Well, I found out today that my newfound addiction to the “Homeworld” computer game (real-time space strategy), may be affecting my life a little bit too much.
After a lengthy Saturday morning of playing said game, I had to drive myself to a piano lesson. This is routine stuff, and my head was still thinking space-strategy, so my mind started improvising.
No longer was I Jester, 16 year-old piano apprentice. Nay, I had become Captain Jester of the United Earth Alliance Army. No longer was I driving my mom’s Subaru station wagon (affectionately called the “tope bullet”), I was now piloting the Flagship Cruiser “HMS Legacy”. Already I could hear the voices of my imaginary crew as I climbed into the bridge.
“Ignition, started! Beginning primary drive system! Seat readjusted, and we’re ready to go!”
“Captain, shouldn’t you adjust the rear view display?”
“Damn the rear view mirror, Skipper, we’re running short on time! Time is too much of an essence on this mission to dawdle! Now, prepare to back out of the hanger!”
Immeadiately, sirens began going off in my head. (AWOOGA! AWOOGA!) Emergency lights flashed. (Flash, flash!) And I banged my head off the steering wheel as I realized that in my fervor, I had neglected to open the garage door. (Thud, thud!)
Getting out of the car, I realized that the bottom panel of the garage door was at an angle that it definitely shouldn’t have been at. BUT, I also realized that my parents weren’t home, and all I had to do was fix it, sneaky-like. On further introspection, I realized that the damage was pretty bad, and I hadn’t the first clue how to fix the garage door.
My brain then cycled to Plan B: possible excuses.
“No, Mom, you don’t understand! The car just backed itself up!” No good, need another.
“This guy just ran in with a sledgehammer, and started shouting about how he hated all garage doors everywhere! I think he’s still on the loose!” Still not effective enough.
However, as I began developing a fool-proof story involving a hobo and a rampaging elephant, I saw my dad walking around the corner of the street. Defeated, I realized that the feces had hit the air conditioner, and it was time to fess up. But, dammit, if I was gonna go out, I was gonna go out in style. I walked up to him, preparing a tangent about how garage doors are really not a necessary part of the house anyway, and he could go to hell if he was mad. However, I realized once I got to him that I was never good at confrontation.
“Why aren’t you at your piano lesson?”
(The moral of this story, kiddies, is that Jester is a moron, and that Jester’s parents will now haunt him with this story for the rest of his life. Oh, and that game addictions are nothing to be trifled with)