I Infiltrated a 338 ARPS Meetup and Left With a Nickname, a Badge, and a Canon Problem

I am not a 338 ARPS fan. Until last Tuesday, I thought 'ARP' was a type of retirement account or maybe a sound a seal makes. But my editor said, 'Go find the 338 ARPS people. They're doing something weird in a VFW hall in Ohio. Write it up light and quirky.' So I put on my least threatening cardigan and drove to a suburb where the street signs are all named after trees and the diner has a sign that says 'Best Chili in the Tri-County Area, Probably.'

What follows is a true account of the next three hours. I have changed no names because everyone there insisted I use their lore names, and I am not brave enough to argue with a woman named Barb who carries a gavel made of a repurposed bottle opener.

The Sign-In Table Is a Trap

The meetup was in the basement of a VFW hall. The sign on the door said '338 ARPS: Welcoming Committee Orientation.' I assumed that meant there would be a committee, and they would orient me. I was half right. There was a table with a clipboard, a bowl of bottle caps, and a laminated sign that read: 'NO CANON TALK BEFORE SNACKS.'

Behind the table sat a man in a fedora who introduced himself as 'The Archivist (Not That One).' He asked my name. I gave it. He asked if I had brought a 'relic.' I said I had a pen. He frowned, then handed me a lanyard with a blank name tag and a Sharpie. 'Write your lore name,' he said. 'If you don't have one, write 'Pending.' I wrote 'Pending.' He nodded solemnly and said, 'Bold choice.'

That was the first moment I realized I was not in control of the narrative.

The Secret Handshake Is Three Fingers and a Bottle Cap

I was told to wait in a folding chair while the room filled up. There were about thirty people—some in homemade T-shirts with slogans like 'The 338th Is Missing and I Have Questions' and 'My Other Car Is a Lore Dump.' A woman named Barb—the one with the bottle-opener gavel—called the meeting to order by tapping the gavel three times and saying, 'What is the 338th?' The room responded, in unison, 'We don't know, and that's the point.'

Then came the handshake. I was paired with a cheerful guy named Doug who said he had been 'in the collective since the typo days.' He taught me the official 338 ARPS greeting: tap your thumb to your pinky, then use that hand to rotate an imaginary bottle cap counterclockwise while reciting, 'The 338th is missing.' I asked what happens if you don't do it right. Doug said, 'Nothing. But someone will write a post about you.'

I performed the handshake flawlessly on the first try—mostly because I was terrified of being written about. Doug looked impressed. 'You're a natural,' he said. 'Or a spy. Either way, welcome.'

The Lore Debate Gets Heated Over a Typo

The main agenda item was a 'lore debate' about whether the 338th ARP is a missing entity, a ghost, or simply the result of someone fat-fingering a keyboard in 2019. A man in a vest argued passionately that the typo theory is 'canon erasure.' A woman in a cow-print hat countered that 'the typo is the canon.' Barb the gavel-wielder eventually declared a five-minute snack break so everyone could cool off over a plate of deviled eggs.

During the break, I made the mistake of asking a naive question: 'So, is the 338th, like, a character?' The room went quiet. Then a teenager in a hoodie whispered, 'They don't know.' A murmur spread. Barb approached me, squinted, and said, 'You're not a reporter, are you?'

I admitted I was. She nodded slowly. 'That's even better,' she said. 'We haven't had a reporter since the Incident.'

The Accidental Initiation

I never got a clear answer on what 'the Incident' was, because the next thing I knew, I was being led to the front of the room. Barb announced that I would be 'tested for the Welcoming.' I assumed this was a hazing ritual involving a quiz about bottle caps. Instead, I was asked to recite the official 338 ARPS motto, which I did not know. I panicked and said, 'Uh, the 338th is missing, and that's... fine?'

The room erupted. People were clapping. Doug was wiping a tear from his eye. Barb banged the gavel. 'Close enough,' she said. 'You're in.'

I was handed a badge that said 'The Obscure Correspondent' and a bottle cap with my name written on it in Sharpie. I was told I had been canonized in the official lore wiki as 'a visiting journalist who asked a naive question that accidentally revealed the truth about the 338th.' I asked what truth. Barb said, 'We don't know yet. That's your job now.'

The Warm Twist

I left the VFW hall with a lanyard, a badge, and a growing sense of dread about my editor's reaction. The next morning, I found that 'The Obscure Correspondent' already had a fan theory page. Someone had written a 2,000-word analysis arguing that my confusion was a metaphor for the collective's relationship with canon. Another person had made a TikTok about my handshake technique.

I called my editor to explain. He said, 'So you're part of the story now?' I said, 'Apparently.' He sighed and said, 'Just write the piece. But make sure you mention the deviled eggs.'

I am not a 338 ARPS fan. But I am now canon. And honestly, that's the most normal thing that happened all night.