Field of Battle

Every now and then the guys calling the shots at Phase 2 will decide to take all the employees out of the office and do something fun.  Last week it was determined that the fun experience we were all about to partake of was to be paint ball.  There was some apprehension from some of the participants especially after the war cries of some of the more blood thirsty employees filled the air.

The day of the event came and we split into two different teams while we were still at the office so we could plan on whom we were going to go after once we hit the field of battle.  However, before we left, some of the more pristine individuals realized they had to wear a helmet and that using a helmet that someone else wore and sweated in was not tolerable.  The princesses of Phase 2 raced to the store to get their own helmets so as not to be sullied by the equipment of previous fallen warriors.  One such employee, Steve, who claims to play on a regular basis, came equipped with his own mask, gun, and NASCAR suit.  Obviously he was taking this outing seriously.

We got to the paint ball field later in the day and were greeted by the humble field referee.  Those of us that were not ready for Daytona filed into the equipment shed and gathered our necessary tools.  However, the guy driving the Tide car apparently forgot that his gun doesn’t run on wishes and sunshine but rather on 9 volt batteries.  Being without his trusty power source, he was quickly laughed at and sent to the equipment shed to pick up the standard issue rifle.  Now other than his fancy mask and suit, he was one of us.  The referee then escorted us off to the first field, humbly named “The Graveyard”.

The teams were sent off in opposite directions.  There we stood and waited for the signal for the paint filled carnage to begin.  The signal went off and I froze.  Some of my team went left, some went right.  I guess that means I am going up the middle.  I trotted forward straight down the middle.  I hide behind one of the “tombstones” to try and take some cover as the paint filled ammunition starts screaming in around me.

I know it probably wasn’t the best moment, but I decided to sit back and reflect upon life.  I watched the others around me scrambling from one cover position to the next.  I thought to myself, “What’s the rush?  What is this all about?  If I do fire upon my fellow coworkers, what does that say about me?  Will they treat me differently?”  I determined that I am a lover, not a fighter, so thinking back to what I learned from the movie Pirates of the Caribbean, I shouted out the term “parley”.  Thinking I was safe and that the other team was sending a representative over to discuss the current state of affairs with me, I stood up to have a chat.  For now I am going to assume that the other team did not hear me and not that they care not for the safety and peaceful acts of a diplomat from the other team.  As you may have guessed, I was quickly riddled with paint and asked to go wait in the time out area.  As a side note, the masks have ventilation holes so you can breath, but the paint can still splatter in there.  The paint we were using must have soured as it was not pleasant to my palate.

As I sat alone in the time out area I realized my hand was stinging.  I looked down and noticed blood starting to trickle out from around my knuckle where I had apparently been shot.  I surveyed the field in front of me and watched as my coworkers bobbed and weaved their way around the course.  Occasionally one would get hit and come and join me in the time out box.  They would usually curse the person that shot them, funny enough nobody was ever appreciative that they got shot.  This was usually followed by a brief description of what happened and what they did wrong.  The typical excuses are the age old “lucky shot” or “I didn’t see him there”.

The first fight ended and we were taken to the second field to what I thought was going to be a Civil War reenactment due to the field looking like an old battlefield.  Knowing a little about history, I called dibs on being the North.  I also emptied out my paintball hopper, save for one bullet as the muskets from the civil war could only fire one shot until they had to be reloaded.  The ref called for the fight to begin, so like a good little civil war soldier I slowly marched forward to form a firing line.  However I noticed my teammates were not on the same page with me as they ran every which direction to grab cover.  I also quickly realized that the South were not using muskets as I was, they had semi-automatic weapons…alas the North was behind in technology.  I dropped down behind a little box and watched the field for a little while again.  It was more of the same with people scurrying around from cover to cover.  At least I wasn’t the first one shot this time.  Anyways as I continued to watch a soldier for the South started picking up and tossing his cover forward on the field (it was a large spool).  Realizing I was grossly outmatched as I had already seen several of my North brethren fall to the tyranny of the South, I decided to take my musket to my own leg and take a graceful exit from this battle.

We move to the next area which is a “speed” course, smaller course with no tree/weed cover.  Things have finally clicked and to help prevent my teammates from shooting me at the offset of the battle I run out and start laying down fire like I should.  I even managed to hit someone.  I was hiding behind a bunker and my teammate, Daniel, came rushing forward to the same area.  All of a sudden a massive scattering of paintballs came spraying into the area, I’m talking 75 to 100 paintballs.  Thinking it was some sort of grenade, I did the noble thing and dove on top of them, causing them to explode on me.  Obviously I am out, and again proven to be an idiot raising the ire of my teammates further.  As it turns out, apparently Daniel’s hopper fell off as he rushed forward and that was his ammunition spilling out into the bunker….my bad.

Anyways, I took a peek at my watch…we are halfway done; I can’t screw up too much more can I?  On to the next course.  I could tell I wasn’t in good with the team anymore as they shoved me right out in the middle once the round started.  I figure one more good round and they will be shooting me at the start.  I stumble forward and hide behind a barrier of some sort.  I sat there for a moment, and at first I was sad that I was such a poor performer.  A few tears escaped my eyes, but then I soon became angry, and like the Hulk I was fueled by my anger and my skin actually started to turn a pale shade of green.  I stood up with my head and gun appearing above the barrier, not really caring what happened.  Apparently nobody had heard me crying or seen where I had gone as nobody was paying me any attention.  I quickly got a line on a few people and was able to take out three of them.  Amazed at the turn of events my teammates pressed forward to where I was and we started pressing our advantage.  This was all well and good until the other team sent in two kamikazi gunmen.  Somehow with Matrix like reflexes they were able to dodge much of our fire and get in behind us using a bull rush tactic in the process taking out a few of our guys.  I was fortunate enough that Josh ran out of ammo before he got behind me and Jeremy got shot before he got to me as well.  Still in the game I looked around and luckily I was not alone.  I still had a couple of teammates in the game.  I laid down some cover fire and they made their way in and my team finally won a match.  More impressively, I finally survived a match.

Needless to say, for the remaining matches, I was less of a doofus and my teammates disdain for me grew less and less as we continued to win matches and pull the score back to where it was close to being even.  In the end the other side had a victory or two more, but it was pretty close.

After the last battle we all decided to compare battle wounds as that and drinking a beer is apparently the manly thing to do after paintball.  I had a couple of doozies that I knew were going to bruise up nicely on my arm, and of course the one on my leg that I wasn’t going to bring up.  As it turns out the winner for best wound was a bit of a surprise.  Apparently super suits don’t absorb or prevent you from getting shot.  Steve in his NASCAR outfit got hit in the back, right below his Budweiser logo and it left a nice red mark that was already swelling up nicely.

As it turned out, it was a good experience with some good team building.  We all gave each other a high five and then headed off to the pool hall to tell our stories of who shot who and to suck down a couple more beers.  So if you are looking for a good work outing, consider paintball as it might sting a little, but there are some good experiences to be had.  Also, if you ever see Steve you might bring him a 9 volt battery as apparently he is using them up quickly.