... and nearly ran in the laser tag place.
So as you may have guessed from that sentance, I went laser tagging.
To begin my story, we shall start at noon, this past Friday. I was slogging through school, as usual, pushing to be done so I could freely enjoy the fun night my youth group was going to have. After a while, I finished it. I had decided that morning to wear contacts, as I didn't know if we would have to wear goggles or not when lasering. Glasses just get in the way.
My mother drove us to the church and my little brother, Michael, and I joined the others who were going. There were the Far twins (identical twins no less. At least they were different things), Ty, Ash, Bry, a guy I didn't know the name of, Jo, and the drivers. Several others would meet us there.
We walked outside into the chill and divied up into car groups. Naturally, since I don't really have any friends at the church, I ended up going with the extra drivers in their van. So I answered questions when asked, and zoned out the rest of the time.
Upon ariving, we first avoided the slew of little kids jumping out of the building, obviously raving about how cool it had been. Then we parked and walked inside. About three arcade games lined one wall, several vending machines on the other. One of the last sides was the desk, and the last either let you into the bathrooms, up the staris to the observation deck for mothers who needed a break from hyper kids, and the entrance to the 'airlock'. Neon colours on black decorated the airlock. Rods lined the walls, holding the vests off the floor in a neat line.
The others of our group caught up with us. Cam, Tal, Pau, and a couple others I didn't know were there to fight with us. Just so you know, Cam is my next door neighbour. That's an important detail for later.
We all signed our names and code names on a peice of paper specially designed for that purpose. I was Blank Parchment. All total, there were twenty of us playing.
The explanation dude, whom I shall call Ron for the sake of having a name attatched to him, gathered us 'round the entrance to the airlock. He then proceeded to tell us about the various ways to fire the 'faser'. Or is it spelt 'phaser'?
Anywho, to fire normal single shots, simply pinch the metal sensors at the end of the gun and squeeze the trigger and release it.
To fire machine gun style, have your fingers on the metal, and squeeze and hold the trigger. Release when you wish to stop firing.
To fire a bomb, release the sensors, pull the trigger and hold it, then aim in the direction of as many people as possible. After that, hold the sensers again. KaBoom! You've shot a bomb!
After that he stepped bak into the airlock and read off our code names and the vest we would wear. I was Green18. A lovely rhyme, but that's beside the point. The point is that Cam was also on my team. Yay for me! He plays Halo incase you were wondering, which you probably weren't, and that means he's really good at games like this. And Michael was on my team.
It was then I discovered that I had made the mistake of wearing a nice purple plaid-ish shirt that didn't seem very light coloured. At the time. I also didn't think my jeans were light coloured, but the black light proved me wrong. I glowed. It looked cool, when we played, but I glowed. In the dark. So I was an easy target.
We pulled on the sweat smelling vests and unclipped our fasers so we could hold them further than three inches away from us. The fasers were attatched to the vest via a cable thing that comunicated with the vest and recorded hits, both by you and on you.
After Ron explained the rules in a deadpan-funny-slightly-sarcastic way that I thought was funny (though I hid my giggles), he released us into the arena. First we had to shoot a target on the wall, whereupon our gun would growl 'Go' at us and start ticking. That meant we had about one minute to find a good spot to start.
Then the music began playing and the fog machines began pumping. And it rocked. I speed walked around, crouching behind obsticles and checking out the ramp/balcony things that lined the long sides of the room. I held my gun one handed in front of me and shot at all the reds I saw. But they always got me before I got them. Around ten minutes later, catching my breath in a hidey hole, I puzzled over the fact that everyone held their guns two handed. And then it dawned on me. Of course! Ron had shown us the sensers and told us how to fire! After calling myself stupid and forgetful, I leaped out and began shooting everyone... properly. And they got hit! So did I, but I didn't care! I had remembered how to shoot!
All too soon the game was over. We filed into the airlock, shooting the target thing again at Ron's prompting. Then we hung up our vests and milled out into the front room. We gathered around the TV that served as a scoreboard. I didn't do too badly. I was 16th out of twenty. Cam, of course, was first. No suprise there!
We each were given a small sheet of paper with our statistics on them. I had a 3.98 acuracy. 728 shots Oh boy. I laughed at that.
Ron let us compare for a minute, then asked if we wanted the same teams for the second game or not. We voted for mixing it up. Michael was on my team again, but Cam wasn't. Never mind that, though! This time I knew how to shoot! I was once again Green18. We entered, shot the target, and dash-walked off to a good place to start. The music started. I was in my element, so to speak. I whirled around stealthily, shooting the reds and a few of the greens by accident. Fortunantly, that didn't count against us, as Ron had explained. I got hit a lot. I didn't think I hit much though.
Now for the part that was more than a little awkward.
For a couple weeks now, I've suspected that Cam has a girlfriend. My older brother and I ran into them at the movie store. Cam brought her to laser tag.
So the part that was awkward was when I rounded a corner, having seen glimmers of their vests in the dark. Cam was red, she was green. On the other side of a slatted barrier, I shot at them, then ran off as I saw how close they were. It looked like in the dark of the room they had been about to kiss! Naurally, I didn't stay around to find out.
All too soon, the music ended and the fog cleared. We removed our vests, retreived our new score sheets and veiwed our results. I was now in twelth place, with an 8.30 acuracy, about 658 shots fired. Much improved, no?
Of course, one guy, not Cam, had decided to go for acuracy alone. He got a 24.00 acuracy! *gaw drop*
Out in the parking lot, we decides that we'd go to Timmies for some refreshment. I got a chocolate milk and a sourcream glazed donut.
And then we drove home. Or at least, back to the church. Co, the youth leader, drove Be and me home the rest of the way.
And that, my dear friends, was my night of laser tagging.
So as you may have guessed from that sentance, I went laser tagging.
To begin my story, we shall start at noon, this past Friday. I was slogging through school, as usual, pushing to be done so I could freely enjoy the fun night my youth group was going to have. After a while, I finished it. I had decided that morning to wear contacts, as I didn't know if we would have to wear goggles or not when lasering. Glasses just get in the way.
My mother drove us to the church and my little brother, Michael, and I joined the others who were going. There were the Far twins (identical twins no less. At least they were different things), Ty, Ash, Bry, a guy I didn't know the name of, Jo, and the drivers. Several others would meet us there.
We walked outside into the chill and divied up into car groups. Naturally, since I don't really have any friends at the church, I ended up going with the extra drivers in their van. So I answered questions when asked, and zoned out the rest of the time.
Upon ariving, we first avoided the slew of little kids jumping out of the building, obviously raving about how cool it had been. Then we parked and walked inside. About three arcade games lined one wall, several vending machines on the other. One of the last sides was the desk, and the last either let you into the bathrooms, up the staris to the observation deck for mothers who needed a break from hyper kids, and the entrance to the 'airlock'. Neon colours on black decorated the airlock. Rods lined the walls, holding the vests off the floor in a neat line.
The others of our group caught up with us. Cam, Tal, Pau, and a couple others I didn't know were there to fight with us. Just so you know, Cam is my next door neighbour. That's an important detail for later.
We all signed our names and code names on a peice of paper specially designed for that purpose. I was Blank Parchment. All total, there were twenty of us playing.
The explanation dude, whom I shall call Ron for the sake of having a name attatched to him, gathered us 'round the entrance to the airlock. He then proceeded to tell us about the various ways to fire the 'faser'. Or is it spelt 'phaser'?
Anywho, to fire normal single shots, simply pinch the metal sensors at the end of the gun and squeeze the trigger and release it.
To fire machine gun style, have your fingers on the metal, and squeeze and hold the trigger. Release when you wish to stop firing.
To fire a bomb, release the sensors, pull the trigger and hold it, then aim in the direction of as many people as possible. After that, hold the sensers again. KaBoom! You've shot a bomb!
After that he stepped bak into the airlock and read off our code names and the vest we would wear. I was Green18. A lovely rhyme, but that's beside the point. The point is that Cam was also on my team. Yay for me! He plays Halo incase you were wondering, which you probably weren't, and that means he's really good at games like this. And Michael was on my team.
It was then I discovered that I had made the mistake of wearing a nice purple plaid-ish shirt that didn't seem very light coloured. At the time. I also didn't think my jeans were light coloured, but the black light proved me wrong. I glowed. It looked cool, when we played, but I glowed. In the dark. So I was an easy target.
We pulled on the sweat smelling vests and unclipped our fasers so we could hold them further than three inches away from us. The fasers were attatched to the vest via a cable thing that comunicated with the vest and recorded hits, both by you and on you.
After Ron explained the rules in a deadpan-funny-slightly-sarcastic way that I thought was funny (though I hid my giggles), he released us into the arena. First we had to shoot a target on the wall, whereupon our gun would growl 'Go' at us and start ticking. That meant we had about one minute to find a good spot to start.
Then the music began playing and the fog machines began pumping. And it rocked. I speed walked around, crouching behind obsticles and checking out the ramp/balcony things that lined the long sides of the room. I held my gun one handed in front of me and shot at all the reds I saw. But they always got me before I got them. Around ten minutes later, catching my breath in a hidey hole, I puzzled over the fact that everyone held their guns two handed. And then it dawned on me. Of course! Ron had shown us the sensers and told us how to fire! After calling myself stupid and forgetful, I leaped out and began shooting everyone... properly. And they got hit! So did I, but I didn't care! I had remembered how to shoot!
All too soon the game was over. We filed into the airlock, shooting the target thing again at Ron's prompting. Then we hung up our vests and milled out into the front room. We gathered around the TV that served as a scoreboard. I didn't do too badly. I was 16th out of twenty. Cam, of course, was first. No suprise there!
We each were given a small sheet of paper with our statistics on them. I had a 3.98 acuracy. 728 shots Oh boy. I laughed at that.
Ron let us compare for a minute, then asked if we wanted the same teams for the second game or not. We voted for mixing it up. Michael was on my team again, but Cam wasn't. Never mind that, though! This time I knew how to shoot! I was once again Green18. We entered, shot the target, and dash-walked off to a good place to start. The music started. I was in my element, so to speak. I whirled around stealthily, shooting the reds and a few of the greens by accident. Fortunantly, that didn't count against us, as Ron had explained. I got hit a lot. I didn't think I hit much though.
Now for the part that was more than a little awkward.
For a couple weeks now, I've suspected that Cam has a girlfriend. My older brother and I ran into them at the movie store. Cam brought her to laser tag.
So the part that was awkward was when I rounded a corner, having seen glimmers of their vests in the dark. Cam was red, she was green. On the other side of a slatted barrier, I shot at them, then ran off as I saw how close they were. It looked like in the dark of the room they had been about to kiss! Naurally, I didn't stay around to find out.
All too soon, the music ended and the fog cleared. We removed our vests, retreived our new score sheets and veiwed our results. I was now in twelth place, with an 8.30 acuracy, about 658 shots fired. Much improved, no?
Of course, one guy, not Cam, had decided to go for acuracy alone. He got a 24.00 acuracy! *gaw drop*
Out in the parking lot, we decides that we'd go to Timmies for some refreshment. I got a chocolate milk and a sourcream glazed donut.
And then we drove home. Or at least, back to the church. Co, the youth leader, drove Be and me home the rest of the way.
And that, my dear friends, was my night of laser tagging.
And now for my tale of nearly breaking my hand.
Yes, my hand is/has been/did bruise. And it's another result of youth group.
Basically, we were playing a type of tag where there's a zombie (who can't bend his/her knees and must walk/run/shuffle around with a hand on their head at all times) and all the rest are humans. Each hunman has a sock. If a zombie is hit by a sock twice, they must o back to the regeneration room and stay for a couple seconds. Then they can come back and be fierce again. The zombies have to tag everyone. The humans try to eveade.
Now in the first game, It turns out that An was one of the zombies. I suspected as much because I had heard her get tagged when our youth leader was choosing zombies. So when she turned into a zombie after being out of the room for a minute (a rule I didn't really feel like explaining) She told me to just hit her with my sock twice. So I did, and she went back to the room and stayed there, as this really isn't her type of game. Then I went down a few stairs and was about to open a door when Cory, the leader, burst out roaring with a hand upon his head.
Naturally, I screamed as I did that odd jittery jumpy thing girls do when they get seriously suprised. Needless to say, I was too suprised to run and Cory tagged me. So I was a zombie for the rest of the game.
Then we played it again. I once again was tagged soon into the game. Towrads the end of the game, several (as in, about six) guys had baracaded themselves into a room. They were about to close the door so I ran at it, hopeing that I could at least stop it from closeing then push it open and tag someone.
Well, my plan may have sounded good, but it wasn't. I shoved my hand between the door and doorway without really considering that there were at least four guys putting all their weight into slamming the door shut to keep me out. Cory was the only one I could really see, but a Farmer (not sure which one... they're identical) and Bry and Jo and I think Bev were in there as well. Probably a couple others. And well, none of these guys are exactly small little fellows, except for the Farmer. He's shorter and skinny.
So my fingers on my right hand were crushed in the door. Almost as soon as the door had hit, Cory had yanked it open and was asking if I was all right. I'm pretty proud of my reponse. I didn't cry, though my hand hurt like blue blazes and I couldn't really bend my fingers. And I managed to make a cherant statement concerning my fingers and headed back to the room. I'd gotten hit by well over two socks and decided to use the room to recover my composure a little more.
There I looked upon my dear hand. The joint just below my fingernail on my middle finger had a few lovely scrapes that stung and hurt a lot. The joint below that had what apeared to be a combanation of a blister and a wart that most certainly hadn't been there before. My ring finger was quite red and swelling a little. My pointer finger was also red and swelling. My that middle finger, oh that middle finger! It was swelling nicely. Very nicely.
Well, by now I had recovered enough and bent my fingers, showing they weren't broken. But oh how my hand hurt! Even now, even two minutes after being slammed.
Then the rest of the group came trouping back into the room. Zombies had broken through the last defenses and the game was over.
Cory saw me and again asked how my hand was. I smiled, a rather painful smile, and held up my hand, bending the fingers for him. "Better, sorta," was my reply.
A girl in the group called Adi looked at me and asked what happened to it. Cory answered before I did. I just showed Adi my hand. She made the appropriate suck-in-your-breath and owch and ooo noises. Then a couple others looked.
After that Cory said we'd play one more game of it. He said they'd do better this time. He had a joking smile as he said this time they'd break fingers. I just rolled my eyes.
My hand still stung and ached, but I played anyway. In that game I ran dowstairs and hid behind a pillar disguised as a tree in a dark room. Of course, the zombied knew that this room is a favourite room amoung humans and two soon came. I circled the tree trunk as the zombies went around the other sider, heading for one of the Farmers. I made a break for the open door. Bry saw me and he ran at me, tagging me before I reached the door. Being tagged while running threw off my balence and I stumbled into the wall. Out of reflex I said, "Ow." Bry imeadiatly was sorry and apologized. Then I apologized to him for saying ow wehn I really wasn't hurt. I'm sure he must have thought me slightly ditzy then. Oh well. I ran out the door and helped other zombies break open Cory's hiding spot. The rest of the game passed without incodent and we returned to the room safe and sound.
Now, we almost always go to McDonald's after youth. An and I drove there. Bry, Bev, Jo, and a junior youth, Bri, were already there. (Bri is Bry and Bev's sister) Bev asked me how my hand was. I had a slightly spacey sounding relpy along the lines of, "Oh! It's fine! Much better." He nodded in a way that seemed to say 'Oh that's good.' Then Bri, who is a fun girl and decently mature for her age (which is a year younger than me little brother whom I shall now call Micheal and I'll call my older brother James for the sake of them having names. Not that they're part of this story) asked me what happened to my hand. "Oh, it got slammed in a door during a game," I said as I showed her my hand. She winced at the sight of my red appendage. I looked at it again. The swelling had increased, especially on my middle finger. The second joint was now one and a half times the normal size.
When I got home, I had fun entertaining Micheal and James with my tale. I also had fun soothing the pain with an ice pack from the freezer.
Now, several days later, my pointer finger has an interesting purpley blue look to it. Sort of an underlying glow, you know? The knuckles on most of my other fingers were also briused. The back of my thumb has the blue tinge tio it and is quite tender. I'm actually hoping that the visible bruises will stay 'till next youth group. I want to show Cory the bruises he and the others gave me. Maybe it'll encourage them to not slam so hard.
Basically, we were playing a type of tag where there's a zombie (who can't bend his/her knees and must walk/run/shuffle around with a hand on their head at all times) and all the rest are humans. Each hunman has a sock. If a zombie is hit by a sock twice, they must o back to the regeneration room and stay for a couple seconds. Then they can come back and be fierce again. The zombies have to tag everyone. The humans try to eveade.
Now in the first game, It turns out that An was one of the zombies. I suspected as much because I had heard her get tagged when our youth leader was choosing zombies. So when she turned into a zombie after being out of the room for a minute (a rule I didn't really feel like explaining) She told me to just hit her with my sock twice. So I did, and she went back to the room and stayed there, as this really isn't her type of game. Then I went down a few stairs and was about to open a door when Cory, the leader, burst out roaring with a hand upon his head.
Naturally, I screamed as I did that odd jittery jumpy thing girls do when they get seriously suprised. Needless to say, I was too suprised to run and Cory tagged me. So I was a zombie for the rest of the game.
Then we played it again. I once again was tagged soon into the game. Towrads the end of the game, several (as in, about six) guys had baracaded themselves into a room. They were about to close the door so I ran at it, hopeing that I could at least stop it from closeing then push it open and tag someone.
Well, my plan may have sounded good, but it wasn't. I shoved my hand between the door and doorway without really considering that there were at least four guys putting all their weight into slamming the door shut to keep me out. Cory was the only one I could really see, but a Farmer (not sure which one... they're identical) and Bry and Jo and I think Bev were in there as well. Probably a couple others. And well, none of these guys are exactly small little fellows, except for the Farmer. He's shorter and skinny.
So my fingers on my right hand were crushed in the door. Almost as soon as the door had hit, Cory had yanked it open and was asking if I was all right. I'm pretty proud of my reponse. I didn't cry, though my hand hurt like blue blazes and I couldn't really bend my fingers. And I managed to make a cherant statement concerning my fingers and headed back to the room. I'd gotten hit by well over two socks and decided to use the room to recover my composure a little more.
There I looked upon my dear hand. The joint just below my fingernail on my middle finger had a few lovely scrapes that stung and hurt a lot. The joint below that had what apeared to be a combanation of a blister and a wart that most certainly hadn't been there before. My ring finger was quite red and swelling a little. My pointer finger was also red and swelling. My that middle finger, oh that middle finger! It was swelling nicely. Very nicely.
Well, by now I had recovered enough and bent my fingers, showing they weren't broken. But oh how my hand hurt! Even now, even two minutes after being slammed.
Then the rest of the group came trouping back into the room. Zombies had broken through the last defenses and the game was over.
Cory saw me and again asked how my hand was. I smiled, a rather painful smile, and held up my hand, bending the fingers for him. "Better, sorta," was my reply.
A girl in the group called Adi looked at me and asked what happened to it. Cory answered before I did. I just showed Adi my hand. She made the appropriate suck-in-your-breath and owch and ooo noises. Then a couple others looked.
After that Cory said we'd play one more game of it. He said they'd do better this time. He had a joking smile as he said this time they'd break fingers. I just rolled my eyes.
My hand still stung and ached, but I played anyway. In that game I ran dowstairs and hid behind a pillar disguised as a tree in a dark room. Of course, the zombied knew that this room is a favourite room amoung humans and two soon came. I circled the tree trunk as the zombies went around the other sider, heading for one of the Farmers. I made a break for the open door. Bry saw me and he ran at me, tagging me before I reached the door. Being tagged while running threw off my balence and I stumbled into the wall. Out of reflex I said, "Ow." Bry imeadiatly was sorry and apologized. Then I apologized to him for saying ow wehn I really wasn't hurt. I'm sure he must have thought me slightly ditzy then. Oh well. I ran out the door and helped other zombies break open Cory's hiding spot. The rest of the game passed without incodent and we returned to the room safe and sound.
Now, we almost always go to McDonald's after youth. An and I drove there. Bry, Bev, Jo, and a junior youth, Bri, were already there. (Bri is Bry and Bev's sister) Bev asked me how my hand was. I had a slightly spacey sounding relpy along the lines of, "Oh! It's fine! Much better." He nodded in a way that seemed to say 'Oh that's good.' Then Bri, who is a fun girl and decently mature for her age (which is a year younger than me little brother whom I shall now call Micheal and I'll call my older brother James for the sake of them having names. Not that they're part of this story) asked me what happened to my hand. "Oh, it got slammed in a door during a game," I said as I showed her my hand. She winced at the sight of my red appendage. I looked at it again. The swelling had increased, especially on my middle finger. The second joint was now one and a half times the normal size.
When I got home, I had fun entertaining Micheal and James with my tale. I also had fun soothing the pain with an ice pack from the freezer.
Now, several days later, my pointer finger has an interesting purpley blue look to it. Sort of an underlying glow, you know? The knuckles on most of my other fingers were also briused. The back of my thumb has the blue tinge tio it and is quite tender. I'm actually hoping that the visible bruises will stay 'till next youth group. I want to show Cory the bruises he and the others gave me. Maybe it'll encourage them to not slam so hard.
