I haven’t posted in awhile. You might think that’s because there hasn’t been anything happening to make me mean and grumpy. Actually, the reason I haven’t posted in awhile is because I’m hiding out.
It’s spring break time in Arkansas.
And people think I should be opened 24/7.
Yeah, I know. I work in a service industry - open weekends, holidays, convenient hours.
But, hey! Sometimes I just like to go fishing.
I'm sitting in my office at midnight last night and I spot a car in the parking lot on my security monitor. I go to my upstairs window in time to see two guys get out of the car (there's a light in the parking lot) and walk directly to a spot at the edge of the lot where there is a pile of rocks and old bricks. I spotlighted them as they were walking toward the Pro-shop and they froze in there tracks. They said something to each other that I couldn't make out, jumped into the car and squealed the tires on there way out.
This morning I walked out to the parking lot to the spot where they were parked and found a brick laying on the ground.
They picked a perfect brick. It's completely covered with some sort of smooth, black, dry tar. I have fingerprints to go with the security tape!
What a world.
I don't need to hear "Poor baby...we do enjoy hearing about your misery!" from some anonymous knucklehead. I'm not here looking for commiseration. I don't need sympathy. I don't even need anyone to agree with me. I love paintball. I love managing and operating T-Square Paintball and I love all my customers. All of them. Some more than others. Some more today than yesterday.
Especially the ones that think I'm "mean and grumpy". They know me the best.
This is my blog...er....thing. My place to vent. The other 23 hours a day I just grin and bear it!
Peace. Out.
"Hello. T-Square Paintball. Can I help you?"
(young voice) "Yeah. How do I get there?"
"Umm, you need directions?"
"Yeah. Yeah, how do I get there?"
"What direction are you coming from?"
"Wait. Let me put my Mom on. MOM!! MOM!! MOM!!"
(fumbling of the phone - woman's voice) "Where are you located?"
"We are 3 miles north of Jacksonville on Old Highw..."
"No. No. How do I get there?"
"Oh. I'm sorry. You want directions."
(gum smacking - kids yelling in background) "Yes. How do I get there?"
"Well, ma'am. What direction are you coming from?"
"What direction? Why does that matter?"
"The directions are different, depending on what direction you're coming from."
"Little Rock. (kid yelling in background - "MOM. MOM. Ask if they rent automatics!") I'm coming from Little Rock."
"Ahhh, ok. Take 67/167 north to Jacksonville and take exit 11 - yada, yada, yada..."
(more gum smacking) "Ok. And when I turn right after the bridge, that's the service road, right?"
"No, ma'am. Actually it's not."
"Are you sure??"
"Excuse me?"
"Are you sure it's not the service road??"
"Well, ma'am it's actually North First Street/John Harden/Old Highway 67. But that's a bit confusing so we just tell people to turn right after the bridge and stay on that road for three miles. You'll see the field on the left.
"Don't I have to bear to the left somewhere along there?"
"No, ma'am. That spot has been replaced with an intersection. After you turn right after the bridge just stay on that road for three miles."
"Are you sure?? I remember bearing to the left there somewhere."
I'm sure, ma'am. Turn right after the bridge and..."
"Never mind. I'll find it."
CLICK.
(a half hour later) RING. RING.
"Hello. T-Square Paintball. Can I help..."
(it’s the gum smacker) "I’m on the service road. (kids yelling in the back ground) Where the hell are you located?"
At this point I was tempted to tell her to head south to I-30, go east, and continue driving till she saw signs for Jacksonville, Florida. "Ma'am, what direction are you traveling on the service road?"
"How should I know! Talk to my husband."
(more phone fumbling) "HELLO!"
"Yes, sir. What direction are you going on the service road?"
"Service road? I’m looking at a church."
"Is it on your left or right?"
"Left or right??? I said I’m looking at it. It’s right in front of me!"
"If you are on the service road you have to be passing the church with it on your left or right."
"Who said I was on the service road? I’m in the church parking lot. I’m looking right at the church."
DON'T DO IT. DON'T DO IT! DON'T SAY IT. Calmly, slowly release your white knuckle grip on the phone and help these people find T-Square.
I wonder how the other 145 players currently scurrying through the woods managed to find us?
From a comment in the Suggestion Box...
"I have even been lit up on your field on the speed ball area even when I raised my marker and called "HIT"."
Yup. That makes me mean and grumpy.
Tell ya what makes me crazy...
Players that yell "HIT" and then stand straight up in a bunker or step around a spool with no regard for the player that didn't hear "HIT", or the player who is shooting past or over the bunker trying to hit someone behind them. And how about the three or four more balls that are already in the air? STAY DOWN!
SPEEDBALL is akin to stepping inside a bee's nest and KICKING THE WALLS!! You're gonna get stung! And it's not much different in the woods.
Now, if a player gets hit, yells "HIT", stays down (or in), plugs their gun, yells "HIT" again, raises their gun, yells "HIT" again and runs off the field yelling "HIT" and gets LIT UP ON THE WAY OFF THE FIELD I will search out the person who lit them up and rip them a new one!
Problem is, most players who get hit go blank in the head. A hit player goes into the "fight or flight" mode. In some cases the first reaction is to fight back resulting in the dastardly "shooting on" syndrome. Some players choose "posturing" and will growl and yell at the attacker. In the flight mode all the player can think about is GETTING THE HECK OUT OF THERE!
Any player who resorts to basic caveman instincts is not considering the realities of the 21st century game called paintball. Sometimes I think about writing a book titled, "Everything I Learned About Life I learned From Paintball"!
peace. out.
So, I get this e-mail requesting information about the field. "What does paint cost? How much is the field fee? What are your hours?", etc. I get about a dozen of these a week. Not a bunch. But enough where I really don't have time to respond to each with a personal response. So I send them a quick "Thank you for your interest!" note and the field web page address.
Along with the typical questions, this last e-mail included, "I went to your web page but got lost."
Okay, so maybe I was tired, perhaps even a bit cranky. I should have taken the time to answer his questions directly. Instead I replied with, "If you got lost on the web site I can't see there being much hope for me explaining anything....try again! T-Square".
Well, hell's bells, I might as well have gone out back and kicked the cat!
This is what I got back (cleaned up version (the language, not the grammar or spelling))..."%uck you &itch, #uckin answer the simple questions i had like how much is paint and what are you hours thats a good way to get people to play out there eat $hit and die stupid #itch."
And, yeah, I should have let it go. But nooooo! I quick typed and entered, "Well, you're certainly not someone I want playing here. thanks for clearing that up for me."
And I honestly thought that would be the end of it. Again. nooooo! This morning I check my e-mail to find, "%igger im going to come to your field and ull never know who i am stupid #itch".
Which caused me to reply, "As long as you behave yourself and follow the safety rules I don't care who you are......." (Which isn't really true since I certainly do care)
To wrap this story up I checked my e-mail this evening and found, "alright then sry i was a dick i just wanted to know ur paint prices and compressed air prices?"
I wish I could tell you I make this stuff up!! My first thought was to send him the website link again. Instead I deleted his e-mail. I'm mean and grumpy and silly like that at times.
The weather was nice so I had the front and side door of the Pro-Shop opened. From where I was working I could see both doors.
Something/someone flashed past the front door, and before I could give it much thought, something/someone flashed past the side door. I stepped out the side door in time to watch some guy running his @ss off through my neighbors field and then jump an embankment into the auto junk yard beyond.
Now you have to understand. Although we are located only 15 miles north of Little Rock we are basically out in the middle of nowhere! When people do stop by they usually are around long enough to at least say "Hello"! I walked, while scratching my head, around to the front of the shop and looked up to see two county sheriff cars and a small import parked in my parking lot.
"Oh", I thought to myself. "This is gonna be good."
Me being the good Samaritan that I am (or rat bastard depending on whose point of view you take), I strolled over to the two sheriffs (being careful to keep my hands in plain site at all times) and informed them that the young lady in the import probably had a passenger when she pulled into my parking lot.
They seemed mildly interested in my report but didn't go "guns a'blazin" to the junk yard. Instead they spent the next 20 minutes tearing the inside of the import apart. I had work to do so I returned to the shop.
I'd like to be able to end this post by reporting a wild police chase through the junk yard and a possible T-Square Paintball appearance on "Cops" but I can't. Instead, when the Sheriffs were done they drove off, the young lady in the import drove off (presumably to find her boyfriend) and the excitement was over.
So, all said and done, it was an interesting moment. Not an interesting day nor an interesting, continuing situation but merely, an interesting moment. We have alot of interesting moments around here!
Why in the heck do people drive past the sign in the parking lot that says "Closed Monday and Tuesday", walk up to the door of the Pro-Shop, where there is another sign that says "Closed Monday and Tuesday" and then, when it's obvious to everyone in the world that it is Monday or Tuesday, KNOCK ON THE DAMN DOOR???
In some cases, POUND ON THE DAMN DOOR???
Who am I kidding. We ALL know why!!
post script: After posting this I realized I should elaborate. I live at the Pro-Shop/Field. Literally. Behind the counter I have a small office and apartment. This is great from a security stand point. But it sucks otherwise. I haven't had many real days off in over 10 years!!!
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