had this ridiculous internal dialog going on: "I'LL take the ball, throw it OVER the train and catch it! With my obviously superior science skill I'll be able to accurately deflect it off the curved wall right back into my waiting hands. All in attendance will be entertained at my pithy display of bravado and skill!"
With a narrow window of opportunity I asked for the ball, which he inexplicably gave to me. I "carefully gauged" the throw probably making a number of errors, and made my move. With all the finesse of a limp-wristed mathlete I lobbed the ball at the wall and it rebounded, as you might expect, well off it's mark in a decidedly downward trajectory and bounced crisply off the head of a passenger exiting the train right at that moment. The chances of me catching the ball if it had come right to me were slim, and after the bounce off the poor schmuck's head - nil. The ball bounced and rolled its way across the platform, and fell into the opposite track. I beat a hasty retreat onto the train mumbling an apology to the aforementioned schmuck who seemed nonplussed by the whole ordeal. I expect he was as inebriated as I was.
In the end I did manage to entertain a number of onlookers, but more for my buffoonery than bravado. Like they say, there is no such thing as bad press.