Our report time was 8:00 AM, all of us, that is which is something I’d never encountered previously at a GP.  We stared blankly into the middle distance while sorting basic lands (something that I think should be included in judge exams) and listening to how the task assignments for the day would have the constancy of a desert rain puddle.  For a few brief periods, I had a judge candidate/judgeling/level zero to proctor and I began working my magic.  Most judges go over rulings with protojudges, I focus on more prosaic concerns.

Me: The three most important questions you’ll ever receive are “where are the bathrooms”, “how much time is left”, and “uh, what does this card do”.  Most of the time you’ll be answering the first two so don’t feel bad if you don’t know the last one occasionally.
Judgeling: So rules knowledge isn’t important?
Me: No, it’s very important for a tournament, but you don’t need to be the expert all the time.  That’s like expecting a librarian to memorize rather than locate books.   It’s important to have your docket of speeches prepared.
Judgeling: Like what?
Me: When I start a booster draft I introduce myself “hi, my name is Terry Robinson and I’m a level two judge from Philadelphia.  I do two things: run 8-mans and screw up judge calls.  Remember that before you raise your hand.”
Judgeling: I think I understand, do you have any other advice?
Me: Wash your judge shirt inside out to reduce wear on the logos.

I was flattered when my name came up during his interview.  I don’t know in what context, but I still felt good.

7.5 hours of sleep approaches a record for a GP but I still felt behind my a day or two, maybe it was the timezone change.  The hotel offered a continental breakfast which consisted entirely of bread products and cereals, in the words of Brian Coval “It’s a continental breakfast; the continent is Africa”.  The venue itself was long and without cheap WiFi and my first experiment of the day failed when I was told that suspenders were not acceptable.  Wearing them gives me an extra round as they don’t impede my breathing and let my pants fit in a more comfortable overall configuration, plus I can use a urinal with my hands above my head.  The opening announcements noted the location of the fire exits; something I’d never heard although few people heard as the sound system blew.

After the opening comments, we were asked to introduce ourselves with “our name, level, and something about ourselves”.  I said “My name is Terry Robinson, I’m a level 2 judge from Philadelphia, and I collect trivets” which is at least partly true as I possess three trivets; many more than most people.  Judges are a strange lot of people who dump time and energy into a community activity that benefits a for profit company.  We are self-trained rules-wise with little structure to support us between events and are poorly paid.  Each GP makes me want to quit playing Magic a bit more.  See everyone at GP: Nashville.

I left work at 11:30 and discovered something had happened to my vehicle:
1) If I broke suddenly, the radio would skip a track
2) If I made a turn, the radio would restart
3) If the air conditioner kicked on, my dash lights would dim
4) If I broke suddenly, my GPS would turn off

And then…. there was Canada.  So, I-95 has a clearly marked north and south, but some Canadian highways simply list next exit cities, requiring knowledge of things like “geography” and “how not to drive into the great white north”, like as if there were I-95 Boston and I-95 Miami.   Boo.

I use a couple tools to plot my routes, usually a combination of Microsoft Streets and Trips, Google Maps, my GPS, and recommendations from my hosts.  The closest border crossing was Port Huron but both Google Maps and Bing Maps instructed me to go south to Detroit.   Wanting to save an hour, I took the gamble of the Port Huron crossing and was rewarded with a blessedly simple crossing:

Border Guard: What’s your destination?
Me: Toronto then Montreal.
Border Guard: For what purpose?
Me: To visit friends I know through an online gaming community.
Border Guard: What game?
Me: Team Fortress 2.
Border Guard: *draws his eyes and furrows his brow* Is that like Call of Duty?
Me: Yes.
Border Guard: Enjoy Canada.

Driving to Burlington was as dull as all the Canadian driving I had done previously with the confounding factor that every 8 feet there seemed to be a sign advertising the 407 Expressway toll road.  I was still weary of my ticket so I’d try to find two cars spaced a few hundred feet apart moving at a speed I wanted and would wedge myself between the two as a kind of international ablative shield against tickets.

My host for the evening was a tired Adam Erb/Captain Charisma who recently started as a carpenter’s apprentice and he has the glue marks to prove it.

20100611-6886-InterroLoop

10 other people

The Adam in my head was different from the Adam in front of me in manifold ways.  First off was appearance, this Adam was some how older than the mental homunculus I’d assembled and a spot taller, so at first I felt like I was talking to the fatigued older brother of the person I’d constructed.  Some people talk with hand punctuation, something that one obviously doesn’t pick up when talking over a voice chat protocol.   He was tired and he attributed his animation to that but the flurry of manual activity reminded me of someone I knew but couldn’t quite remember and the evening was punctuated with me making notes to myself on who it reminded me of.  Even with the benefits of hindsight, I can’t quite put my finger on it.

Adam and I ran into a problem in that we’re both the guy that responds to other people in conversations.  The stream of conversation was a staccato exchange of observations, notes, and comments except in cases where there was a third party like the server at Swiss Chalet who came across as an acculturated accountant.  Things picked up a bit more when we returned to his house and had some quality TF2 time where I got see a genuine ragequit in the first person.  Sniperwolf was having a bad night and I don’t think the fact that my shit-talking was taking place 3 feet from him helped.  I set up in my tiny bed with my feet poking out the end and went to sleep.