The Shadow One
10-01-2004, 07:01
To all:
When I last visited this small corner of virtual paradise, I was cursing a certain well-known computer manufacturer (whose name, ironically, rhymes with Hell) and eyeing the cashbox at the 7-Eleven on the corner. I was about to drop computer gaming like the bad girlfriend she is.
Then, God (He, She, They) smiled on me.
Yes, gentle readers, that very night -- just as I was about to embark on a wasted life of booze, broads, crime (and, the Gods willing, fame) -- I drove back across town to the CompUSA to see if I could talk them out a new computer. I know, I know -- talk is cheap. And it didn't do a hell of a lot of good at CompUSA, either. Infuriated by the complete lack of empathy for my plight, I was about to cry out against heartless corporate superstores and in favor of poor, oppressed underdogs whose lives are rarely worth more than a couple of bucks when . . .
Hold the phone. Stop the chatter. What's this?
There, next to rows and rows of screaming red Centurions, all vying for your last fifty bucks, was a single small box of . . . something call Medieval Total War with Viking Expansion pack.
Hello. Who are you?
Having been burned once this day (my mother may not have been immune from raising fools but she managed to avoid slobbering idiots), I luckily found a handy-dandy neutron telescope to read the exceptionally small print on the end of the box about system requirements. I couldn't believe it! Even my worthless, video-card-imbedded-on-the-motherboard laptop could handle this puppy. I was sure of it! I . . . I . . . I was about to cry . . .
I swear at that moment, probably in the Virgin Superstore across the street, someone was playing the Hallelujah Chorus. Yeah, that was it.
The box was marked 29.99. Not bad for two games. Realizing that something special had just happened, that God (He, She, They) was intervening in my life to keep me honest and to protect the 7-Eleven's of the world, I humbly walked to the checkout counter, making sure to say a prayer of gratitude to Whomever might be listening.
Swiping the game across the scanner, the bubble-gum chewing sales clerk (I'm sorry -- Sales Associate -- like someday she might actually own a small piece of the CompUSA empire) said: "$20.05."
"Excuse me?" I knew the tag on the bottom of the box said $29.99. Really, it did.
She looked at me like I was from a foreign country -- Iran, Antartica, New Jersey. "$20.05," she repeated.
I know what you're thinking. After all that God (He, She, They) had done to intervene in my life, the appropriate thing to do, the right thing to do, the decent and, dare I say, moral thing to do, was to point out the mistake. To suggest that maybe, just maybe, technology was wrong and the actual price of the game . . .
You'll be disappointed to know that I smiled my Shucks-I-Just-Walked-In-Outta-The-Cornfields smile and never said a word. I suppose now it'll only be a matter of time until I actually end up at the 7-Eleven some night, making an involuntary withdraw.
But as I was leaving the store, I could hear the Hallelujah Chorus once again and it was coming from the Virgin Superstore across the street.
Really. I swear.
The Shadow One
:duel:
When I last visited this small corner of virtual paradise, I was cursing a certain well-known computer manufacturer (whose name, ironically, rhymes with Hell) and eyeing the cashbox at the 7-Eleven on the corner. I was about to drop computer gaming like the bad girlfriend she is.
Then, God (He, She, They) smiled on me.
Yes, gentle readers, that very night -- just as I was about to embark on a wasted life of booze, broads, crime (and, the Gods willing, fame) -- I drove back across town to the CompUSA to see if I could talk them out a new computer. I know, I know -- talk is cheap. And it didn't do a hell of a lot of good at CompUSA, either. Infuriated by the complete lack of empathy for my plight, I was about to cry out against heartless corporate superstores and in favor of poor, oppressed underdogs whose lives are rarely worth more than a couple of bucks when . . .
Hold the phone. Stop the chatter. What's this?
There, next to rows and rows of screaming red Centurions, all vying for your last fifty bucks, was a single small box of . . . something call Medieval Total War with Viking Expansion pack.
Hello. Who are you?
Having been burned once this day (my mother may not have been immune from raising fools but she managed to avoid slobbering idiots), I luckily found a handy-dandy neutron telescope to read the exceptionally small print on the end of the box about system requirements. I couldn't believe it! Even my worthless, video-card-imbedded-on-the-motherboard laptop could handle this puppy. I was sure of it! I . . . I . . . I was about to cry . . .
I swear at that moment, probably in the Virgin Superstore across the street, someone was playing the Hallelujah Chorus. Yeah, that was it.
The box was marked 29.99. Not bad for two games. Realizing that something special had just happened, that God (He, She, They) was intervening in my life to keep me honest and to protect the 7-Eleven's of the world, I humbly walked to the checkout counter, making sure to say a prayer of gratitude to Whomever might be listening.
Swiping the game across the scanner, the bubble-gum chewing sales clerk (I'm sorry -- Sales Associate -- like someday she might actually own a small piece of the CompUSA empire) said: "$20.05."
"Excuse me?" I knew the tag on the bottom of the box said $29.99. Really, it did.
She looked at me like I was from a foreign country -- Iran, Antartica, New Jersey. "$20.05," she repeated.
I know what you're thinking. After all that God (He, She, They) had done to intervene in my life, the appropriate thing to do, the right thing to do, the decent and, dare I say, moral thing to do, was to point out the mistake. To suggest that maybe, just maybe, technology was wrong and the actual price of the game . . .
You'll be disappointed to know that I smiled my Shucks-I-Just-Walked-In-Outta-The-Cornfields smile and never said a word. I suppose now it'll only be a matter of time until I actually end up at the 7-Eleven some night, making an involuntary withdraw.
But as I was leaving the store, I could hear the Hallelujah Chorus once again and it was coming from the Virgin Superstore across the street.
Really. I swear.
The Shadow One
:duel: