You better lock it up, buddy –

My husband usually comes home from work and comfortably slips into the same routine. He puts his motorcycle away, greets the doggies who are always at the door to welcome him home. He asks me how my day was as he takes off his boots, then changes into comfy clothes and grabs the remote to chill out for a while. Yesterday was different.

He came home, put away his motorcycle, greeted the doggies and asked me how my day was, but instead of taking off his boots, he sat down, phone in hand, and started playing a game. He doesn’t typically play games. At first, I thought he was simply tending to a text or looking up the best gas prices nearby, but then I heard the distinct sounds of gaming gunfire, sounds I usually only hear coming from the kid’s rooms.

I was busy writing, well, checking Facebook, but I was writing between the status updates and silly videos that required attention, but this is my story so we’re going to go with writing and make me sound more productive than I was actually being. I went back to what I was doing . . . I mean, working on. At least I tried to.

Listening to him play that game was completely commanding my attention, so much so, I could do nothing but listen at first. Then, I remembered I had a certain skill I could put to perfect use, transcription. I must say, this transcribing session was harder than most. I missed much of what was being said while trying not to laugh. The following is a basic transcription of my husbands one-sided dialogue while shooting zombies from a helicopter . . . I wish I had started sooner.

Husband: “What the hell is that? I’m scared. I don’t know what they did to that thing. I can hear it down there growling.”

(random gunfire and radio chatter)

Husband: “You better lock it up Buddy. You better watch your ass.”

(continued gunfire and radio chatter)

Husband: “Here comes another gorilla. Where are those gorillas coming from? Holy crap. No one told me about those!”

(radio warning regarding the loss of a civilian)

Husband: “Yeah, well, civilians should run faster then. 1 human kill. 8 saved. But what about that monster? I don’t get it. I need a howitzer.”

(radio chatter)

Husband: “Shut up kimoslabie. What the fuu . . . ? Yeah! That was a close call, that dummy jumped right in the mid . . . You guys are stupid.”


Husband: “Whoa, wait. What the fuu?”

(indistinct chatter, more gunfire)

Husband: “Oh yeah! These guys are . . . I wish I could talk back on this thing. Why would you run right in the middle of zombies? Ooh, there’s gunfire, I’m gonna run right in the middle of it cuz I’m a stupid civilian. Just follow the zombies you morons.”

Command: “You kill one more civilian and we’re pulling you out.”

Husband: “Shut up. That one wasn’t worth living. You know what? Have it your way. I won’t kill any more civilians, but watch what that zombie’s gonna do to him cuz he’s an idiot.”

(No response from command)

Husband: “Oh geez. Hear it? Nice, you guys all huddle up and sing koombaya. Oh man. Damn it.”

End of transcript

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