My Christmas Story
- Green Gibbon!
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My Christmas Story
It's been many a year since I've felt a tinge of holiday spirit. Retail has mercilessly throttled any joyous, spiritual associations I had with the season clean out of my soul. This has been especially true this Christmas season, as I find myself in Best Buy, one of the deepest, darkest dungeons of retail despair in the nation. It is, with no uncertainty, the worst job I've had yet, and that includes the eight months I spent at Subway.
So it was about 8:00 or 9:00 P.M, and I was in the middle of an 11-hour shift that would be punctuated by a four hour break before I'd have to return at 5:00 AM. Needless to say, I was not in the highest of spirits, and was spending most of my time explaining to wild-eyed parents that no, we didn't have any PS2's or Xboxes, no I didn't know when we'd be getting them in, and no, I didn't know where they could find any. I was avoiding outright greeting anyone, which is actually a write-upable offense, and, eventually, find myself almost alone on the PS2 aisle. An elderly black man was surveying the games on the shelf, and nearby a young white boy, about 4 or 5, was shuffling through said games. I was going to ignore them, but my conscience mustered what little energy it had and I thought about the suffering this man must've had to endure in his early years, plus he was wearing the same kind of Kangol ivy hat that my grandpa used to wear, so I trudged over at the dismay of my legs and coughed up a lackluster "Is there anything I can help you find?"
The man replied with a smiling, "Oh, he's looking for something." Then the boy, who I had assumed wasn't with him, turned his attention to me and explained that he didn't know the title of what he was looking for, but he'd recognize the cover. He then began explaining in excited, garbled English, the mechanics of the game he was after. I listened with some small amusement to his lisped chatter, though I could make out very little and knew in my soul he was describing something horrible like American Chopper or Tak 2 Staff of Dreams. Suddenly, in the barrage of broken English, I understood one key phrase with perfect clarity, and it struck my brain like a bolt of lightning in the pitch darkness of my soul: "...and you roll and roll and roll and roll all over everything." My hunched shoulders snapped straight and my half-mast eyes shot wide open. I exclaimed, "Oh! Katamari Damacy!" as though I'd just solved a thousand year mystery.
With a sudden burst of vigor from the blue, I leapt over to the K section of the aisle only to find the "Katamari Damacy" file card with nothing in front of it. My heart sank. Since I started here, this child was only the second person to ask me for Katamari, and the first was a knowledgable 20-something fanboy. The only reasons I could think of that would explain how this good-natured elderly black man came to be guardian of this 4-year old white boy were tragic, and for the first time in my entire retail career, I could not bring myself to tell this poor boy that we didn't have the game he was looking for. I violated store policy and instructed the elderly black man to wait a couple of minutes while I checked the warehouse.
With mysterious energy from heaven flowing into my body, I dashed to the back and immediately began rummaging through totes of recently-arrived games. As the pile of totes diminished with no sign of Katamari, I started getting frantic. It would be unbearable if I had to go back out there and explain to them after making them wait that we didn't have the game. I tore through the crates with even greater speed, and I think I was actually praying to God. Nothing else in the world mattered, I was determined that this orphaned child was going to have Katamari Damacy for Christmas. I was down to the last tote. My heart was growing heavy as I rummaged through to the bottom layer, when suddenly I saw four streaks of light blue. They struck my eyes like a strain of gold to a starving miner. I grabbed the four copies of the game and dashed back out, hoping that the elderly man and little boy were where I left them.
The little boy poked his head out from one side of the aisle and waved to me as I approached. A little out of breath, I handed him the game. His face lit up and he exclaimed, "Yeah, this is it!" as though he'd expected me to have the wrong one. The elderly black man thanked me, shook my hand, and wished me a merry Christmas before turning toward the checkout aisles at the front. As they walked away, the little boy turned back to me, smiled and waved bye.
This one delightful encounter with the pleasant, laid back elderly man and cheerful little boy gave me the energy I needed to put up with the remaining four hours of frazzled, frantic, irritable wealthy white parents and their 3-page long shopping lists of nothing but godawful gunmetal gray shooting games. Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas, indeed.
So it was about 8:00 or 9:00 P.M, and I was in the middle of an 11-hour shift that would be punctuated by a four hour break before I'd have to return at 5:00 AM. Needless to say, I was not in the highest of spirits, and was spending most of my time explaining to wild-eyed parents that no, we didn't have any PS2's or Xboxes, no I didn't know when we'd be getting them in, and no, I didn't know where they could find any. I was avoiding outright greeting anyone, which is actually a write-upable offense, and, eventually, find myself almost alone on the PS2 aisle. An elderly black man was surveying the games on the shelf, and nearby a young white boy, about 4 or 5, was shuffling through said games. I was going to ignore them, but my conscience mustered what little energy it had and I thought about the suffering this man must've had to endure in his early years, plus he was wearing the same kind of Kangol ivy hat that my grandpa used to wear, so I trudged over at the dismay of my legs and coughed up a lackluster "Is there anything I can help you find?"
The man replied with a smiling, "Oh, he's looking for something." Then the boy, who I had assumed wasn't with him, turned his attention to me and explained that he didn't know the title of what he was looking for, but he'd recognize the cover. He then began explaining in excited, garbled English, the mechanics of the game he was after. I listened with some small amusement to his lisped chatter, though I could make out very little and knew in my soul he was describing something horrible like American Chopper or Tak 2 Staff of Dreams. Suddenly, in the barrage of broken English, I understood one key phrase with perfect clarity, and it struck my brain like a bolt of lightning in the pitch darkness of my soul: "...and you roll and roll and roll and roll all over everything." My hunched shoulders snapped straight and my half-mast eyes shot wide open. I exclaimed, "Oh! Katamari Damacy!" as though I'd just solved a thousand year mystery.
With a sudden burst of vigor from the blue, I leapt over to the K section of the aisle only to find the "Katamari Damacy" file card with nothing in front of it. My heart sank. Since I started here, this child was only the second person to ask me for Katamari, and the first was a knowledgable 20-something fanboy. The only reasons I could think of that would explain how this good-natured elderly black man came to be guardian of this 4-year old white boy were tragic, and for the first time in my entire retail career, I could not bring myself to tell this poor boy that we didn't have the game he was looking for. I violated store policy and instructed the elderly black man to wait a couple of minutes while I checked the warehouse.
With mysterious energy from heaven flowing into my body, I dashed to the back and immediately began rummaging through totes of recently-arrived games. As the pile of totes diminished with no sign of Katamari, I started getting frantic. It would be unbearable if I had to go back out there and explain to them after making them wait that we didn't have the game. I tore through the crates with even greater speed, and I think I was actually praying to God. Nothing else in the world mattered, I was determined that this orphaned child was going to have Katamari Damacy for Christmas. I was down to the last tote. My heart was growing heavy as I rummaged through to the bottom layer, when suddenly I saw four streaks of light blue. They struck my eyes like a strain of gold to a starving miner. I grabbed the four copies of the game and dashed back out, hoping that the elderly man and little boy were where I left them.
The little boy poked his head out from one side of the aisle and waved to me as I approached. A little out of breath, I handed him the game. His face lit up and he exclaimed, "Yeah, this is it!" as though he'd expected me to have the wrong one. The elderly black man thanked me, shook my hand, and wished me a merry Christmas before turning toward the checkout aisles at the front. As they walked away, the little boy turned back to me, smiled and waved bye.
This one delightful encounter with the pleasant, laid back elderly man and cheerful little boy gave me the energy I needed to put up with the remaining four hours of frazzled, frantic, irritable wealthy white parents and their 3-page long shopping lists of nothing but godawful gunmetal gray shooting games. Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas, indeed.
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The entirety of the past month of my life has essentially boiled down to this conversation, repeated approximately eighty-thousand billion gillion Brazillian times a day:I was not in the highest of spirits, and was spending most of my time explaining to wild-eyed parents that no, we didn't have any PS2's or Xboxes, no I didn't know when we'd be getting them in, and no, I didn't know where they could find any.
CUSTOMER (ignoring huge sign reading 'PS2s: OUT OF STOCK'): Do you have any PlayStations?
ME: I'm sorry, we've been out of stock for weeks. There's a hardware short--
CUSTOMER: When will you have some?
ME: I'm afraid it's impossible to sa--
CUSTOMER: Are you expecting a delivery today?
ME: No, definitely not, we--
CUSTOMER: Let me give you my phone number.
ME: I'm sorry, but I can't--
CUSTOMER: Why not?
ME: You're something like the 50th person to ask me today alo--
CUSTOMER: I don't believe this. Where can I get one?
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- Green Gibbon!
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Boy, that's my favorite. Personally, I would have no qualms with simply telling them, "Oh sure, they have a bunch at Circuit City across the street." However, I guess they don't realize I'd get written up for suggesting they shop anywhere else but glorious Best Buy. But even if I wouldn't, it's of course common knowledge for every retail worker to know the stock of every store in the city at all times. "Y'know what, we don't have any, but Wal-Mart has three left as of right now, so if you dash over there you might still be able to grab one. If not, EB Games has a small shipment coming in tomorrow morning, so if you're in line before the store opens, you stand a good chance of getting one."CUSTOMER: I don't believe this. Where can I get one?
Anyway, I understand the PS2 shortage because it's a new hardware design and Sony are fucking nazis, but what's the deal with Xbox? Are Microsoft simply trying to play Sony's game and make it look like there's more demand than there actually is? It's sick enough that Sony can pull this off again with 4-year old hardware.
The whole thing is sick. I fucking hate the whole goddamn industry. The passion is gone.
And what the hell is with kids and Tak 2? I mean seriously?
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Is that cargo ship still stuck in the Suez? Did those Russian planes come through? I didn't hear anything after that. Man, Sony made this Christmas one of the most thrilling ever.
I swear I won't be in my current job this time next year. I have no happy story. Just flu, aching legs and hands like sandpaper from toiling - TOILING I SAY - in the freezing cold and driving rain for up to fifteen hours a day - actually, Thursday was fifteen and twenty minutes, but the rest were close. And no fecking thanks for any of it.
Ah, but that wee story cheered me up.
I swear I won't be in my current job this time next year. I have no happy story. Just flu, aching legs and hands like sandpaper from toiling - TOILING I SAY - in the freezing cold and driving rain for up to fifteen hours a day - actually, Thursday was fifteen and twenty minutes, but the rest were close. And no fecking thanks for any of it.
Ah, but that wee story cheered me up.
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They're obviously confusing you with Kris Kringle of "Miracle on 34th Street". Who had magical psychic Christmastime knowledge of where all goods are sold and how much they cost.However, I guess they don't realize I'd get written up for suggesting they shop anywhere else but glorious Best Buy. But even if I wouldn't, it's of course common knowledge for every retail worker to know the stock of every store in the city at all times. "Y'know what, we don't have any, but Wal-Mart has three left as of right now, so if you dash over there you might still be able to grab one. If not, EB Games has a small shipment coming in tomorrow morning, so if you're in line before the store opens, you stand a good chance of getting one."
Dude, think about it. Tak 1 and Tak 2 are DEVELOPED in participation with Nickleodeon studios. Nickleodeon OWNS the rights to the character (despite the fact that they don't have a cartoon based on him - yet). That meanst that 1 out of every 5 or so commercials on that damnable channel is for Tak 2. It's been drilled into the heads of children who watch Nick so solidly - they've been convinced that it's a better game than Mario or Sly or Ratchet.And what the hell is with kids and Tak 2? I mean seriously?
Yeah, who saw that coming? I didn't think the DS was going to sell at ALL, much less sell out. Considering the battery life issue and pixel problem with the PSP - the DS might just stomp all over the PSP despite the sony connection anyways.Hey, Nintendo did it with the DS.
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