Trouble...

I can tell even before they reach the check in counter.

They swagger in from the parking lot, usually in a pack of three or four. No gun plugs. "Bad to the Bone" t-shirts. Glaring at the NO SMOKING sign while tossing butts off into the grass. When they come into the shop they look right through you. They sneer at the waiver forms, grumble about having to listen to a safety brief and claim they know all the "real" safety rules.

You might as well be speaking Greek when you remind them to chrono their guns. They act like you pissed in their Wheaties when told, for the second time, not to dry fire in the safe zone. They are four in a group of eight walkons and insist on staying together when the other four players are new players half their age. For them game rules are for sissies. They don't want to play capture the flag. They want to play something they call Death Match.

They slap each other on the back when they come off the field and brag about how they lit up the last player before he could surrender. Usually one or more of them will have a hit somewhere on them that they will swear was from an earlier game. You might as well be talking to the birds when you ask them to check the cussing.

Sometimes they slip by me. Usually it's because I'm fixing a gun or chatting with a group. Usually I catch (sense) them as they are signing in. I slap them with a quick attitude adjustment and maybe another toward the middle of the day as reinforcement just to keep things tolerable. Sometimes I don't find out about them until the ref comes to me at the end of his rope or worse, when a Mom or Dad has something to say.

They can turn a good day into a grind. They are not typical and fortunately they don't stick around for long. Nothing but trouble.