Shoot Club: Sanity Check
TomChick - Columns - Comments - 08/17/06
"I'll be right back," I lie, getting up and wandering into the living room where Douglas is dismantling one of my Chromehounds because he can't figure out how the garage works.
"You need a cockpit before you can put in a generator," I tell him. It's a reflex: explain the basics and then let the other guy puzzle it out from there, which is half the fun.
"Should I get this game?" he asks.
I tell him he should get Chromehounds because I know he's going to get it anyway. Although Douglas is in the middle of a divorce, he's got money to burn. He buys pretty much every game that comes out, plays it for a day or two, and then puts it up. He's overreacting to years of his wife frowning on the frivolity of gaming. Which is why a guy like him, a cool good-looking newly single guy with whitened teeth and a daily regimen involving hair products, is here with us tonight, on a Friday. His inner geek is busting loose and going on a binge.
"What are you doing in here?” he asks. “Did you get trapped, too?"
"You could say that. I just don't think I'm cut out for this."
"Did you fail a sanity check?"
"Yeah, I guess you could say that, too. Or made one. I'm not sure."
"Which is the best cockpit?"
"Just use the one I made."
"I want to make my own. I want to do my own paint scheme. Can I write 'My ex-wife is a fucking bitch' on the side?" Douglas thinks that's pretty funny. He looks at me for the first time since I've walked into the room to make sure I think it's funny, too. I smile obligingly.
"Just remember, you're logged into my Xbox Live account. Don't...you know..."
"Call anyone a cunt?"
"Right. Don't do that."
"Okay, I'm ready for you, Doug," Trevor calls from the other room.
"Jesus, Fatman, it's ‘Douglas’. ‘Doug’ is what you do to a hole. How many times do I have to tell you?" He drops the controller and goes into the other room, leaving his unoccupied Hound waiting in the lobby of a multiplayer game.
"You know what, Doug," I hear Trevor tell him. "Make a sanity check. You're buried miles underground and you might freak out."
Peter comes in and picks up the controller. "How do you play this?" he asks.
"I have something better to show you." I start setting up Dead Rising.
"You think this is stupid, don't you?" Peter asks.
"The game? No, no. Okay, yes. Yes, I do. For me. I admire that you guys can do it. I really do. I remember when I could do it with you guys. We had a lot of fun. Remember Wizard of Wor at the 7-11? Remember going to Taco Bell in your Mom's car? That Pinto station wagon? That's what I remember. Just being with you guys. I don't remember the games at all."
"You don't remember Barrier Peaks?"
"The one with the lich?"
"No, that was Tomb of Horrors. I can't believe you don't remember Barrier Peaks. That was the one that made Eric run out of the house. We didn't see him for almost three months. He wouldn't even talk to us at school."
"That was because of Barrier Peaks?"
"Yeah, don't you remember? He failed his Wisdom roll by one point when he was trying to figure out that laser gun, but then Scott passed his roll, and Eric was so pissed he left."
"Yeah, I guess I do remember. I just didn't remember that's what it was about."
"Laser guns in D&D was stupid anyway."
"Okay, you guys," Trevor calls from the other room. "Doug has been dug out of the hole."
"Fuck you, Fatman," Doug says. "How about I start calling you Trev?"
"Make a sanity check."
"What?"
"Yeah, Nightgaunts. They're attacking you now. You might freak out. C'mon, you guys, Doug just attracted a bunch of Nightgaunts."
"You coming back?" Peter asks me.
Which is a good question, and I don’t really have the answer.
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