My experiment was to try living my life entirely by the roll of a 20-sided D&D die (read Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 here). The experiment was going badly, which made my resolve even stronger. If society would not accept my D&D die, then I would conduct my experiment while dressed in D&D gear.
Since I had no Vorpal Sword or Girdle of Femininity in my house, I did the best with what I could find:
- Half a Darth Vader Helmet (Hat of Menacing)
- A Beach Towel (Cape of Near Invisibility, -1 on all men with hairy backs)
- Two Hot Wheels cars connected by a string (no purpose)
- A single leather glove (couldn't find the other and I had left my gauntlet at the rest stop earlier)
- A 99-cent yardstick from Super Walmart (Man Sword, Wood of Penetration +2, Defender of Virginity -6)
- Crown Royal Bag (to carry my Republican credits)
- Boots (Boots of Running, -2 speed, +3 for dual scrotum crushing power)
The first thing I noticed about the half-helmet was that it was unrealistically difficult to hear. I could only imagine a geriatric Darth Vader wandering around a Walmart looking for a hammer while stammering, "Excuse me, what did you say?" There must have been some sort of magnification device in the real helmet.
It was also hot with the cape and a plastic hat, and I was already nervous about getting biscuit-slapped in a liquor store again. I drove to a different liquor store which is aptly named Gomer's. They have very good prices and no, I don't work there ... anymore. (Mannequin issues.)
As I attempted to step out of the car with my full battle garb in tow, I nearly choked myself by stepping on my cape. Fortunately, the safety pin popped loose and I was free to breathe. I had to readjust myself as several people parked and entered the store. The most difficult part of doing experiments alone is that I can't truly take a full body picture of myself without lowering my defenses or giving my phone to someone else.
I trudged into the thriving, recession-proof liquor store and began browsing. The guy who saw me in the parking lot was talking to the youngster behind the counter as I walked in, trudging in my work boots of working. I made a clump, clump sound as I trolled around the store, careful not to knock any bottles off the shelves with my flowing red, white and orange cape. I wasn't going to waste much time so I pulled a blue die from my bag of money holding and rolled it on the floor.
Six. Great, I'll get a six pack. That will fit.
I reached down to pick up the dice and nearly decapitated myself with my sword of devirgination. It stuck me right underneath my helmet. I made a gurgling sound as I extracted my neck and awkwardly picked up the die while leaning on one foot. My gloved hand made it difficult to pick up the die. Thank Eilistraee, the lesser goddess of good (renegade) drow, song, beauty, dance, swordwork, hunting and moonlight, that it wasn't a real light saber. I would have been done for.
At this point, I'd grown two shadows who were watching my every move. A small Peruvian farm boy and an oversized Scottish serf formed behind me in the flanking movement made popular in the movie "Black Beauty." I could sense their presence but couldn't hear a thing. I struggled with the stuck beer cooler and nearly hit myself in the face with the heavy glass door as it finally opened. I heard what sounded like cheerleaders giggling, but re-focused. To be honest, I was also at the point of near-giggling, but have been trained in the dark arts. The awkward dance that ensued involved me trudging to the front counter while trying to keep my pants up as my belt was sagging and my sword of deforestation was now drooping. I tried to take a picture of myself but it turned out like a shiny helmet that's too close to a camera.
The young man was nearly crying as he announced the grand total. And now for the grand finale. I reached into my sack of money grubbing and pulled out the coins that had come with the original tester set that I had purchased. It took some coordination but I held all three in my right hand and did my best Qui-Gon Jinn impression. "Do you take Republican credits?" I asked.
The kid broke into full-on post-teenager laugh and said no. The people behind me were muttering, while the Peruvian and Scotsman pretended to pile boxes near the cash register. "So be it," I said, and pulled out a bent-up ten dollar bill. I slapped it on the counter, received my change, then Imperial Death Marched out of the store.
As I returned home with a sweaty helmet, I asked one of the neighborhood gang members to take a picture of my greatness, to which he agreed in exchange for a six pack of imported Bolivian beer. Notice how the moon iShakespeare-ing my helmet just right.
As I walked inside, I concluded that these devil dice are the devil: they encouraged me to get drunk, make a fool of myself, and nearly get myself beat up. I placed the die on the table, and vowed to never use it again for anything except role-playing.
But I have to admit, there's a 50/50 chance I'll consult it on whether to ask out the chick at the D&D store.
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