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Jonathon’s 12th birthday is tomorrow and I have been rather devious.
I offered to take him to play laser tag with a friend and our cousins, Skinny and Malnourished. He immediately got very excited, especially because the Laser Tag place is in Appleton. He knows that any Weetabix extravaganza will include food, thus he gets to pick a super cool Appleton restaurant in which to dine. He’s picking The Machine Shed, which makes me very happy because not only do I love their food, I will also get to feed Skinny and Malnourished, provided that Aunt Brunhilda allows them to go.
That’s the twist. Actually getting Aunt Brunhilda to allow me to take them along. Without her.
I strategized. The best plan of attack: call their house when the kids weren’t in school and hope that one of them answered the phone, rather than Brunhilda. Then, I’d just make the offer to them and have them ask if they can go, meaning that she’ll have to provide an excuse to them as well as an excuse to me why they cannot help their cousin celebrate his 12th birthday.
I called yesterday. Skinny answered the phone. ‘Hey Skinny! It’s Weetabix’ your cousin.’ I felt as though I had to add that, since Brunhilda keeps them segregated from our family, particularly from me, as some errant fat cell may leap off my body onto their little scrawny growth-stunted frames.
‘Oh, hi Weetabix!’ Skinny said. ‘Do you want to talk to my mom?’
‘No, actually, I want to talk to you. I was wondering if you and Malnourished would like to go play Laser Tag with Jonathon and me this Saturday for his birthday?’
‘Just wait, I’ll ask my mom.’ That’s Skinny for you. She’s fourteen and she knows that Brunhilda has complete control over her life. Maybe this speaks to poor parenting, but when I was fourteen, I would have immediately said yes and thought to ask for permission later.
I heard some conversation in the background. Skinny returned to the phone. ‘Mom said that we’ll have to talk about it later.’ Aha, that means no. I didn’t hold my breath. Later, Aunt Brunhilda called me back.
Hell has frozen over. She’s letting the children go with me.
Of course, I didn’t mention that we would be going out to eat.
What a coup! I can’t believe it! I get to not only spend time with my cousins but also feed them.
Don’t any of you breathe a word of this to Brunhilda!
Aside from feeding the hungry, I’m also excited just to play Laser tag. For Jonathon’s sixth birthday, we went to a very short-lived Indoor Family Fun place here in Green Bay. It was the best kid’s birthday party I’ve ever been to, even including my own birthday parties as a child.
They had a little laser tag arena set up. It was basically a maze made of nylon ‘tent fabric’, stretched on PVC frames. Some of the panels had large screens in them, so you could shoot the lasers through the screens. The little arena was lit only with black light and occasionally, smoke would waft out from little hidden vents. It was pretty cool for Green Bay. No wonder they didn’t last.
So me, Mo, and my Uncle Maynard, (who is Mr. Brunhilda but is extremely cool) played laser tag against eleven six-year-olds. We were a little unevenly matched. We kicked their collective butts. Then we repaired up. Mo, myself, and the three girls against Maynard and the eight boys. That was a little fairer. Maynard would send the little boys who couldn’t work their guns out on recognizance missions then pick off the girls who tried to blast the boys. The Laser people would only let us play for ten minutes, then rest for ten minutes, allowing non-party people to play. During that time, each clan would scheme and plot our offenses.
Man, that rocked. My adrenaline was totally pumping. I was pecking off the six-year-olds left and right. They didn’t stand a chance against my trusty laser and me. I named her Veronica.
On our final stand, Mo and I got a little cocky. Maynard was winded and wanted to stop, so Mo and I told all of the kids we’d take them on. They gave us a two-minute head start to situate ourselves within the maze and then they followed. Soon, the eerie sight of red laser beams cut through the black lights and smoke. The sounds of children breathing heavily echoed through the silken maze. Mo and I ensconced ourselves in a little dead-end alley where we could get off shots before we were discovered. Unless we were ambushed, we held a pretty strong position. It was exhilarating being hunted quarry, even it if the Great White Hunters were more of the Kool-Aid and Mighty Morphin set. The kids were screaming in fear at the slightest provocation. They were easy to hear coming.
Mo and I managed to peck off the twin second grade boys, but we had our sights set on their older brother. At eight-years-old, he stood an impressive 4’8′ and 79 pounds. He was tough. We were impressed. Little did he know that the hunter was about to become the hunted! (cue scary impending danger music and deep menacing laughter’. MWUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!)
When you blast someone in Laser tag, their gun deactivates for thirty seconds. During this time, any shot will not be registered on their power vest either. A counter keeps track of your score, adding points for every ‘kill’, detracting points for every time you are ‘killed’.
Mo and I bunkered down below sight range and crawled to another crevice. As the kids would stalk us in our former dead-end alley, we’d shoot them from behind. 1’2’3’45’6’78’.9 kids in a ten second interval. That meant just one of the scrawny second grade twins and his big Leviathan brother remained ‘alive’ in the maze.
‘Cover Me!’ I yelled to Mo. I was going after them.
Mo steadied her plastic gun on her knee and followed me with her sights. I ran, full-bore, as fast as my chubby legs could take me, around turn and twists, through the dark maze.
Directly.
Into.
A.
Full-length.
Screen.
The moment of impact has actually been blanked out in my mind, but Mo tells me that I hit the screen at full maximum speed. One should note that an object at motion stays at motion until acted upon by an equal and opposite force. Once I get going, I stay going. Mo reports that when I hit the screen, my arms splayed out, much like a bug hitting a windshield of a fast-moving car. The screen buckled somewhat and then I was flung backward at warp speed. My gun dropped out of my hand and I fell splayed onto the ground.
All I remember was lying on the floor. Circling me seemed like hundreds of gun-wielding munchkins, their lasers shooting me over and over. Mo lay in the corner, laughing, tears coming out of her eyes. She was squeezing her legs together so she wouldn’t pee her pants.
I did have one moment of regained dignity, however. Later, after the scores were tallied, my number came up as the number one Hot Shot. The eight-year-old leviathan later then approached me timidly and said, ‘Man, you were the best one! You’re really good. You could get a job doing this.’
My guidance counselor never expounded on the career opportunities in laser tag, or I would have been all over that bad boy, I tell you.
