Paint ball guns....

Paint ball guns.  I never really got into them.  I don't know why, but it just wasn't my cup of tea.  But years ago, a buddy of mine spent a boat load of money on some of the gear and was trying to get me interested.  His initial investment was a lower dollar, previously owned unit that frankly couldn't send a round down range much further than 50 feet with any accuracy.

I don't know if any of you grew up with a Red Rider B.B. Gun, but they weren't that accurate either, but what you could do is learn the arc and or the wind-age and make corrections that would allow you to consistently hit a half dollar at about 20 paces.  Not this hunk of crap paint ball gun my buddy bought.  Each time you pulled the trigger, you were in for something new.  To me, it wasn't worth the aggravation.  For him it was a new hobby.

I walked out about 40 feet and had him fire a few at me.  He shot 4 times and one of the shots almost grazed my pant leg.  There was no proof, mind you.  I just gave him the benefit of the doubt.  He allowed me the same privilege, to send a few rounds his way and the gun gummed up because paint balls were falling apart in the barrel and again I assumed this thing was more of an aggravation.  Naturally, he came over and informed me that I was "doing it all wrong" and began to discuss the finer intricacies of this particular equipment.  Basically what I came away with was knowing what I already knew.  This thing was a hunk of shit.

Fast forward about 2 months.  This guy had gone out and actually purchased some good equipment.  I kind of laughed not taking him seriously.  He fired off a couple of rounds and those things were smoking out of the barrel and down range!  Me being the mental midget I am walked down range about 50 feet and let him squeeze off a few rounds at me.  I was smart enough to turn around and expose my back side to him, thankfully.  Blap! Blap! Blap!  He let 3 rounds loose and all of them found their mark.  Right ass cheek took two rounds in a spot the size of a silver dollar.  The third round was special.  It was the kind of special that is not so special... catch my drift?  It hit my right under the right ass cheek and more towards the inner thigh.  Its a part of the body that never even sees sunlight, so it felt like the thing ripped right through me.

Naturally he laughed his ass off, because he just blew my ass off!  I asked if I could fire a few at him and was promptly put off.  "Hell no, dude!  That shit hurts!".  He wasn't lying.

So, I told you that in order to tell you this.  As some of you may know, I'm a bit of a "hard learner".  I think another buddy of mine knew that when he employed me and a couple other guys to be "bad guys" for the SWAT team to practice on.

The scenario we were to be playing out was a hostage situation, so they had the negotiators there, snipers were set up and the SWAT Team had all of their goodies.  The good news was, we were armed with .40 caliber hand guns loaded with simunition rounds.  The bad news was, SWAT was armed with the same thing plus semi-auto .223's with simunition rounds.  At the time, that didn't bother me.  For a split second I remembered that I had to fill out a release form that said I was there of "my own free will" and that I "would not sue, in the event of an accident".  I reverted back to the thought that these guys were professionals I knew and I had good relationships with most of these guys.  Besides that, I had protective gear on... what could possibly go wrong?

I'll tell you would could go wrong.  Most of the protective gear didn't fit.  I looked like 10 pounds of shit stuffed into a 5 pound bag.  The chest protector left my chest on either side past the nipples exposed.  There was not a good way to actually wear the cup to protect the family jewels.  I asked for advice and was told to wear it and the jock strap on the outside of my clothes.  Bad idea.... the leg straps broke and the cup just kind of flopped around leaving little protection for said family jewels.  The gloves fit like the gloves from the O.J. Simpson trial.  They were so tight that I'd never be able to get them on, let alone be able to defend myself with the gun they gave me.  The shin guards, the helmet, eye and ear protection did fit so I felt slightly better assuming that I would be leaving that days "exercises" with at least my sight and hearing.

So there we are... the bad guys, holed up in the basement of a condemned dentist office.  It was hot as hell and we are wearing all of this protective gear, cracking jokes and awaiting further instruction.  My buddy comes down and tells us that they are getting things in place and that we would be in action before too long.  He also described the first drill as some kind of special entry and told us that he was going to send down the guy who was helping train these guys.  This particular guy was one of the leaders of the L.A. SWAT team, so he knew his shit and it was kind of a big deal to have him and his knowledge available for our little town's police force to be able to take full advantage of.  This guys name was Cervantes and he looked like a frigging SWAT team dude.

Cervantes goes on to say that when the event begins, "they may or may not employ "flash bangs" so if you hear something that sounds like a hair spray can hit the floor, don't look at it".  We all nodded, like we understood.  He then asked, "where will you all be" because he had to know, not so he could tell the SWAT team, but so he could monitor the entry and make sure they were clearing the building properly.  So one guy was going to be in a big closet, another was going to be behind a half wall in the corner of that particular room and I was going to be in the hallway.  Cervantes said, "the event will kick off in a couple of minutes, so hang tight."

We kept holding and holding.  As I mentioned, it was hot as hell and we were sweating like dogs.  There was no air circulation, so we all had out helmets tilted back trying to get some air and for some dumb reason making fun of old Cervantes....  We wait, and wait and all of a sudden I hear something that sounded like a hair spray can hit the floor.  What do I do?  Look at it and about the time I was going to say, "what in the fuck is that", the thing exploded!  I tried to run but ran face first into the wall that was right behind me.  Next thing I know, I have a cop standing above me with his foot on my throat, his rifle pointed at my face, screaming "don't move mother fucker".  I wanted to laugh because I think I was looking at the dude through the ear hole of my helmet.  I hear some shooting, some guys yelling as they clear the room, and all of a sudden I am rolled over, cuffed and being escorted out of the room.

We got outside and I was placed face first against a wall.  I asked if I could remove my helmet because it was so hot, and the guy told me "no talking" while holding his rifle on me.  I asked again and again I got the "no talking" thing, so I began to shake my helmet around in order to find some relief.  At this point, I realize that I was placed on an ant hill, and the little bastards are starting to bite.  Now, this particular cop was a guy who used to work for me in the bar business (I guess that explains his pleasant demeanor towards me).  I tried to make him aware of the ants and he kind of pushed me against the wall with his foot.  I tried again and was told to "shut up" as he was monitoring radio traffic and the likes.  He finally realized and asked if he could move me.  Permission was granted and I got to wipe about 5000 ants from my legs and groin region.  I was again placed in more ants which was an uncalled for treat and once he realized that, allowed me to stand up and go lean against the wall.  The cops finish sweeping the room, killed the other bad guys and were now being critiqued on their performance.

Cervantes was asking, "who was the lead guy" and other cop shit.  Other cops were saying what they witnessed and then they asked me, "what were you doing already on the floor?"  When I told them I had gone against direct orders to ignore the flash bang and looked directly at it, it scared the shit out of me and I tried to bolt and consequently ran smack into the wall.  The cop who had me confirmed and everyone got a good laugh.

We got to take a break between scenarios and grab a soda and a slice of pizza.  Everyone was yucking it up and having a good time and reviewing their critique.

As we set up the next scenario, we were actually going to have a real hostage!  Well, she was a cop but we got to rough her up a bit, like a bad guy might do.  (In retrospect, roughing up a female hostage might have been a dumb ass thing to do... you might pick that up in just a few minutes."  Anyhow,  Cervantes comes in and says that this scenario is going to involve the negotiators and we were to be as difficult as we could be.  For clarification, we bad guys asked if we could cuss and say whatever we wanted to the cops and Cervantes confirmed with "Fuck yes... you're bad guys so do what you think bad guys would do.".

This shit was going to be perfect!  We were going to get to run our mouths and say whatever stupid shit we could think of, demand all kinds of shit and we were told that if we saw anything like a sniper, to bust his balls....  The shit was getting better by the minute!  So us dumb ass bad guys are in this old ass building, giving each other "high fives" in preparation of the voyage we are about to embark on.

We were told to suit up with our protective gear and the shit didn't fit any better.  I still looked like 10 pounds of shit in a 5 pound bag, but to make matters worse, they send in our hostage.  We looked like the lesser known Star Wars figures, the short bus storm troopers....  Our hostage, who happened to be pretty good looking is laughing at us, which made it easier to want to rough her ass up but then it dawned on us that she could probably whip our asses.  The laughing quit when we were told, "ACTION!"  We were being coached from my friend who led the team, so we were making appearances at the different windows and doors, shouting demands.  "Get these fucking pigs out of here" my buddy Shinkle yelled!  "Go get some fucking donuts, you stupid ass pigs!" I hollered.  Of course we were giggling and goading each other.  My cop buddy was laughing at us, primarily because I think he knew that can of ass whoop that was about to be served up.

The cops negotiated us allowing them to bring us a phone, so we didn't have to yell and were told to pick it up when it rang.  So, the phone rings and the negotiator asks my buddy Shinkle if everyone's all right.  "Fuck no were not all right!" Shinkle yells into the phone.  "Were hungry, so we need some fucking pizza, we need a fast fucking car and we need you sons a bitches to clear out!".  The negotiator asks to "see the hostage" and inquires about her health.  So, I drag her to the door, shake her around and yell, "does she look all right to you, you stupid fucking pigs!".  Again, we start to giggle.  This shit was fun.  I think our hostage called us dorks, but it didn't matter.  We were handling this shit.

"Get that fucking sniper out of that fucking drift boat" Shinkle said when we caught the guy moving around in the boat.  The negotiator informed us that the guy would be gone and he wanted to be sure that we weren't going to harm the hostage.  We hung up on him, and giggled... as usual.  He called back!  Persistent little shit!  "Wheres our fucking car and our pizza, you donut eating piece of shit!" I yelled.  (More giggling and Shinkle and I are accusing the other of being the responsible party for the up coming ass kicking we were about to recieve.)  Anyhow, after about 30 minutes of pissing the cops off, our cop buddy told us to "take 5" and they were going to prepare for the take down.

Neither one of us knew what that really meant.  That was the down side.  When it was time for action, I was told to go out and release the hostage, because it had been negotiated.  I step out and see quite a few cops, quite a few guns and release the hostage with a bit of a shove.  As soon as she was clear, all hell broke loose and all I can tell you is, I got shot about 20 times in every fucking area the protective gear did not cover.  I found that you really wanted these simunition rounds to hit you square, rather than graze you.  Both of my fat handles got shredded by .223 rounds.  It was similar to razor burn.  I tried to return fire, but it was fruitless.  I may have hit one or two of them, but in reality I would have been finished.

When the smoke cleared, my ass was done.  I would have been dead or dying, but was cuffed.  I don't know what happened to Shinkle or Campbell but assumed they faced a similar fate.  I think each one of them got shot in a soft spot.... good!  But when the smoke cleared, we were all all right and the cops got some practice.  It made me realize a couple of things.  Compliance with directives isn't a bad thing... if you have a hostage, don't be a dick to cops because they will shoot you a lot more.

We went on to be "bad guys" a few more times for the SWAT team.  The safety equipment never really did fit right.  When all of this fun came to an end, my cop buddy talked me into taking a class in which I would be sprayed with pepper spray and shot with a tazer.  How could I ever resist?