About six years ago, I'm at the local room in central PA and playing one of the regulars, an old gruff named Steve Gustafson who died during COVID (RIP). Had the white hair and the Wilford Brimley mustache and was dry wit. This Saturday night, we had a trio of guys come in from, based on the language they were speaking, a Middle Eastern country and take the table next to ours. Nice dudes, not an ounce of trouble, but exceptionally loud. Like yelling at each other as normal conversation loud. Steve was at the table while these guys were in the middle of one of their yell chats when he shuffled over to me at my chair.
"We got the Armenian Deaf Squad over here."
As he made his way back to the table, I'm doubled over in tears. He makes a couple of balls, sees I still haven't recovered and walks back.
"I don't even know if they're Armenian but I needed it for the joke."
God, I miss that guy.