PBW: Metal Gear Paint

I can appreciate that technology isn't everyone's friend, and that some people will neither embrace nor be adept with modern conveniences. My mom will never allow a microwave oven in her house. My dad will never know how to change the television channels when the VCR is on. I can accept this. People have different strengths and different limitations. Not everyone recognizes his or her own limitations however. Some people should know better than to attempt to use the self-checkout option in stores.

I know those scanners are fickle, and that the scale sometimes misreads whether or not something has been put in the bag. But some people possess ineptitude beyond the machine's flaws. I waited on line in WalMart with a single item, their Transformers Special Edition DVD. I figured I'd wave it, scan it, bag it, swipe my credit card, grab my receipt, and bounce. Every one of the four stations had people staring in confusion, pressing the screen, then swiping, then looking around for help. The one cashier monitoring the situation chewed her gum and stared into a blank void between the two aisles. There were two people ahead of me, and when the first finished, the nightmare truly began.

The woman ahead of me was buying little ten cent bits of thread, each individually wrapped with a tiny bar code. She clearly exceeded the twelve item limit. She didn't know her first step, and turned to me with her jaw moving up and down slackly, asking for help. I tapped the screen so the process would begin. For the next five minutes, she'd wave an item, miss, try again, then get it. She'd put things in the bag and take things out. She'd wave the same item multiple times, leaving others on the glass. Behind me, the line got longer. I noticed the register one aisle over, though also a haven for slow folks, seemed to be a better option. Three customers had gone through in the time I waited for one. The other two registers had similar sloths. I switched lines, since there were teenagers operating the machine, and they were probably more proficient than I was.

As I switched lines, the station I moved to started freaking out. “SCALE NOT WORKING PROPERLY! SCALE NOT WORKING PROPERLY! DANGER, MCF, WARNING!” Well, maybe it didn't say that last part. But the kids started hitting the screen, which only made it shout out more frantic warnings. The cashier meanwhile had moved to help the woman holding up the first line I was in. She moved slowly, then openly punched in her ID and password numbers, which were 1834 and 2532, if anyone is interested. I moved to a third line but the teens sent their kid sister under a shopping cart as a placeholder, so they wound up in front of me once more. They had better luck though, as did I when it was finally my turn, and I got out of there.

The woman ahead of me wasn't unique; just the most extreme example. It amazes me that so many people who clearly don't understand what they're doing would rather struggle and occasionally complain aloud about “stupid machines” rather than go to a register with a human being. It was stressful and annoying, but I was patient. I think playing paintball over the weekend helped.

Paintball was awesome. The new castle was finally complete! Two towers connected by a bridge spanned a labyrinth of dirt, concrete, and wood. We had 20 minutes to defend our flag and change the color of the other team's flag. Unlike other games at that location, in which you “die” once you get hit, this one offered a “respawn” point. We'd go back to a referee, wipe off the paint, then we were back in the game. It was challenging playing an unfamiliar field, since I never knew who was around the next corner or who had a high vantage point. I didn't always see who got me, and a few times when I had the drop on someone, they were around a corner and I couldn't see if they had a band tied around their arm, the only thing differentiating the teams.

Though a friend from work couldn't make it, he did hook me up with a lot of great equipment, loaning me a gun, tanks, a vest, a helmet and more. Forget about the money saved on renting equipment; I was thrilled to have stuff that worked. I play once, maybe twice a year, so I've never invested in my own gear. Rented masks are scratched and sometimes fog up. Rented guns don't shoot straight, and don't shoot that far. It was fun to actually hit where I was aiming, and to see where I was running. There was occasional pain, and after one head shot I was tasting paint, but I inflicted similar damage on my foes.

For a Photo Blog Wednesday, that's not the best environment to take my camera. I had to settle for some shots of the castle from the parking lot through the protective netting, along with a self-portrait and some of the novelties decorating the facility. On Sunday, I thoroughly cleaned all the equipment and laid it out to dry. I remember the owner of the gear telling me how he loaned his gun to another friend, who returned it with paint still clogging the inner workings. I was determined to return everything in the same condition I received it.

Maybe those self-checkouts need to be equipped with some kind of moron detector. If you don't know what you're doing, or exceed a reasonable amount of time for a transaction, you get popped with a sphere of paint. That would only have to happen once for these people to realize they need a professional to ring up their order. As for me, it was nice to have a weekend off and do something fun. I can't wait to go back to that castle in the Spring.






















After a long, tiring day, be it work, band, paintball, or dealing with people in stores, I’ll just crash. Cats, whose lives consist of far less stress, have the luxury of taking their time before settling down to rest: