The way I see it there are two and only two ways to relieve stress. You can either take a nice, warm bubble bath with scented candles and a cool, refreshing strawberry smoothie to take away the day’s troubles, or you can go out and inflict pain on another human being. So last Sunday, with looming projects due and a broken water heater, I decided to attempt the latter of the two approaches. A quick ring to my friend Tyler Durdan revealed that fight club has not spread to the West coast yet and I would not be able take my rage out on any members of project mayhem.

Not quite ready to stoop down to kicking puppies, I saw that I had an old paintball gun in my house and that this was the perfect opportunity to test my skills as a rifle man. And thus the plan was hatched to make a journey down to Puyallup and go paintballing. Before any adventure that I embark upon, as I am stepping out onto the road, I remember an ancient saying that has been passed down in my family for generations of timeless wisdom: “It’s a dangerous business, Simon, going out your front door. You step out onto the road and if you don’t keep your feet there’s no knowing where you will be swept off to.”

It may have been cloudy on that fateful day down south in Puyallup, but I had brought my own sunshine, Clifford Rostomily, to take pictures and be my cohort in this relatively new sport. My first impression of Splat Attack Paintball was that this is where serial killers grow up. It was a large gravel lot with two different courses set up and a trailer serving as the office and managerial position.

We paid our fees for using the park and set out to be briefed on the rules. This is when we met Poe. A man of about two hundred pounds wearing all custom-fitted paintball armor, a mask that was shaped like a skull, a large nose piercing such as that of a bull and a towel that read simply “Clean yourself up and get off my field.” Despite his appearance, Poe was the nicest man alive and told us that a paintball team by the name of DEATH 2 N00Bz or something like that had reserved one of the courses but he would be happy to let us play on the other field. He led us past the aforementioned team to the other side of the lot, and in passing I overheard one of them saying, “Yeah, I upgraded to a force feeding hopper and now I’m shooting ‘round 310 fps.” I thought to myself how cool Puyallup kids were and how these kids may be socially challenged but they could pwn me at paintball.

We stepped out onto the field, a simple rectangle with bunkers every where for cover. I asked Poe if we should wait for any other people, but he did not think any one else was coming. So it came down to this; Clifford versus me, mono y mono, superman versus lex luther, the final battle between good and evil.

We took our starting positions on opposite ends of the warzone and Poe began the countdown. “Three…Two…One…Go!” he bellowed. As soon as these words were sounded I was in a different world. Sprinting for cover like a grubby foot soldier, my enemy did like wise and the battle ensued. We began firing at each other and diving behind different bunkers to try and get the upper hand. As bullets whizzed by my head, I could have sworn that I had war flashbacks to watching Saving Private Ryan the previous weekend. As Clifford ran for a piece of cover to my right, I reacted instinctively, firing three shots straight into my opponent’s chest. And it was over, I had won in a war lasting a good three minutes (some call it WWIII). Poe inquired “switch sides and do it again” nonchalantly enough to take all of the glory out of my victory. We repeated these battles for two hours, him winning occasionally and me winning a lot, until we were sore and covered in mud.

Tired and ready to get back home, we called it a day. We walked off the course and back to the staging area, which meant we had to pass back next to the totally 1337 Puyallup kids. This time however I held my head high as we crossed paths, as we shared an unspoken understanding that can only be shared between those who have witnessed the horrors of battle at Splat Attack Paintball.

As we reached the office I asked Poe how we looked out there in terms of skill, and he simply replied, “You guys looked like you were having a really good time.” Now I am not exactly sure what he meant by this, but I am willing to take it as a compliment. We bid farewell to our new friend and began the journey home, retelling each match in a way that made it sound way cooler than it actually was.

Paintball had all but fallen out of my memory and a nice day in Puyallup relieved all the stress I had built up over the months of school. I highly recommend taking a day out of your rigorous schedule to go shoot fake guns at each other. But all that I am really asking of you, the reader, is that next Veterans Day, instead of just taking a whole, carefree day off of school, take at least five minutes to pay recognition to those of us that survived the atrocities of war to return to a civilian life.