Marshall Marshall Marshall!

One of the highlights of my Memorial Day was playing laser tag in Mountain View. As with most of my blog topics, this activity and I have a long history. It begins with an unfortunate memory from a fourth-grade birthday party...

To begin, I rarely attended birthday parties without my sister and sidekick Corey. I was pretty shy and antisocial back then, so this worked out well for me because it ensured that I always had someone to talk to at social functions. (Wait, this is still true now...) Also, I would NEVER shoot my sidekick with a laser gun, so even though this particular birthday party was my first experience with laser tag, I could theoretically shut down the competition by turning an "every man for himself" situation into an unfair team sport. (Another quality about myself that is just as true today as it was then: I love winning games.) Unfortunately, when the day of the party arrived, Corey was sick, so she would not be attending the party. Usually when this would happen, I would mysteriously contract the same illness, however, I unwisely chose this event to debut my new-found independence. It would soon be clear that overconfidence would get the best of me...

I arrived at the party where I didn't feel like talking to anyone, and was herded with the rest of the masses through the logistical preparations for laser tag play. I picked my gamer name (probably something extremely intimidating like "Samantha" or "My Twin Sister's at home and I'm going to be an easy target.") and entered the briefing room. I remember the grown-up in the room (at Laser Quest, referred to as "Marshall") speeding through the rules, making us recite the Laser Tag Code of Ethics (don't run, don't cuss, don't beat up little kids, etc.). I also took this opportunity to size up the big kids, i.e., figure out who I needed to avoid. Most importantly, I remembered learning that once the game started, if some piece of equipment malfunctioned or if I got injured or came across a dead body or something else awful, then I could just yell "Marshall Marshall Marshall!" and someone would come to my aid. I put on my laser tag vest; somehow I had picked the one that was eight hundred pounds heavier than it was supposed to be, and I consequently could barely stand up while wearing it. Then all of a sudden there was beeping and no more lights and fog machines and... WHYYYY did I wear a white shirt? Damn black light.

Less than two minutes into the game, I found myself crouched in a corner, getting shot at every five seconds, crying and wishing for it to end. Ever the follower of rules, I began to yell "Marshall Marshall Marshall" for that man to run to my aid and carry me out of there. In hindsight, my voice was not then capable of yelling, and I was crying uncontrollably, so I was inevitably whimpering and not yelling. Meanwhile, a Big Kid was parked across from me, switching between shooting me and waiting for my targets to reactivate so he could shoot me again. Needless to say, no one ever came to my aid. And I finished the round with tears and a negative score.

And so I made a resolution. I would NEVER be defeated at Laser Tag (or anything) ever again. After a year or two hiatus from the game, I returned more determined than ever. I threw the rules out the window. I ran. I crouched. I covered my targets so I couldn't be shot. I made fake alliances with my friends and then shot them on "accident" every 30 seconds. I preyed on young children as they cried in the corner. And I won first place.

Am I proud of the things I did? Maybe, if it turned out that I won. Today, I found myself back in the milieu of laser domination. I decided that this time, I would respect that Laser Tag Code of Ethics. (Except for that one rule about not making physical contact with any of the players. My boyfriend was there. Let's be real.) I didn't get first place. But it was fun, and there were neither tears nor negative points.