Everything I Need to Know I Learned from Dungeons & Dragons (2 page)

And let me tell you, I'm the first one to give Judy credit for this. She's a great mom, even if most of her sentences start with, “Why don't you …” But could she leave well enough alone? Noooooooo. She was hell-bent on guiding me down the self-help path.

“You can thank Stephen Covey for your new job,” she told me shortly after I was hired at Wizards of the Coast.

“Oh, I will,” I said. “Right after my thank-you lunch with Deepak Chopra for giving me the courage to wake up this morning.”

Judy was so big on Stephen Covey's
Seven Habits of Highly Effective People
, my dad and I thought Stephen had her wrapped up in some pyramid scheme where he was offering her toaster ovens and Maui time-shares in exchange for getting people to buy into his teachings. I probably would have been more amendable if that was the case. Sadly, for me Stephen and his habits made a better coaster than a coach.

“Here's some advice for you,” I said to Judy after receiving yet another self-help tome from
Amazon.com
. “If it ain't broke, don't fix it.”

“Consider this a preemptive strike,” she answered back. “I'm sure you'll have to make a tough decision in the next few decades. Now you'll know what to do.”

“In just thirteen easy steps,” I said. “Gee, I hope my big decision isn't a time-sensitive one.”

I had to admit Wizards was a dream job. Health insurance, neon Post-It Notes, and a rumored-to-be chocolate fondue fountain at the annual holiday party. This was a major coup and one I'd like to think my résumé filled with unpaid internships in marketing and promotions (not to mention an embarrassing story about having to dress up like a chicken for an Easter Seals event with children while the open bar loosened up their parents' purse strings) was what landed me the job.

Just a few weeks into my employ, I was in the R&D department trying to understand what exactly a Trading Card Game was (“You mean these cards attack one other? With magic?”) when my boss came to find me.

“How do you feel about College Station?” he asked.

“Like KEXP?” I asked. “I love it.”

He laughed. “Not that college station. I mean College Station, Texas. We need to send you there for a very special assignment.”

Well, check out the new girl! I barely had time to figure out how to program my out-of-office message on my voicemail and I was already heading out on a business trip.

“Sure! When do I leave?” I sounded like Julie McCoy responding to an order from Captain Steubing. But Julie certainly would have remembered to ask Captain Steubing why she was going to College Station and what she was expected to do there.

A few days later my boss gave me the details. “It's really exciting,” he said in such a manner I could tell he thought I wouldn't find this exciting at all. If it were really exciting,
he'd
probably go, right?

Later that night, on the phone, I told Judy about the Silver Anniversary Tour.

“Whose anniversary is it?” she asked. “Wizards?”

“Umm, no,” I answered carefully. “One of the games. Dungeons & Dragons.” The way I said it sounded more like “Durgin and Dooggins.”

“Did you say ‘Dungeons & Dragons'?” she asked. Curse her and her ability to decode secret information. Just like that time in seventh grade when she knew I didn't pay for those tie-dyed lace Madonna gloves and in eighth grade when she knew that wasn't a tin full of colored pencils in my LeSportsac purse for an art project but rather a can of Genesee Cream Ale. And let's not forget ninth grade when I told her I was going on the chaperoned class trip to Darien Lake for the day when really I was in Rochester with Cindy in her uncle's “borrowed” Cadillac trying to sneak into a Bon Jovi concert. Jeez. Maybe I should have been playing D&D.

I tried explaining to Judy that I was the new girl, this was a big initiative for the company, and I should be flattered they trusted me enough to send me on one of the tour stops.

“But
can they make you
?” she asked.

“I think so,” I answered. “I mean, they pay me to, you know, do stuff for the company.” Besides, I hadn't even had my ninety-day review. I wasn't going to ask. “Wait a minute,” I continued. “Are you crying?”

“This is hazing!” she shouted. “Oprah was just talking about this. It's a growing problem in the U.S.!”

“In universities and on Lifetime Television for Women movies maybe,” I said. “Not in suburban office parks!”

“Well, I'm going to call The Wizards and tell them they can't make you do that,” she insisted. “And then I'm going to tell your father.”

Clearly Judy thought “The Wizards” was a collective body of nine-year-old girls who make the rest of us do horrible, dangerous, and embarrassing things. Next I'll be forced to sing Kenny Loggins songs during company karaoke.

“Don't walk out to your car alone,” she told me. “Have the security guard escort you.”

“But Mom, the security guard is a Minotaur!”

Days later, Jason from shipping dropped by. Jason and I had gotten to be good friends, seeing as how he was at my desk nearly every week with another package. Inside would be a computer-generated note from Mommy explaining how she thought of me when she saw
this
or
O Magazine
called
this
essential reading for women in their 30s and, oh, how she just read
this
and loved it so naturally she got a copy for me, too. These were books like
What You Say Is What You Get; The Key; The Laws of Attraction; Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man
; and the one I blame for triggering Judy's quest for betterment:
The Secret.
(If you haven't read it yet, I'll save you the time and let you in on
The Secret
: Get cozy with the Universe. It can make you or break you.) It was like I'd been enrolled in the mental-health rehab-of-the-month club.

At first Judy denied sending me these books.

“Maybe one of your magazine subscriptions sold your name to a book club.”

“Or maybe you're trying to tell me something?”

“Me?” she'd ask innocently. “
Or the Universe.
”

Don't get me wrong. I love helping myself. To a second helping of mashed potatoes. To a handful of M&Ms. To another pair of shoes. But self-help is a whole other story. I always thought therapy would be a hoot if I weren't so terrified doctors would unearth something and discover
I really am nuts. But Judy was adamant about the self-help movement and clearly thought I might benefit from a little paperback guidance. So I indulged her by not putting “Return to Sender” on her packages. I wouldn't read her books, but I'd keep them stacked by the side of my bed. At least until I could afford to buy those bedside tables I'd been eyeing. Maybe by then I'd figure out a way to convince her that prepacked psychobabble isn't the key to self-betterment. If only I knew what was.

“You sure do a lot of online shopping,” Jason said as he dropped off yet another box at my desk, noting the all-too-familiar black logo from Amazon. I'd been working at Wizards thirty-nine days and had already received so many self-help books from Judy that I caught the attention of the shipping manager?

I sighed, taking the box. “My mom does a lot of shopping,” I corrected. “I'm really sorry. I can just come by and pick these things up.”

“Or you could just stop by Amazon's warehouse on your way home,” he said. “They're just down the street.”

Ah, great. More advice.

The contents of that box were by far some of Judy's finest work.

I called Judy at lunch from my car. “
Nice Girl Syndrome
?” This was definitely not a conversation I could have with my co-workers eavesdropping. “
Ten Steps to Empowering Yourself and Ending Abuse
? Abuse?”

“What?” she said, sounding genuinely confused. “You're a young woman just starting her career. I don't want anyone to take advantage of my Moo Moo.”

“Your Moo Moo's professional career does not involve abuse!” I shouted.

“They're sending you to Texas against your will!” She shouted. “To play Dungeons & Dragons!”

“You do know they pay me to be here, right? There are a few things I have to do in return, like W.O.R.K. That hardly constitutes abuse!”

Besides, I thought. Who said it was against my will. I admit, I was curious. A little bit about D&D but mostly about how an expense account worked.

Much to her dismay, none of the ten steps promising to make me less of a nice girl could save—I mean—stop me. Oh, I went to College Station, all right. I even waited an hour after we landed to call her.

“Where have you been?” she shouted. “According to American Airlines your plane landed one hour and twelve minutes ago!”

“What's that, Judy? It's hard to hear with my new elf ears.”

My tour duty was managing logistics—making sure the game designer and celebrity author woke up in time for the event. Put tablecloths on the
tables. Take pictures. It was eye-opening, to say the least. At Hastings, a bookstore in College Station, Texas, D&D and I had our first real encounter. Dare I say I found the little bugger to be rather charming? I mean, here were all these people standing in line before the store opened just to wish D&D a Happy Anniversary. The real shocker? They were
adults.
And not adults with children. They were (mostly) men who were here for their own purposes. I tried to imagine what could get me up at 8:30 on a Saturday morning to stand in line with a bunch of strangers. Anniversary Sale at Nordstrom Rack? Nothing I can't get online. Ben & Jerry's Free Ice Cream Cone Day? Small servings prove to be not worth the wait in line. The chance to win a makeover by Stacy and Clinton from
What Not to Wear
? Heck, no. Well, maybe.

When the store opened and the festivities began, it was less “silver anniversary party” and more “brother's birthday party.” Tables were filled with dice and miniatures and eraser shavings. The authors and designers held court. There was lots of laughter—the kind of eruptive, collective laughter that succeeds a story that's going to be told for years to come. Most of these guys didn't know each other when they showed up that morning, but within the hour it was like a regular old family reunion. Except this was a reunion everyone wanted to be at and not one your mother blackmailed you into attending. These people had clearly connected over a common love: my strange, reclusive co-worker, Dungeons & Dragons.

That was the first time I saw a sampling of the people outside of work play D&D. They were disappointingly normal in jeans and T-shirts. Not a speck of armor or chain mail in the whole joint. No weird accents (unless they had one naturally; this was Texas, after all). Just a bunch of happy people, spending the afternoon at a bookstore, celebrating the anniversary of a game they obviously loved. What would Judy say about this little scene?

Although I wasn't exactly ready to join them at the table, I developed a protective feeling for D&D, mostly because the people I met were so passionate and thoughtful and grateful. And their stories. Some of them had been playing for all of twenty-five years. They regaled each other with tales of their first characters. Every story started with “And then there was this one time …” and ended with “It was awesome.…”

Suddenly D&D had a face, a personality, and I found myself telling my friends to “shut up!” when they asked me how much it cost to dry-clean all of my black capes.

“Is that frankincense you're wearing?” my friend Dan asked one day.

Those were fighting words. It was Coco Mademoiselle, thank you very much.

Unlike most of my co-workers, I was no expert on D&D, but I was instantly drawn to the way it was played. The inside jokes, the character backstories, the moments of greatness. The lack of competition. If you've read
Confessions of a Part-Time Sorceress
you know what happens next. If you haven't read it, go on and do that now.

It's okay.

I'll wait.

Weird, right? A nice girl like me started playing D&D! And the kicker? We fell in love. It hit me as soon as my Dungeon Master, Teddy, handed me my freshly penciled-in character sheet and a beautiful miniature elf with flowing blonde hair and bubble gum-pink robes. I named her Astrid.

“The other elves are going to call her
Ass
,” Judy warned.

“No, they're not. Elves are very refined creatures. Only someone with barbaric tendencies and the couth of an eight-year-old boy would be so cruel.”

“Well, her Grandma's going to call her
Ass.
”

Oh yes, this was a much different game than I'd ever known. Much different than those basement billiards games with Judy. There wasn't a clear winner or loser. You and your party worked together. You shared the victories and the failures. You knew your role and supported one another. Sometimes you even faced the occasional loss. Some hurt more than others. (I still miss you, Freya—the best Dragonborn BFF an elf could have!)