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...or, "What One Ought Not Do In the Box."
Among the plethora of jobs I've managed to hold over the years, of all the lousy exampls of human life, my most memorable sucky customers were at < Very Popular Lazer Tag Arena > in Florida.
I've told this story so many times, and it just never gets old.
In the 4,000 square foot lazer tag arena, there were plywood obstacles, sniper towers, pretty flashing lights, a fog machine, and one little "lone gunman" area called "The Box" - a three-walled installation with two small mesh windows that were about 5 feet off the ground. The entrance to The Box faced the back wall of the arena. Players in the box could not be seen unless stumbled upon by an unwitting fellow gamer or overly ambitious Marshall.
Oh, how we, the lowly game Marshalls, hated The Box.
You see, The Box was in the very far end of the arena, not close in relation to anywhere the players needed to be (such as the recharge centers or the team bases). Therefore, The Box became a lovers lane for exhibitionists of the more adventurous sort.
I, in my innocent first few weeks at < Very Popular Lazer Tag Arena >, was told to make sure to watch The Box, but was never warned about what might be found.
One day, while our center hosted a birthday party of twenty shrieking, giggly pre-teens and ten or so not-so giggly adults, I managed to make my way through the masses to check The Box.
If I remember correctly, after having my eyes seared and brain melted, I said something to the effect of, "Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Put your clothes and lazer packs back on. Jesus Christ."
I then turned and walked away in a disgusted stupor.
Party Mom #1 and Party Dad #7 (both married to other people at the party, as I later found out...!!) hastily redressed and hurried out of The Box a moment later.
Why would you do this at your child's birthday party, running such a risk of being caught?!
Party Dad #7 nervously tipped me $20 (for my silence?); if I hadn't needed the money for bills, I would have felt very unclean for taking it.
Among the plethora of jobs I've managed to hold over the years, of all the lousy exampls of human life, my most memorable sucky customers were at < Very Popular Lazer Tag Arena > in Florida.
I've told this story so many times, and it just never gets old.
In the 4,000 square foot lazer tag arena, there were plywood obstacles, sniper towers, pretty flashing lights, a fog machine, and one little "lone gunman" area called "The Box" - a three-walled installation with two small mesh windows that were about 5 feet off the ground. The entrance to The Box faced the back wall of the arena. Players in the box could not be seen unless stumbled upon by an unwitting fellow gamer or overly ambitious Marshall.
Oh, how we, the lowly game Marshalls, hated The Box.
You see, The Box was in the very far end of the arena, not close in relation to anywhere the players needed to be (such as the recharge centers or the team bases). Therefore, The Box became a lovers lane for exhibitionists of the more adventurous sort.
I, in my innocent first few weeks at < Very Popular Lazer Tag Arena >, was told to make sure to watch The Box, but was never warned about what might be found.
One day, while our center hosted a birthday party of twenty shrieking, giggly pre-teens and ten or so not-so giggly adults, I managed to make my way through the masses to check The Box.
If I remember correctly, after having my eyes seared and brain melted, I said something to the effect of, "Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Put your clothes and lazer packs back on. Jesus Christ."
I then turned and walked away in a disgusted stupor.
Party Mom #1 and Party Dad #7 (both married to other people at the party, as I later found out...!!) hastily redressed and hurried out of The Box a moment later.
Why would you do this at your child's birthday party, running such a risk of being caught?!
Party Dad #7 nervously tipped me $20 (for my silence?); if I hadn't needed the money for bills, I would have felt very unclean for taking it.
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