If I were not so inundated in my alcoholic stupor, I would not likely be so forthcoming with my following confessions. Amidst that disclaimer, I offer the following details in regards to a fairly unique Grand Prix experience.

I was bored at my home. My tightly-knit circle of friends were spread to all corners of the country. I remained in my community, wallowing in an incessant circle of despair. I required a method of breakout, but no opportunities presented themselves. My Goddess of this era was a flighty spirit, regarding me as worthy of communiqué on an indeterminate schedule. Thus, the Midwest was breeding in me vile seeds of stagnation, and only via a complete departure would I manage any hope of sanity retention. So I joined the Air Force.

I still have doubts as to whether or not I made the right decision. A close friend of mine echoed my sentiments, stating;"You've always been one to break the rules. I'm finding it difficult to see you acclimating to that environment." That truth becomes more evident with each passing hour. It becomes even worse when you factor in the fact that I'm only halfway through a three month stint to initiate my technical training in my designated field of expertise. In the interim I'm left in a purgatory at Texas, passing time via my attempts to get away with as much as possible without getting caught.

Fresh out of basic military training, my initial priority was to catch up on the events that had transpired since my initial departure. Among the necessitated topics on my agenda was the current Grand Prix schedule. And 'lo, what a sight that was to behold! In the coming weeks I would be privy to attending GP: Atlanta, which was a scant three hours away from the station I was then stationed at, and GP: Kansas City, which I would have been ecstatic about a year earlier, but in regards to my current situation would just be a tease. As plans for the former Grand Prix began to become a reality, I was wrested from my anticipated travel arrangements towards Atlanta, and sent to a second base for technical training. Despite it's closer proximity to Kansas City, that eight-hour trip was just not going to be feasible, especially when one takes into consideration distance limitations and itinerary restrictions by my military base. Still, some mild good fortune would make up for my absence at Atlanta, as one of my close friends was getting a ride there that weekend in order to pick up his vehicle.

And thus, I began my downward spiral.

Six o'clock a.m. I really didn't want to sleep in on this day, That would surely make things more difficult, and it was already going to be a tight squeeze. I spent half an hour changing into uniform and getting packed for the journey north. The biggest problem I would face today (I thought) was that my friend was on a different shift than I was, and so intended to leave base at 8 a.m. I wouldn't be dismissed until 5 p.m., at the earliest. If I didn't get accountability, I would face some serious punishment. Still, I had a plan. I reported to my head detailer without waiting for roll call to begin."Sir, I spent the previous evening working the overnight charge of quarters shift. May I be dismissed?" He hedged for a bit, stating that he'd have to verify the checklist, and that would have to wait until after roll call. Well, two problems with this. I didn't have an hour to wait, and I wasn't on the checklist. So I poured on the pressure, and after only minimal resistance, he marked me as being accounted for the duration of the duty day. With the primary obstruction to the endeavor evaded, I finished my preparations, and called my friend to begin the trip.

I'm sure I failed in my attempt to be inconspicuous while traversing to the vehicle. Part of the time I was running, part of the time I was forcing myself into a walk while looking about nervously in all directions. So much for the attempt at a personal confidence boost. The paranoia didn't stop there, either. I spent the entire trip screening all calls that came on the cell phone, growing physically more shaken with every ring. I kept imagining that a military training leader would catch wind of my departure and begin an interrogation of anyone who might possibly have information regarding my whereabouts. Time and time again, though, it was a harmless call from a friend who didn't even know that I was supposed to be on duty at the time. My infractions for this? Abandoning post, away without leave, travelling beyond phase limitations, and failure to complete an itinerary. And those are just the ones I know of off the top of my head. Bad ju-ju, indeed.

There was no authority-originated phone call. There was no vehicular breakdown. I made it to the tournament venue at roughly 3 p.m., ecstatic at how smoothly the trip was going so far. My friend would be travelling back that night, so I would be out of luck in regards to lodging and a ride home, but I had plenty of fundage available, so I intended to ride a bus back to base. After waving good-bye to my travelling companion, I went upstairs to the sprawling tournament venue and began to seek an ATM. I found one without too much difficulty, but I was missing something. My wallet. I ran about in a panic, trying to contact my friend, trying to recount my steps. But it was all for naught. I had forgotten it back in my dormitory room. I was stranded seven hours away from my air force base with only $20 and no means to get back. Only through sheer willpower did I suppress my undeniable need to vomit my kidneys out.

I walked around. I gathered myself. I came up with a plan. I approached the registration desk, recognizing the fellow running the station as a regular at the Hobbytown tournaments at Lincoln, Nebraska. That would make things more difficult, but I relied on my drastic change in appearance to avoid recognition.

"Sir, I'm afraid that I've been called back home for an emergency, but I already registered for tonight's Grand Prix trial and the main event. Is there any way that I could get a refund?" I asked, while scanning the box of trial registration slips.

"Oh no, no problem. What's your name?" My eyes focused on a legible name in the box.

"Umm... Jacob... Carlisle. Here's my registration slip from the trial." I prayed that he had already paid for the main event as well, scanning the signup sheet. My eyes were drawn to the name like a beacon, and I gestured directly at it when requested.

"Alrighty, I've got you all covered. Sorry about your situation, I hope everything turns out alright!" He said, handing me the $50 refund from the two events. I replied with the standard courtesies, again restraining the urge to give myself away and sprinting from the venue. I left slowly, and continued to make preparations for the weekend.

My next step would be to obtain lodging. I found a Comfort Inn, a hotel chain which I had once worked for. The location was absolutely perfect, and I knew all the ins and outs to ensure a free night's stay. I used my military ID and cash to secure the $39 room for the night. I insisted on a non-smoking room, and gave them my frequent stay program identification numbers, both necessities for getting the room for free in the morning. I also demanded that a note be made that under no circumstances should a call be transferred to the room, citing a story about a stalker calling all the hotels in the area to locate my whereabouts.

On the way back to the tourney venue, I stopped off at a gas station. I used some of my remaining money to purchase condoms and cigarettes, also grabbing some complimentary matches before heading back to the tournament site. Upon my return, there was a fairly large line, which would be absolutely perfect. I registered for the Grand Prix Trial, leaving me with only $3, but managing to go unrecognized. I mean, I might as well enjoy my weekend if I'm going to get court-martialed anyway, right? So, I go to register my deck... and it's just atrocious. I have tons of creature-kill, but nothing that can do more than two damage! I manage a 2-3 record, dropping out of the tournament in frustration after I'm killed by a Myr that I didn't kill, while my opponent with a Leonin Sun Standard was tapped out.

Following my pathetic showing at the trial, my primary necessity was sustenance. After locating a McDonald's between the tournament venue and my lodging locale, I spent some time in the bushes while vehicles passed through the drive-through window. Eventually, I find an ideal target, a familyman with a large truck and an equally large order. While passing by he tosses his receipt at the trashcan, but misses. I'm more than happy to retrieve it, and enter the restaurant.

"Ma'am, I just placed this order in the drive thru," I said, smoothing out the receipt for her viewing,"but you only gave me one Big Mac instead of the three I paid for." There was no deliberation on her part as she sought to cool this anticipated conflict without incident. She barely noticed the receipt before handing me my meal and wishing me a good evening.

Back at the hotel, it's almost midnight. I chat momentarily with the night auditor, making certain he notices my arrival. Over the course of the conversation I carefully mention that I haven't even been to my room yet. Of course, the room is quite fine, but that certainly won't offer me any benefit. I light one of my cigarettes and let it burn while I shave up some soap and mix it with shampoo. I place the mixture in a condom and carefully tuck it between the headrest of the bed and the wall. I also spend a short bit of time peeling off some thick toe-nails and placing them in the corner of the windowsill. I perform some breathing exercises, then storm angrily downstairs.

"My room is completely unacceptable!"

"What's the problem, sir?"

"There's a used condom in there, and the room is completely filled with the smell of cigarette smoke, which I'm allergic to!"

"I'm very, very sorry about that, sir. Give me a moment, I'll fix that up for you."

(Five minutes pass as he straightens up the room.)

"Alright sir, I've eliminated the odor in the room, and cleared up the... other discrepancies you mentioned. Have a good night!"

I spend a few minutes in the room before I place a call with my cellular phone to the front desk;"This is Master Sergeant Barret, calling for Airman Phoenix. It's an emergency."

"Right away sir, just one moment please.' (pause) 'I'm transferring your call now." Perfect.

I take the phone off the hook for a few minutes, then build up another pre-meditated rage while charging towards the registration desk. I'm even feeling a twinge of guilt as I launch into another tirade.

"This is disgraceful. First, I left a message that absolutely no calls should be transferred thr..."

"Sir, he said he was your Sergeant, I just thought..."

"I said no calls! Also, I was going to let it go, but I found fingernail clippings on my windowsill! This is completely unforgivable. I stay at a large number of Comfort Inns, and this is the worst service I have ever received!"

I was relocated to another room, but I complained in the morning to the front-desk clerk, citing all my ailments and the fact that I had been completely exhausted from a very full day of travel prior to my relocation. I ranted and raved in front of a fairly large line of customers, which was only building while the new desk clerk stalled. I also cited my status as a member of their frequent stay program, refusing to budge through discounts of $10, then $20. Eventually, she did the right thing for public relations. She made my stay completely complimentary, and I was able to begin a fresh day with $42 in my pocket.

My first stop of the morning would be Burger King, which was absolutely flooded with folks in need of a coffee and breakfast biscuit fix. I made a nonchalant approach to the waiting area, joining a small crowd of about half a dozen others, some actively engaged in conversation. I waited for about eight minutes, watching customers file in, file out, proceeding about the daily business. 'Order 28!' I glanced around, looking for a reaction from anyone around. Seeing none, I approached the targeted brown paper bag with as much confidence as I could display. I felt a steep rise in adrenaline as I grew mentally prepared for any sort of contradiction, but none surfaced. I half-walked, and half-scurried out the door with my pilfered meal. It turned out to be a veritable cornucopia of devourables. A meal which had obviously been intended to serve four worked well to satiate the hunger which had gone only mildly satisfied during the previous two days. I would at least be able to play in this tournament without the distraction of hunger!

I used the remainder of my"refunded" entry fees to pay my entry into the main event. I registered an adequate deck, but nothing extremely noteworthy. During the handing out of decks, I was on the edge of a table, and missed the initial pass of deck hand-outs. I raised my hand when prompted, as did my companion seated across from me, the only other at our table who wasn't given a deck on the return pass. A judge handed me a deck, and another judge a few moments later passed my opponent his. The contents of my deck? Abysmal. The contents of my companion's cardpool? Well, let's see here... two Spikeshot, two Bonesplitter, Molder Slug, Oblivion Stone, pretty much a grab bag of all the most desirable of cards in the set. Oh, and despite the fact he was playing Green, he didn't play either of his two bombtastic rares. I was fuming. I'm still fuming. But that would do little to alleviate the lack of power in my given cardpool.

I fared about as well as anticipated. Be it a lack of confidence or be it karma's retribution, I failed miserably. But it was far from being for naught, as I encountered a fellow Air Force employee during the second round of play. After some brief banter, and after confirming that he wasn't working under the office of special investigations, I related my situation to him. He was stationed only two hours north of myself, and offered to take me as far south as was convenient for him, assuming that we were looking to leave the tournament at synergistic times. Well, after losing my second match to him, I was pretty well at his whim for an hour of departure. He stayed in the tournament for the remainder of the day, while I surveyed the rest of the location that we were privy to.

The area was fairly vast, and I eventually found a wedding reception that was taking place during the latter part of the day. I was dressed in some relatively formal attire, in khakis and a preppy shirt. So I flirted with a gorgeous bridesmaid while helping myself to the food available at the celebration. Neither she, nor anyone else, ever questioned my invitation to the gathering. It all came down to taking note of the groom's name, and dropping it in a timely manner."Aww hell, Jerry and I were best friends in high school! Did he ever tell you about the time that..." An imagined anecdote removes any question of familiarity.

It was about eight p.m. when my fellow serviceman and I departed southward. I half-slept in a fetal position in the back of his pickup, as he had another companion occupying the passenger seat. I couldn't complain though, this was the best I could reasonably hope for when it came to availability of travelling options! Toll booths were problematic, requiring that I hunch up against the wall of the cab of the truck to avoid being spotted by any toll-booth agents. Still, we arrived at my new friend's city without incident, and with good wishes of good luck he dropped me off at a well-populaced gas station and bid me farewell.

Two hours away. I started hammering on my cell phone, recruiting any aid I could manage. I promised wealth, favor, and any other applicable service I could imagine. After twenty minutes of hunting through my phonebook and attempting recommendations from my friends, I found someone who had absolutely nothing to do on a Saturday night. My salvation. I indebted myself toll fare, gas money, and $20 to secure the five hours he'd have to sacrifice in order to get me back without incident.

And it worked. I violated countless articles of the United States Code of Military Justice. I annihilated any favorable karma. But I also embarked upon a desperate gambit, and managed to go unscathed. Months later, there is no whisper of repercussions. There were no damnable consequences.

And had there been?

Well, it still would have been worth it.

- GPhoenix
forbiddenfantasy at aol dot com