“So, who’s going to die today?” yelled the boss as if we deserved to be reprimanded. He was cowered behind the rock having already felt the unexpected sting of being shot in the leg with a paintball and was really “pissed-off.”

I’m still a new employee and this was meant to be a fun Saturday company event. Last Friday afternoon, the boss himself insisted we all show up the following morning in San Diego, an hour drive, and participate. Talk about very last minute. This guy probably doesn’t have any friends. I missed my daughter’s softball game for this?

He’s done this before but, I’m told, has never gotten this mad. He didn’t like the fact that he got disqualified from the first two rounds of paintball so quickly. He still doesn’t know it was me but a co-worker, who’s been at the company a long time and in the field with me, saw me do it.

Now in the third round, I’ve let things go on a little longer. I’ve already got him in the back of the leg within the first minute. The other co-workers, now scattered behind various trees and brush, saw me do it.

This is way too easy. I’ve got him in my crosshairs again. This time I get him in the left shoulder. He curses profusely, singling me out.

He now commands everyone else to begin hunting me. All of a sudden lots of paint balls are being fired in my direction. I manage to escape but get hit multiple times without getting disqualified.

Over the next 30-minutes, I take out each co-worker one-by-one.

Now it’s his turn. Do I put him down? My trigger finger is ready.

I wait.

He spots me and is about to shoot me. I aim between his eyes.

Getting fired Monday morning is now my choice.