Go To Your Happy Place

In the back of my mind, tucked away just far enough to be still accessible at any time, there is a pocket of tranquility. In the chaos of day-to-day stress, there is that special place I can go for refuge… just reaching my fingertip into that zone so that at least some part of me is shielded from the brunt of life’s shockwaves.

It’s a large, cozy room with warm lamplight, cushy chairs, and accommodating couches. The entire stretch of wall hosts eight TVs and video game consoles. Yep. I walk in the door, throw my keys on the table, and several friends are in the throes of blowing each other up on Red Faction II, others are engaged in a more relaxing match of Tiger Woods PGA 2003, and still others are playing their respective one-person games, all hanging out.

I walk in, throw my keys on the table, and someone hands me a Killian’s. Herr Vogler is there, but he’s not a gamer so he’s hanging back and making asinine comments while brandishing a bottle of Guinness with more style than one thought possible. He’s talking to the pikey about the nuances of the sixth Pirates of the Caribbean score (in my Happy Place, they’ve already finished a second trilogy). We exchange greetings involving some variation on a penis joke and I move past him to where the Captain and the Amazing Brando are at a table in the far corner, engaged in a rousing and sarcastic game of Star Wars Miniatures. I call the winner, then pass the time until then by grabbing the strategy guide to Final Fantasy: Dawn of Souls and perusing it while idly watching Scott Blanchard obliterate his opponents with the Rail Gun (the most coveted weapon in the game). The Reverend is there, selecting a level of play in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2. Julio lets out a legendary belch that shakes the room, and the Captain shoots him a scowl because the seismic force actually jostled their game pieces. Jordan is there, drinking straight from the bottle of Southern Comfort, reading Calvin and Hobbes while out-maneuvering Starbuck in a duel of Seinfeld references.

And then the Pizza Hut guy knocks on the door…

Hmmm… it just occurred to me that even in my own Happy Place I am so worn out that I just let everyone else have all the fun, absorbing it through osmosis. The Killian’s helps.