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Taking Chances (A Fable of Holiday Shopping) (772 hits)

Category: Humor

Rating: 1.89 on 19 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by JMG114 (View user info) at 2006-10-18 09:05:08


On Friday, I woke up bright and early to head over to my local mall's video game retailer a full two hours before opening time. Someone was even there before I was, making me number two in line. Why the fuss? Well, console preorders were to go on sale right at opening, and damned if I was going to be one of those lamers without a console preorder ticket in my hot little hand. I'd much rather be one of those lamers with a console preorder stub.

So the middle-aged mom and I shot the breeze for a couple of hours, talking about the philosophy of time travel, Balkan politics, and buttsex. The line steadily grew, but I was safe and comfortable in my place at number two. Who does number two work for? He works for me, *****. That's right.

By 9:30 (store opened at 10), there were easily close to fifty people in line. Most of them would go home disappointed. Not me, though. I'd leave with a few bucks less, but with paper proof that I'd be guaranteed a console. It's easily one of the most sought-after pieces of paper you could hope to score, aside from a $10,000 bill, the shroud of Turin, or... um... some toilet paper. That Jesus used. Yeah. Holy ****.

At ten to ten, the line had grown even more. There had to be close to a hundred people, with likely less than twenty preorders to go around. There'd be blood, there'd be sweat, there'd be tears. Hopefully, all three at once and from the same person. That would make a kewl pic 4 my lj. JK LOL.

Finally, like the very first rays of sunlight after a month of overcast skies, a lone Gamestop employee rode over the horizon on a milk-white stallion. He dismounted and nodded at those of us in the front of the line.

"Hey folks! I brought donuts!"

Ah, heaven sent. It was glorious and sublime. He pulled a shining, gold key out of his pocket and opened up the steel security gate, pulling it upwards.

Then, he attempted to duck under it before it came crashing back down.

His timing was off and the entire weight of the gate fell onto his head.

He made the sound, "Gub . . .!" and then was silent.

He didn't move.

Over a hundred anxious, antsy console preorder hopefuls looked on in horror. It was two minutes until opening. Our hope beyond hope was lying unconscious or dead at the very threshold of the store, practically flattened by a mall security gate. How would we nab our console preorders now?

"Someone wake him up! I'm missing Maury!" an elderly woman (man?) yelled from the middle of the line.

Being the most heroic out of everyone there, I pointed to some dude who looked like he could've been an EMT. "You!" I said, "Go resuscitate him. I must have my console."

The guy tried for several moments to wake up the Gamestop employee. No success. The guy was out cold. Or had begun to rot. Either or, time was ticking by, and I wasn't going to leave there without a console preorder stub. I simply wasn't. I addressed the crowd and rallied the troops:

"It's time to take a chance! Almighty Providence has seen fit to confront us with this obstacle. This mere mall employee was likely not going to give us any more than twenty preorders! Many of you are people who want to preorder this console. I say we carry on this man's noble work and take the preorders for ourselves!"

Blank faces and frowns met me in reply. I was losing them. I had to think fast.

"I mean, who's up for buying a console and gouging the **** out of it on eBay?"

A mighty cheer arose from the ranks. I directed two robust ladies to pull the Gamestop employee away from the gate. I then instructed three more robust ladies to pull the gate open as the rest of us mobbed the store.

Some of the older visitors shook software boxes. "What in sam hill are these thing-a-lings?" they asked in an elderly fashion.

I leapt behind the service desk and turned on the registers. The store was filled with customers, and any semblance of a line or organization had melted away. These people were guts and glory. All or nothing. Showtime.

A screen came up. It asked for a password.

"****!" I screamed, "It asks for a password!"

"Type 'password!' It's always that!" some fat lady yelled.

An old man shouted, "Type 'Florida!' It's my granddaughter's name!"

There were shouts aplenty. Then, I thought critically. What would the password to a Gamestop register be?

"Hey!" I yelled over the din, "What's the name of that android chick from Star Trek?"

A seven-foot tall, 100-pound, gawky teen said, "7 of 9! She's a Borg, and the Borg inhabit the Gamma quadrant, a cold, lonely place—"

He was elbowed by a barrel-chested lady of fifty. "Ow, Mom!" he yelled.

I typed in, "7of9."

Success.

A new screen came up. It said, "Welcome EMPLOYEE. Please treat all store guests with respect and courtesy, the same way you would want to be treated, EMPLOYEE. How many consoles would you like to preorder? (Limit 12)."

I looked up. There were small children sucking on lollipops. There were old men with tears in their eyes. There were soccer moms who looked as if they had given birth to colossal soccer balls. How could I choose a mere 12 out of over 100? Who would I give the preorders to?

"Okay. This is how we're going to do it," I announced, "Everyone line up."

Naturally, it turned into a bloodbath within moments. Hair was pulled, entire displays crashed over, and intestines flew. It was a hellish scene of teeth gnashing, screaming, and erogenous-zone kicking. Blood splattered all over the store as I watched on.

Then, I looked back at the register display.

The blinking cursor patiently awaited my console preorder input. I typed, "100."

ERROR. LIMIT 12.

Oh well.

Twelve it is, then.

I've since sold all 12 on eBay and now I won't have to work for the rest of my life. Who says that the holiday spirit is dead?