This month I want to tell you a story from my college days that I’ve always thought was funny. I hope you think so too. It all started on a sunny day in late winter at Clemson, as so many stories I love to remember do. Some of the guys had been to a laser tag arena up in the mountains and had come home with stories of fun and excitement. Laser tag was pretty new in the early ’90s. Paintball was preferred, but paintball was expensive and our rooms were miraculously short on money. So we wanted to do more laser tag.

Come to find out, Toys ‘R Us had laser tag equipment, so there was nothing to do but head to Anderson Boulevard and pay the giraffe a visit. I remember the ride because Cook had his ’67 GTO at school. He didn’t bring it all the time, mainly because people are assholes and some of them can’t stand seeing someone driving a nice classic car without wanting to do something like put a knife through the convertible top or break a mirror off just because they can’t have one. Most of the time, the Goat lived at home in Laurens and Cook drove a much more fuel efficient Pontiac Phoenix.

Today though, we were in the GTO. Six of us were rolling towards Anderson with the top down and the glorious winter Sun shining on our faces. Of course it was a little chilly, it was still winter after all, but why have a classic convertible if you aren’t going to put the top down? So, we endured a little cold and enjoyed the ride with the wind in our hair.

We got to the giraffe’s lair and spread out looking for laser tag stuff. Hoppe found it first and we congregated around picking out what we would need. I have to point out here that I did not purchase a laser tag kit because I had a strict “spend money on liquid stuff” policy that the guys respected and enjoyed since I was a generous host. The other five got theirs though and we headed back towards Clemson after a side quest at Hooter’s for lunch. For those of you who do not know, the founders of Hooter’s were Clemson graduates. That’s why so much of their decor is bright orange.

We got home and played video games for the rest of the day, because laser tag is a night time activity. We had supper and it got dark so everybody went up to the field above Lightsey Bridge Apartments to try out their new gear. I tagged along to see what the fuss was about and maybe borrow a kit for a turn. The guys chose sides and started running around stalking each other for the best angle to score a laser hit.

That’s where things got dicey. Obviously, running around on the field presented too many clear opportunities for scores. However, a stand of mature oak trees bordered the field and the guys soon took their adventure into the cover of the trees. Most of them realized the full tilt running around that had ruled on the open pasture wasn’t going to work under the trees. Everybody except Brent. Wingnut decided to keep his speed up and dash from cover to cover and that’s when things went slightly crooked.

Wingnut was running flat out from one tree to the next. Unfortunately, he did not account for the low hanging limbs — limbs that were all but invisible in the dark — of the tree in between. Just like Absalom on his mule fleeing the armies of King David, Brent ran full bore under those limbs. Now those of you who are younger reading this might not have had the joy that was watching Looney Tunes cartoons on Saturday morning, but one common trope was for a character to run full speed into a limb hanging about forehead level and their feet would keep running until they were stretched straight out at which point gravity took over landing them flat on their back.

Well, Wingnut would have done Wile E. Coyote proud the way he took that limb right between the eyes. I thought the laws of physics would prohibit the actually running into midair horizontal, but Brent proved otherwise. His feet just kept on churning and he stretched out like a gun barrel then plopped to the ground — completely dazed. How it didn’t knock him out I have no idea, but he lay there for a good while trying to unscramble his brains.

We helped him down the hill to the apartment and the first thing we saw when we got into the light of the room was the black and blue stripe right across Brent’s forehead. It was a thousand wonders he didn’t knock himself out and as it was I think he probably had at least a mild concussion. He refused a ride to the ER to get checked out just in case and we, in true male fashion, spent the rest of the night making jokes at his wounded offence.

Sorry it’s so short this month. I’ll try to do better next time! Love y’all and keep your feet clean!