My story comes from my first ever post to TMD:
The trip there turned out to be its own story, with Mike driving myself and Rich to Waterbury, and missing the exit to the Mass. Turnpike and needing to get off and back onto the highway going in the other direction. We chose the next exit to do this, and that’s where we hit a little snag. Well, actually it wasn’t as much of a snag as it was a guardrail. The on ramp had come up on us rather quickly and Mike had to jam on the brakes and swerve to make the turn…well, almost make the turn.
My first inkling that things were going to go badly came when I felt the wheels on the car lock as we headed right for the median. I had only a second to fall over in the backseat into the fetal position and shield my head from hitting against any of the doors as the car convulsed back and forth, with the guardrail running down the middle of the underside of the vehicle. We were unharmed, and I got out to survey the extent of the damage. I noticed that a small pool of liquid was collecting below the car, trickling onto the pavement beside the guardrail which pwned Mike’s car. The first thought in my mind was that this could be gasoline, and I advised Mike to turn off the engine before we asploded. Once that danger had passed, we now had to confront our situation. We were standing on the median of the highway, being gawked at by every slack jawed yokel who drove by, without any means of transportation.
First let me say, it was cold. REALLY cold. Within the first five minutes, my toes had already gone numb, and my fingers were well on their way, despite being inside my gloves. The municipal police were first on the scene, and were also the first to offer us what would become a wealth of helpful information from law enforcement officials. The officer on the scene told us that this was state police jurisdiction, and we had to wait for a trooper to arrive. Ten minutes or so later, the trooper pulled in next to the median and began to lecture Mike on the finer points of not driving into stationary objects. This was important information for Mike to have, because I’m sure he would otherwise have been unclear about the potential negative consequences that could result from driving recklessly and colliding with guardrails. So, with that revelation from the helpful state trooper, we continued to wait in the cold. And wait. And wait.
During this time, we occupied ourselves by contacting people by phone to inform them we were probably going to be arriving late to the event, and we also called Rich’s parents to ask if they would be so kind as to two cars to the scene of our accident, and drop one off for us to complete the trip. Thankfully, they agreed and the wait resumed. Passersby continued to slow their cars down to stare at us for every second possible; one car actually had a passenger who took out a camera and snapped a picture of us. This infuriated me. It was bad enough that every driver who passed by gawked out their window at me like an orangutan staring into a kaleidoscope, but these people were going to derive entertainment from my misfortune. I decided that could not be allowed to stand. If that trooper had not been there, I may have given the picture taker a souvenir of this fascinating scene by hurling a piece of the debris from the undercarriage of the car at them. Since the trooper was there, I needed to settle for shouting “Oh, I’m too sexy for my shirt, boys! Come on back and I’ll give you some more pictures to take! I’m sure they’ll go well in your nambla photo album!” Rich decided to vent his frustration by voicing his hope that one of the drivers staring at us would careen off the on ramp and slam into the other guardrail. I commented we could then entertain ourselves while waiting for the tow truck by staring at them, were this to happen. It didn’t.
Mike passed the time by periodically asking the trooper when the tow truck was expected. He dutifully informed Mike of how many minutes late the tow truck was. I was relieved to find out that the job of keeping track of how long ago the tow truck was supposed to arrive was in the capable hands of the State Police. Without wasting any more space on these sorts of details, the tow truck and Rich’s parents arrived at approximately the same time, and we were on our way shortly afterwards. The rest of the trip remained guardrail free, and we arrived at the same time as Eastman. Reassured that we would not miss registration, we hurried inside and signed up. Pairings went up almost immediately afterwards, and I hoped for an easy match to give me a chance to warm up. However, this was not to be—my first round opponent was Kevin Cron.
Long story short, I got paired against two Meandeckers running SX, won against them, 6-2'd the Swiss, and got 17th on tiebreaks because those damn Meandeckers sabotaged my OMW%. But wait-- there's more. After the tournament, this happened:
Thus ended my second Waterbury tournament. The experience itself continued, since Rich, Mike, and I had gotten a hotel room. While still meditating on my own defeat, Rich came over from the top 16 tables to tell me he had lost to a Metalworker/Staff of Domination combo. Disappointed in ourselves, we retired to the room at around 1:00am. We went over our respective tournament experiences, trying to pinpoint what went wrong, and why, and what could be done to improve things in the future. While this was necessary, both of us were still too wired to have this sort of conversation calmly, and eventually we went back downstairs in the hopes of finding Team Meandeck before they left so we could take them up on their offer to money draft with us.
In the weeks before, Rich, Mike and I painstakingly reorganized our finances to bear the inevitable loss of the $50 that Smmenen had demanded for him to take the time to draft us. For our part, we were eager to sacrifice $50 on the altar of Team Meandeck. It would be a small price to pay for the privilege of being beaten by them, because if we were lucky, we stood to walk away from the experience with a precious fraction of the insurmountable skill that led Team Meandeck to its dominating performance in the main event. However, when we arrived downstairs, Smmenen’s greater wisdom prevailed and instead of money drafting, we accepted Meandeck’s invitation to accompany them and PTW to the local gentleman’s club. So, we went along with PTW, Smmenen and Saucemaster to a place off I-91 in Connecticut. Along the way, Smmenen and Rich discussed whether or not a deck that averages a turn one kill facilitates player interaction. I stopped paying attention soon into the debate in order to help PTW navigate. After a small snafu with the directions, we arrived to find out that our problems on this trip were only just beginning.
As it turns out, Saucemaster forgot his ID, and The Gold Club adheres strictly to an 18+ carding policy. We tried to reason with the bouncer by pointing out to him that it had been nine years since Saucemaster was too young to be admitted to an 18+ establishment, and he looked it. However the staff would have none of it and we regrouped outside. PTW made a last-ditch attempt to persuade the bouncer with the help Mr. Franklin, but to no avail. Never let it be said that businesses predicated on the sale of sexual gratification and alcohol lack scruples, at least not this one. Lacking other options, we headed back to the hotel and went to sleep. Day 2 was rather uneventful for me, though Rich won the Mox side event. The drive back took place in the middle of a snowstorm, going by at least five different accidents which we did not slow down and stare at. All guardrails were successfully avoided. See you all next time.
Moral of the story: Don't drive recklessly on the highway, Mike Lydon and guardrails are a bad combination, and Meandeck ruins everything.
