Your day playing paintball
You arrive at the paintball field early so that you can be set up and ready to go. You unload your stuff then get in line to pay for your paint and entry. You are of course using cash, since the field is located WAAAAY out in the boondocks, having a credit/debit machine is out of the question. (I don’t care if there is an iPhone app, your field does NOT take plastic.)
Upon receiving your paint you make your way over to where you’re set up and get your paint loaded into pods, and your gun all put together. Now you need some air, as you fill your tank it turns out you only get a nice 2,500psi fill because the owner hasn’t started the air compressor.
After your tank is “full” you grab your gear, chrono(next to the kid who shoots a pod and a half just to make sure), then try to find one of the refs who isn’t with a 10 year old birthday party, because birthday parties tip, the refs normally fight over the birthday groups. After 10 minutes of searching you manage to corner one and tell him that you are ready to play paintball.
The ref then gets in the meeting place and calls everyone over. You look back at the rest of the customers with eyes sparking as you get ready to play paintball and notice most of them are still putting their gear together and notice quite a few who haven’t even bought paint. A 20 minute wait ensues as people prepare for the day with a punishing lack of urgency. You of course stick close to the ref to make sure he doesn’t escape.
After everyone gets their pods full and figure out which end of the paintball gun does what, they walk out and the ref begins his safety speech. You’ve heard it all before, but safety is important and you pretend to be generally interested in the ref trying to prevent natural selection.
With the speech over it is time to decide who is on what team. On one team is you and everyone renting a gun and on the other team is the trigger happy frat boys who plan on shooting enough paint to conquer most of Europe.
As the players SLOWLY make their way out to the field the hour hand clicks over and you haven’t shot a single paintball. After the waiting the countdown begins:
You run up ready to take as much ground as possible, then all hell breaks loose as you’re shot from 10 different directions roughly 456,382,549 times. You look back and take note that most of your team is taking cover behind the dead box, which left you alone on the front lines. You walk off cussing under your breath.
You come back, load any pods you’ve shot, then turn to watch the game in progress, ready for the next game.
The game is finally over. As you look around you watch as people load their pods so slowly you’d think they were trying to assemble a ship in a bottle. You walk out onto the staging area hoping to inspire someone else to follow or at least hurry up and wait another 20 minutes.
Since the last game was for some reason completely one sided, the ref decided to redo the team. By the time they are done, the next hour hand ticks over.
The next game you hold off on trying to win the game and hang back playing smart deciding to play the game this time, not be the designated cannon fodder. You hold out and your team begins to start winning, but someone gets a lucky shot from… somewhere… and you walk off. Of course your team loses not long after, of course you don’t want to believe you’re the lynch pin that was the MVP of your team, but after playing for 10 minutes over the course of 2 hours you’d like to think you did something more productive than wait on everyone else for 2 hours.
After the game everyone decides to take a lunch break, because a full stomach and intense physical activity have been known to mix well. So, they order pizza, after it arrives people eat it so slowly you’d think they were sampling a French truffle thing at a restaurant such as Wolfgang Puck. The 3rd hour ticks over.
After another wait, another game, and another hour, people start to begin packing up. For some strange reason after eating half a pizza they are feeling tired.
Only a few people remain, after an even longer wait(someone please explain why it seems the wait time in inversely proportional to the number of people you have), you try to get one last game in. You’ve still got a lot of paint and you decided to make that last game a good memory, bringing home the gold and driving home with a smile on your face.
You get hit halfway through the game and you watch as your teammates get picked off one-by-one as one of the guys on the other team decided to commemorate the day by “bunkering a newb.”
As you load up your gear for some reason it never seems to fit as neatly as it did when you packed it to come out and you end up carrying half of it because the bag won’t hold any more stuff and your drive home stewing on how unsatisfying the day is.
Fast forwards to Thursday and as the work day winds down you begin to make plans to go paintballing, with the previous weekend completely forgotten as you take out a lot of money from the ATM in case you have to buy extra paint because of all the action you will see even though for some reason you only used half a case last weekend...
Just a little humor, though if this doesn't describe your day, you're probably one of the ones the rest of us are waiting on.
You're a ghost driving a meat coated skeleton made of metal. What do you have to be scared of?