On my way to side B, I looked at the projection of the live bracket. I had to read the information repeatedly because I didn’t see my name under the current matches. In fact, the display had my name crossed out, and my opponent had advanced to the next round. I recognized the name.
No way. KitCats?
I rushed over to the station I was supposed to play at, where a moderator was still standing. “Hey, uh, I’m GordieHoward. I’m supposed to play right now.”
“Sorry about that, but you’ve already been disqualified,” the moderator said.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Why?”
“You were too late. You never showed up to your playing time.”
“Is that it then? I’m done?”
The moderator nodded. “I’m afraid so. You would’ve been moved to the losers bracket if it was round five, but the fourth round is still single elimination.”
“Even if I played him right now and kicked his ass, I’m still eliminated?”
“You missed your chance to play, sir.”
“Yeah, but I’m sure he still standing around here waiting. It will probably be another hour before he gets to play again, and I know for a fact I’m better than that guy. I played him the last time I was here, and I beat him.”
“I’m sorry, I wish I could help you but the tournament has to go on. Round five is about to start.” The moderator shook his head.
“Thanks, I guess,” I gritted through my teeth and rushed out.
The only interest I had in staying was watching Wyatt. A tiny sliver of me hoped that Wyatt would lose so that way we could just go home, but I had to remind myself that the main reason I wanted to be there was to watch Wyatt make it to the top 8.
On Side A, I saw that Wyatt was already in the middle of his fifth-round match. I didn’t recognize his opponent’s name, but a few hundred seats were easily filled with people watching his game. Fortunately, I was able to find a spot in the back to watch his match. His Toxic-Javelin was brutal, but his opponent was putting up a fight. I could tell that Wyatt was being challenged more this round than the others. There wasn’t even a hint of a goofy smile on his face. He was all business, and the match was already tied at 1 to 1. His first loss of the tournament.
The crowd “ooh’d” and clapped as the game ended in a near tie. I, myself, gasped.
“Game 3, Y-do-nut,” the moderator called out.
“Hell yeah!” Wyatt threw his fists in the air. He looked like he had just climbed a mountain’s peak. His headband was covered in sweat as he turned around, wondering what to do with all of his energy.
His opponent shook his hand, unplugged his controller, and walked away. I ran up to the station and gave Wyatt a hug in front of the crowd.
“Gordie! Did you see that?!” he beamed.
“No, I’m sorry, I missed games one and two, but I saw the last one! Congrats! That was so close, but it was amazing!” I shouted.
Wyatt shook his head gravely. “Gordie, I’m scared. I barely won both games. There’s no way I’m winning another round if the rest of the people are better than him.”
“Maybe he’s just a good character matchup against yours. The other matches might be close too, but dude! You can still win like you did just now. So, congrats!” I shook Wyatt’s shoulders. “You just made it to round 6! You’re one of the top 32 players in the entire freaking world!” The realization of what I just said sunk in. A rush of euphoria buzzed through my head. I’m sure what I felt was similar to a coach on a sports team making it to the semifinals of a long-winded playoffs. “Just have to keep trucking along until you get in the top eight, and then we’re going to Miami, baby!”
“Oh my God, Gordie, I don’t know if I can do this.” Wyatt’s eyes scanned in all different directions, his jaw dropped, and he became pale.
“You all right, man? You look like you’re having a bad acid trip or something,” I said, but I immediately regretted it. I’m sure that Wyatt probably received a lot of drug-related stereotypes based on his appearance and behavior.
“Dude, I really have to go to the bathroom,” Wyatt said and pushed past me, but I thought it was strange. He was heading away from the main bathrooms intended for Side A.
I chased him out to the outer layer of the convention hall, calling out, “Wyatt!”
I jogged a little further, and he still hadn’t turned around. “Wyatt!”
It was strange that he ran past the another bathroom sign. “Wyatt! You just passed one!”
He approached a moderator walking around the shell of the convention halls and started to talk to her. I was finally able to catch up with him.
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“Hey, uh, I know this might sound like a weird question, and it’s uncomfortable to talk about. But are there any bathrooms that don’t have as many people around? I kind of have a condition where I need some solitude, and I know it sounds really weird, but I was wondering if maybe there was a special staff bathroom or something that I could use?” Wyatt said.
“Yeah, I guess I could take you there. It’s a bathroom where only three people can go in. We don’t really have any access to private, singular bathrooms, if that’s okay?” she replied.
“That would be perfect,” Wyatt said. He spun around and gave me a glare, so I kept my mouth shut. “Also, I have my friend here, and I’ve already lost him a couple times in the crowd. It’s just better if he comes with me, if that’s okay?”
“Yeah, sure, follow me,” she said, and then she led the way towards the underground anatomy of the convention center.
We stood in a large industrial elevator shaft that I had never noticed before, but it was more out in the open than I realized. She scanned her badge and was able to press a button to go down to the floor below. Once we were down there, we walked across a giant circle where pickup trucks hung out towards the sides. People wearing bright yellow vests over construction gear talked to each other. Yet there was a humorous mix of people in other attire like chef’s outfits and suits. The people gave us funny looks, and I’m betting it was because of Wyatt’s clothing.
On the other side, we walked into a different hallway that was cement grey, but it had picture frames of some of the famous events that had taken place there. It wasn’t much further before she stopped us by the bathroom.
“All right, is this okay?” she asked.
“Yes, this is perfect, thank you,” Wyatt said.
“I’ll be right outside to take you back up when you’re done.”
“Marvelous, thank you so much for all of the help. We really appreciate it,” Wyatt said. He could really be charming when he wanted, almost like a switch. He paused before entering the bathroom. “I’m sorry, but I have one last favor to ask. If any other staff members approach, do you mind telling them to wait until I’m done? I understand if that’s asking too much, but it would help me put my mind at ease.”
“Uh, I can try, but I can’t make any guarantees,” she said.
“No worries, thanks anyway.” Wyatt pushed the door open, and I followed him in.
As soon as we walked in, Wyatt unbuckled and unzipped his pants.
“Can’t you wait until you get in the stall?” I asked, but my jaw dropped when I saw he was pulling small bags with a cap screwed on.
“Dude, I have to hurry,” he said, unscrewing a cap and shoving it in his pocket.
“Do you mind telling me just what the hell is going on?” I asked, growing impatient.
“Bottoms up!” he hollered, putting the plastic bag up to his mouth and chugging the clear liquid.
“Is that some emergency water or something? I don’t get it.”
Wyatt brought the plastic bag down and shoved it back in his pants. His face scrunched together, and his eyes bolted shut. He looked like he drank some poison. After he burped, he looked at me with watery eyes. “Holy shit… I just took like three shots of gin.”
“I don’t really drink, so I don’t know what that means,” I said.
“Well, it’s hard to explain then, but basically after two, I’m ready to start telling people how I feel about them. I also shouldn’t drive after one.” Wyatt burped and unscrewed another.
“How did you even get those in your pants? Have you been walking around with those all day? I saw you get dressed. I didn’t see any plastic bags thrown in there.”
“Whoa, they are not just plastic bags. They are plastic flasks. I bought them to get through the metal detector. But I had them prepared and in my pants at the start of the morning.” He put the plastic flask up to his face and gave me a hazy grin. “Bottoms up!”
“Wait! I don’t really think this is a good idea. Please don’t drink anymore. I know that you apparently get better when you get drunk but let’s cut that out. Let’s just save that until you get to the losers bracket or something. This is really risky, and I straight up don’t like it.”
Wyatt looked at me confused. “Why does it make you uncomfortable?” He readied another plastic flask.
“Because there’s a potential you might get caught, there’s no alcohol allowed at the tournament. You still have some games you have to play!”
“I thought this would be a perfect time because there will be more eyes on me as the tournament goes on, and it will be harder to sneak away.”
We stared at each other. Both of us remained motionless. Wyatt swung the flask to his lips and started to chug once more, but I slapped the container out of his hand. The gin flew everywhere, but most of the alcohol landed on his chest.
“Dude, what the hell was that about!”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna let you get trashed, not yet at least. It’s too risky!”
“But now it’s going to look really freaking obvious that I was drinking. Gin is all over my shirt! I reek of alcohol!” Wyatt glared at me and clenched his fists tightly, taking a few steps toward me.
A moderator burst through the door. It wasn’t the girl who brought us to the bathroom but a different guy.
“Excuse me! I talked to my coworker, and we started to hear shouting here. Is everything all right?” he asked.
Wyatt burped and gave me a death stare. I thought we were surely busted for a moment, but Wyatt had already stashed the plastic flask in his pants faster than a blink. “We’re all good in here,” Wyatt said.
The moderator squinted and sniffed. “Do I smell alcohol?” he asked.
The next moment should have been rehearsed because we both looked foolish. Wyatt blurted, “No,” while I shrieked, “Yes,” simultaneously. Wyatt scowled at me.
“Yeah, I definitely smell alcohol. Gin, to be exact,” the moderator exhaled. “Alright, which one of you snuck in alcohol to the event?”
We said something different at the same time yet again. I said, “Him,” while pointing, and Wyatt said, “Not me.”
The moderator shook his head. “Tsk. Tsk. Are you guys here for the game tournament?”
We both nodded in defeat. Wyatt once again looked at me, and I could tell he wanted to tear me limb from limb, judging by the flames coming out of his eyes. A hot rush of anxiety swelled in my stomach.
“Well, come with me. You’re both disqualified,” the moderator said.
Wyatt scoffed. I took a deep breath and said, “But I already got knocked out of the tournament.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re still getting kicked out of the building. What about you, the guy that was actually drinking? Are you still in the tournament?”
Wyatt bit his lip. “Yeah.”
“Sorry, but those are the rules. You’re out too,” the moderator said.
“Can I pay you like 200 bucks or something, and we forget the whole thing ever happened?”
I shook my head at his pathetic attempt.
The moderator laughed to himself. “Are you serious? I really hope you’re not.” The moderator gave an eye roll. “I’m going to forget you even said anything. Come on now, both of you, follow me.”
Walking out of the bathroom, I felt shame to my inner core. The moderator who originally escorted us glared as we came out. The other moderator filled her in on the situation, and they both told us to follow them. During the trip to the central area of the convention center, the two of them were wrapped up in a lengthy discussion. They were too far away, though, for me to hear anything.