Ain't No Mercy In My Smiling

I am an action junkie. Few people guess this about me until it’s too late. I don’t like roller coasters or amusement park rides so much, because even though they can be quite terrifying, I don’t like the control for my terror to be in the hands of the seventeen year old boy pushing the buttons, because we all know what he’s thinking about every 8 seconds and it isn’t my safety. I will take any leap into danger, eyes wide open, but I have never been able to pass the psychological trust test, falling backward into somebody’s arms without looking. I gained a lot of anxious fears when I married the second time, but I am shedding them like snakeskin as I eagerly anticipate a new day. My mind has been independently coming up with ideas to indulge my risk taking side, each more outrageous and death defying than the next. In the meantime, I am the ever constant in my duties at work and home, but always poised for the next Walter Middy type adventure in my head. Today it became a bit more real.

My workplace is always going all out for team building and friendly competition, and as much as I try to ignore the buzz over new games, I always reluctantly agree to participate. The game today was hitting a target with a dart gun that shoots soft suction cup tipped projectiles. The number of shots you get is based on floor stats. I protest that since I am doing training, my numbers aren’t all that high. I try to beg off because of lousy eye hand coordination, but in the end I line up, my back to the window, steady my arm with the other grasped on my forearm, aim, and shoot. All 11 of my shots landed within the 50 or 100-point circles, and I was high scorer when I left at 7. As I hand the gun back I am modestly talking about luck, but inside I am gleeful. I have a pocketbook full of cards for various restaurant, gas stations and movie theaters that go unredeemed from previous competitions. My manager came to me after and asked if I would be interested in a little challenge we had received from the IT department, a paintball game. I felt my endorphin level rising. I tried to sound casual when I answered in the affirmative, but my friend standing nearby heard the too quick and excited response and laughed with me. It should be fun playing with all the young Turks, slipping in under their radar in my middle age stealth mode. They’ll never know what hit them.