The last (and only previous) time I did laser tag, I couldn’t have been more than 14. The setup was in the back room of a roller skating rink, somewhere deep in suburban New Hampshire, hundreds of miles from home. I was there with a few relatives, my siblings, and all the awkwardness that my chubby adolescent frame could muster.
In the car ride on the way there, laser tag seemed like a great idea. The anticipation of getting both a laser tag ticket and a skate rental even made the long line at the entrance seem a little shorter. I strapped on my plastic vest, powered up my laser gun, and stepped into the darkness, ready to do battle.
The rush of disappointment was swift and thorough. The arena couldn’t have been much larger than my DC apartment, and without sufficient obstacles or hiding places, the game got old quickly. What’s worse, I sucked. Maybe I wasn’t exactly the big bumbling county bumpkin of a target for snarky suburban children that I recall, but the low lighting and the fog machine surely couldn’t obscure the fact that this wasn’t a place for me. By the end of the game, I was more than ready to strap my skates back on and get back to the regularly scheduled mindless activities. And let’s face it, anytime that rolling repeated ovals around a room in which you know three people seems more appealing than the activity at hand, you’re not exactly likely to return.
Clearly my friend Jason lived a less awkward childhood than mine. What else would possess a grown man to invite all his friends for a game of birthday-related laser tag? I had a few hesitations, but I could sense that maybe this time would be better than the last. So last Saturday, I dutifully headed out into the Falls Church hinterlands to do battle.
Frankly, laser tag was awesome. Instead of being a walking target for the little kiddies, I owned them. And since they weren’t my kids, and their parents had already committed the cardinal sin of living in NoVa, I needed have no qualms about reveling in it. The space was huge, with plenty of obstacles, and I actually managed to be a pretty solid player. Plus, frankly, it’s much more fun to trash talk your 25-year-old friends than your teenager cousins that you only see once a year.
Will any amount of laser-aided destruction atone for my awkward childhood? In a word, no. But will I enthusiastically attend our next laser tag outing? Yes, and I will bring my game face and my sense of entitlement. Be ready.
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