Back in 2005, many of the paintball players
in the Charlottesville community were connected by the local paintball store;
Rudy’s Paintball. For some, it served as
a place to buy paint or fill up on air.
For others it was a place you could get your marker teched, or be given
some advice on a new piece of gear. At
that time, Rudy could also get you some pretty diverse elements of military
surplus. For many of us, however, the
store was a family lounge. Over the
course of the day teammates, friends, strangers and undeniably strange people
would drift in and out of the store.
Stories were told, and memories were made.
One particular day, Owen was working. We were probably discussing our paintball
team, or perhaps debating the virtues of cannibalism. Conversation was always a mixed bag. Whatever the topic, it was interrupted when a
customer walked through the door. The
man looked to be in his late 20’s, glasses, perhaps some poorly propagated
facial hair if I recall. He spent some
time wandering through the surplus and paintball racks. After a little while, Owen offered the
obligatory, “Can I help you with something errrrr….” It was Owen’s signature greeting. The man eventually warmed up to the counter
and began engaging us in paintball discussion.
It was clear that he had played some paintball, but probably wasn’t
terribly experienced. He seemed
interested in purchasing some starter gear as he’d been playing some walk on
ball lately. As time passed, he came out
of his shell more, growing more animated in telling his paintball stories, and
asking about the paintball gear.
Everyone loved telling his or her paintball stories in the lounge. You could set your clock by it. Everyone always looked like they were just
waiting for the right cue.
I don’t remember the guy’s name, but he
told a story about his recent day playing at some unspecified field
nearby. As was often the case, his story
cast some ‘speed ball/tourney’ players as the antagonists. Apparently these guys, in their multicolored
jerseys were shooting everybody up all day.
The man explained how at the start of one game, he decided to go right….
way right. He said he made his way as
far right on the field as he could go, having to duck under a rope to do
so. He then made his way up the field
without anyone knowing because he was wearing cammo. He got all the way down to the other end of
the field, came back in under a rope and started shooting all the speedballers. At this point he laughed and described how pissed
off they were. I offered, “I bet they
were pissed off. You cheated!” I went on to explain the purpose of the rope,
but it seemed to fall on deaf ears.
The man probably spent an hour in the store
before he started buying anything. But
once he started, there was a deluge of purchases. From what I recall, he purchased an A5, a
couple of CO2 bottles ( if not an air tank), pods, a pod pack, a new mask. This guy bought just about every
stereotypical first load out woodsball set up you could name. He even did some shopping in the surplus
area, picking up some BDU’s etc. The
pile of stuff this guy bought was preposterous.
But before he could finalize his bill, he spotted a helmet. “Hmmm, better buy that helmet as well.”
So, eventually, Owen totaled up the guys
bill, which would have been sizeable. He
piled everything up on the A-5 box, but realized he couldn’t carry it all. With some quick thinking, he put the military
helmet on his head, then piled everything back up, picked up the box and took a
step away from the counter. There he was
with a pile of paintball gear from waist to chin, and on top of it all: the
helmet. I don’t’ remember it, but he
took one last opportunity to tell another paintball story. Standing there, arms full, wearing a
helmet. Eventually, he thanked Owen,
turned and made his way toward the door.
Before he got to the door he turned back one more time, wearing a helmet, and questioned,
“By the way, what is your return policy?”
