Page 32 of The Apparent Trap
But after a while, something becomes apparent. My dad and Lee are winning, and I have a sneaking suspicion it’s not just because they’re so much wiser with trivia.
All the questions are . . . old. It’s as though the board is a new version, but the cards don’t have any trivia beyond the mid-nineties.
Some of the questions are items that are about something in the past but remain relevant. Like when Carmen lands on Science & Nature and the question is Who was the first American in space? (Alan Shepard, child’s play to any science nerd.) Or when I get the Entertainment question What movie musical has the song “One Boy”? (Please, as a musical theater obsessive who loved Bye Bye Birdie, that was a shoo-in.)
Some of the others are even more outdated but could still maybe be plausible. Like when my dad lands on Arts & Literature and the question is What Gail Sheehy book chronicled the changes age brings? (Apparently Passages sold ten million copies in the seventies, who knew.)
Or when Carmen didn’t know the sports question What city were the North Stars from before moving to Dallas? Sure, she didn’t get it, but then again I doubt any of the four of us would’ve known that even if it had happened recently (from the empty orange pie sections we all have, it’s clear we’re not reconvening this group at a professional sports outing).
But I start to really get suspicious when a few questions pop up that are so outdated that they’re comically impossible.
Geography in particular made it obvious. Where can you buy a cup of coffee with cruzeiros? Well, nowhere, since cruzeiros haven’t been the currency of Brazil since 1994. What is the capital of Rhodesia? Well, Salisbury was, but now it’s called Harare in the country of Zimbabwe.
“Hey, Lee,” I finally ask. “Can you help me grab some more snacks? I’m a little unsure of what to get.”
“Oh you can take whatever—” he starts to say, but then he sees the look on my face. “Actually, yeah, let me show you.”
We walk into the kitchen, and I turn around to face him.
“This is your big plan?!” I whisper-shout.
“We’re just playing a game,” he says, with a face full of false innocence.
I glare at him. “You know this version is old. It’s too obvious.”
“I can’t help it that this is the Trivial Pursuit I’ve always had.”
“You just happen to have some ancient version hidden away in your closet?”
“It’s the one I used to play when I was a kid.” I try not to imagine an adorable preteen Lee, serious as he attempted to beat his parents in a too-adult game.
I shake it off. “You know this is getting absurd.”
“Come on,” he says with a grin. “It’s working.”
“How is this working?”
“You’ll see. Carmen hates losing.”
“Well who doesn’t?” I ask, and he purses his lips in amusement at me.
“Yes, I can see how much you hate it too,” he says.
“Well, I hate this type of losing because it’s unfair. All these questions are basically designed to be obsolete for anyone whose joints still function.”
Now he’s fully laughing, although he’s still taking care to keep quiet. “So you don’t like the game because you think it’s not effective at reminding them of their vast age difference? Or you don’t like the game because it’s rigged a little so that you lose?”
I don’t respond, because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. I just walk out of the kitchen instead, like an incredibly mature person.
“Sure, love that idea for snacks!” I hear Lee call behind me.
Shit. I forgot that was my pretense.
But Lee comes out with a bowl of fruit and a plate of cookies, saving me from looking suspicious. My dad and Carmen are happily chatting anyway, so they probably wouldn’t have noticed either way. Great.
I get back to the game and try to shake off my distinct disadvantage. Lee, on the other hand, is maybe being a little too obvious with his commentary. “Oh that would’ve been well before you were born, Carmen,” or “Oh man, Mark, remember that? It’s crazy how popular that book was when we were younger.”
But I have to admit after a while that the whole effect might actually be working a bit.
