Lazer Tag
When I was younger -- and I don't mean 5 or 6; more like, 15, 16, 23, etc. -- I played laser tag often enough to say I was an avid player, but not often enough to say I was an obsessive laser tag nerd. Last night, Stephanie's friend Leigha had a birthday party, to which she invited many friends, and we played laser tag. It was wicked fun. There was about 25 of us. Our ages ranged from early twenties to early thirties. We were split evenly into two teams and joined up with some middle school aged girls. I came in first place for my team, but third place over all. Two people on the other team found the bases (which is the way to score major points), but I couldn't find them. I scored most of my points by hiding and picking people off as they walked by. And by shooting the sensor-things that are randomly placed about the arena.
The last time I played laser tag, was six years ago. My friends and I had been playing every few months for something different to do. We mostly had fun. The last time we went, though, there was a guy with long stringy hair, shaggy beard, superman t-shirt, and buck teeth*. We decided that he was about 30 (I was 24ish at the time and 30 seemed old) and lived in his parents basement playing Warcraft whenever he wasn't at the laser tag place. He was way too excited about playing a game** called defector and he had to ask us if we wanted to play. "Come on guys! Let's play defector!" He shouted with a lisp.
We decided that we didn't want to be that guy and so we chose not to play laser tag ever again (or at least until we have kids).
Of course, that changed with last night.
*(I don't think he actually had buck teeth, but every time we share this story the guy becomes more and more of a nerd)
**Apparently there is not just regular laser tag; you can change "games" -- who knew?
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I wrote this in my pocket journal on Thursday:
There is a joke -- often made by myself about myself -- that may hold some ridiculous truth... but probably not. Whenever my friends and I go to Uncommon Grounds in Saratoga, I walk away from the counter with my beverage in a paper cup and plastic top, while my friends soon appear at our table with porcelain mugs. The joke is that I am not welcome to stay at Uncommon Grounds. I am looked at by the barista and it is decided by he or she that I must be given a "to go" cup and sent strictly on my way.
When I first noticed the discrepancy between my paper cup and my friends' porcelain ones, I questioned them.
"How did you guys get mugs?" I asked.
"The dude asked me if I wanted one," and "Me too," they said.
Not a big deal when it happened that once. But, then it happened again and a third time and I began to wonder. Different baristas each time; same outcome. My friends received nice "for here" mugs; I got a paper cup. My friends are welcomed to stay; I am sent on my way. I was beginning to think there was a picture of me behind the counter with a caption: "Do not -- under any circumstances -- offer this man a 'for here' mug."
Do they know I often go to Starbucks?
Anyways, everything changed just a moment ago. (I am writing in my pocket journal -- the little black book with even-littler pen, which is giving me hand cramps and causing my words to become more and more illegible as I write). I came to Saratoga for open mic as usual. However, I am alone. Stephanie needed to get some stuff prepared for a career fair on Saturday, and so, she is doing that tonight. I decided to come to Uncommon Grounds as opposed to Starbucks (Stephanie and I usually go to Starbucks) because you can get a small -- as opposed to a tall -- here and save a dollar. Also, I am feeling alone and rather isolated after having an everybody-needs-something-from-me-but-no-one-seems-to-give-a-shit-about-my-feelings day, and Uncommon Grounds is commonly busier than Starbucks.
I am sitting by the window and I occasionally make eye contact with someone who is coming in or someone who is going out. I must look depressed and from the past to the them, sitting alone and writing in my notebook and not a laptop like the twelve or so other people here.
Anyways, I ordered my drink a little while ago and the girl who was barista offered me a "for here" mug. With a large smile I said I would and thank you very much for asking. The cycle was broken. I am not unwanted. There is not a picture of me behind the counter with a nasty caption on it.
She turned around and started to reach for a mug. She hesitated. Then, she turned back with a slightly distressed expression.
"We are all out of small mugs."
"Oh."
It was the thought that counts. I put all my change in the tip jar.
------
Later that night, I played at Caffe Lena. I worked the door in place of Stephanie. It's kind of funny how some people try to pass by without paying. I wonder if they miss the "CAFFE LENA OPEN MIC $3" announcement on the chalk board that is right in front of your face as you walk up the stairs. I wonder if their friends who invite them to come fail to mention that that they will have to pay. I wonder if they don't make very much money at their jobs and they can barely afford their rent, school loans, gas, food, etc... It's hard times. I understand.
I played Heart of the Matter by Don Henly, which is the cover song that I have not been naming. Kate Blain, who hosted, asked me to play it because I told her that I have been playing it and she smiled and said, "Oh yeah. I can see that" meaning that the song is a good match for my abilities, style, voice, etc. I also played Breaking Free. I received quite a few compliments on Heart of the Matter. I'm glad. I like playing the song and I like the song and I think I'm pretty good at it, which are three things that are important for performances.
The last time I played laser tag, was six years ago. My friends and I had been playing every few months for something different to do. We mostly had fun. The last time we went, though, there was a guy with long stringy hair, shaggy beard, superman t-shirt, and buck teeth*. We decided that he was about 30 (I was 24ish at the time and 30 seemed old) and lived in his parents basement playing Warcraft whenever he wasn't at the laser tag place. He was way too excited about playing a game** called defector and he had to ask us if we wanted to play. "Come on guys! Let's play defector!" He shouted with a lisp.
We decided that we didn't want to be that guy and so we chose not to play laser tag ever again (or at least until we have kids).
Of course, that changed with last night.
*(I don't think he actually had buck teeth, but every time we share this story the guy becomes more and more of a nerd)
**Apparently there is not just regular laser tag; you can change "games" -- who knew?
------
I wrote this in my pocket journal on Thursday:
There is a joke -- often made by myself about myself -- that may hold some ridiculous truth... but probably not. Whenever my friends and I go to Uncommon Grounds in Saratoga, I walk away from the counter with my beverage in a paper cup and plastic top, while my friends soon appear at our table with porcelain mugs. The joke is that I am not welcome to stay at Uncommon Grounds. I am looked at by the barista and it is decided by he or she that I must be given a "to go" cup and sent strictly on my way.
When I first noticed the discrepancy between my paper cup and my friends' porcelain ones, I questioned them.
"How did you guys get mugs?" I asked.
"The dude asked me if I wanted one," and "Me too," they said.
Not a big deal when it happened that once. But, then it happened again and a third time and I began to wonder. Different baristas each time; same outcome. My friends received nice "for here" mugs; I got a paper cup. My friends are welcomed to stay; I am sent on my way. I was beginning to think there was a picture of me behind the counter with a caption: "Do not -- under any circumstances -- offer this man a 'for here' mug."
Do they know I often go to Starbucks?
Anyways, everything changed just a moment ago. (I am writing in my pocket journal -- the little black book with even-littler pen, which is giving me hand cramps and causing my words to become more and more illegible as I write). I came to Saratoga for open mic as usual. However, I am alone. Stephanie needed to get some stuff prepared for a career fair on Saturday, and so, she is doing that tonight. I decided to come to Uncommon Grounds as opposed to Starbucks (Stephanie and I usually go to Starbucks) because you can get a small -- as opposed to a tall -- here and save a dollar. Also, I am feeling alone and rather isolated after having an everybody-needs-something-from-me-but-no-one-seems-to-give-a-shit-about-my-feelings day, and Uncommon Grounds is commonly busier than Starbucks.
I am sitting by the window and I occasionally make eye contact with someone who is coming in or someone who is going out. I must look depressed and from the past to the them, sitting alone and writing in my notebook and not a laptop like the twelve or so other people here.
Anyways, I ordered my drink a little while ago and the girl who was barista offered me a "for here" mug. With a large smile I said I would and thank you very much for asking. The cycle was broken. I am not unwanted. There is not a picture of me behind the counter with a nasty caption on it.
She turned around and started to reach for a mug. She hesitated. Then, she turned back with a slightly distressed expression.
"We are all out of small mugs."
"Oh."
It was the thought that counts. I put all my change in the tip jar.
------
Later that night, I played at Caffe Lena. I worked the door in place of Stephanie. It's kind of funny how some people try to pass by without paying. I wonder if they miss the "CAFFE LENA OPEN MIC $3" announcement on the chalk board that is right in front of your face as you walk up the stairs. I wonder if their friends who invite them to come fail to mention that that they will have to pay. I wonder if they don't make very much money at their jobs and they can barely afford their rent, school loans, gas, food, etc... It's hard times. I understand.
I played Heart of the Matter by Don Henly, which is the cover song that I have not been naming. Kate Blain, who hosted, asked me to play it because I told her that I have been playing it and she smiled and said, "Oh yeah. I can see that" meaning that the song is a good match for my abilities, style, voice, etc. I also played Breaking Free. I received quite a few compliments on Heart of the Matter. I'm glad. I like playing the song and I like the song and I think I'm pretty good at it, which are three things that are important for performances.