For Thursday, September 10, 1998 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 720 words

Phaser Master

I shot my wife nine times. She only shot me once. Actually, the politically-correct term is "tagged," but in the heat of battle, it's just not strong enough.

We were not alone. Many husbands shot…er…tagged their wives and vice versa last Friday when 32 of us booked a room at The Q-ZAR Laser Tag Gaming Center in Vacaville. We were mostly BHS teachers and spouses, out venting and having fun.

A definite sense of elation is flowing through the ranks of Benicia High School this fall. It no doubt comes from the joy of having a new principal.

Bob Palous, the new main man, is an easily likeable fellow with a professional, well grounded air about him. He talks from the hip, is a strong advocate for campus safety, and conducts business with a casual control that can only come from experience. Bob is also visible in the hallways. He likes to patrol his campus. We all like that.

So, we're feeling playful. The year began with a music jam at Maria Bates's house in Vallejo. Maria is our happy head secretary. I tagged her four times. She runs the main office and keeps most people laughing. At her party, where six or seven musically talented teachers kept the beat going, one of our illustrious and physically exuberant science teachers, Brad Upton, got people around him excited about playing laser tag. I tagged Brad only once. He's in the Reserves.

Brad got over a dozen of us to commit, mostly the science teachers -- who are always ready for daring-do -- then made the reservations and followed through with reminders and a victory dinner at Chevy's. Thanks to Brad's organizational skills and enthusiasm, we all got to blast away at each other. It was definitely therapeutic.

If you don't know what laser tag is, think of it as paintball without pain and purple welts. People zap each other with visible, but harmless, red and green laser beams in a darkened maze of tunnels, walls, and smoke, lit only by black lights and multi-colored gumballs. A heavy rock beat thumps through the scattered speakers during each 15-minute battle.

If an opponent's beam hits your weapon or the light sensors on your chest and back, your armor vibrates and your gun is disabled for six seconds. The objective is to overtake the opponent's headquarters and set off an overhead alarm. Sometimes we got that organized. Mostly we just ran around shooting wildly at anything that moved.

If you've never played before, don't play against science teacher Ray Lewis and his wife, Janie. They're sharpshooters. Janie Lewis earned the top score for our Green Team in game one. We lost the first game in overall score to the Red Team, whose sharpshooter was Steve Pearson, husband to science teacher Karen Marie.

Ray Lewis got top score for the Red Team in game two, but our superior Green Team earned highest overall score. Top Green score in game two went to some mysterious teen who joined our group at the last minute and then disappeared into the night.

During the first game, I sucked. I was tagged 42 times. I only scored 24 hits. My status printout said, "Better Luck Next Time." At intermission I summoned up my dormant paintball skills from several years back: "Stay Covered!"

You see, in paintball, getting tagged HURTS! I learned quickly in paintball games how to duck and dodge. I guess I was being overly brazen in my first game of laser tag because it was painless.

In game two I paid attention. I stayed low, calculated my movements, aimed before firing. I also quit making kamikaze solo assaults on the enemies' fortress. It paid off. When the final buzzer sounded signaling for us to go to Chevy's, my score card listed me as Number Two for the Green Team, just behind Mystery Boy. I was tagged only 28 times and scored 46 hits -- almost a reversal of my first attempt.

I scored five easy tags on teachers Joanne Seaverson and Pat Thomas, whose Cheshire smiles under black lights could be seen from across the room. I never laid a light beam on Ray Lewis, though he blew up or headquarters again and again.

Nevertheless, my status printout listed me as "Phaser Master." You may call me Phaser.