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It's nearly midnight on October 30, and parents are lying awake
in bed, dreading the coming day because they know that they will
once again have to take up their least favorite task as parents,
all for the sake of giving their own kids a few measly hours of
happiness. I'm talking, of course, about Christmas shopping.
Christmas seems to come earlier every year, and in response to
that, retail outlets begin advertising Christmas sales earlier
every year, and in response to that, the news media begin their
coverage of the "War on Christmas" earlier as well. Indeed, the
period that comes months before Christmas is the most wonderful
time of the year.
However, there is an even bigger issue at hand than singing
"White Christmas" in November and boosting your ratings by
inciting a culture war. Every year, parents engage in a
desperate bid to seize that one gift that will quell their kid's
bellyaching just long enough for them for "Irish up" a
traditional glass of Christmas eggnog. They'll do whatever it
takes to get that one gift, whether it be waiting in line for
hours upon hours, or just fighting like gladiators gladiating
each other in the aisles of Toys 'R Us. Reliable sources have
informed me that this year's hottest, non-Elmo items are the new
Playstation 3 and Nintendo Wii consoles. Fans have been optimistic about
the PS3, and Nintendo decided several months ago to change the
name of their new system from the Revolution to the Wii because
that way, the names of all three next-gen game systems would
rhyme, regardless of whether you prefer the PS3, the 360, or the
Wii. It's marketing at its finest, and it means long lines for
some; opportunities for others.
A couple months back, I moved from Illinois to California in an
attempt to find a job that would utilize my many skills and pay
enough to cover the cost of living in California, which is
slightly higher than it is in Illinois. As it turns out, though,
that speech the dean gave at my college graduation about how
having a degree would make job searches a snap was a bit
exaggerated. Flash forward to the present, and I've lowered my
standards to just about any job that doesn't involve either
selling sunflowers at an intersection or telemarketing, and the
sunflower position is starting to look pretty enticing. I've
tried pointing out to prospective employers that I've been
writing funny articles for several years now, but they all had
internet connections and saw that I was lying through my teeth.
Let me tell you, it really hurts to be told you're not funny
enough to write technical manuals. So how could I get a little
more income to hold me over until I found a career of some sort?
The answer came in the form of a shiny black box that Sony had
dubbed the "Playstation 3."
There was certainly no shortage of press announcing that it
would be released on the 17th, and that there would be lines and
tickets and trade-ins and blahblahblah. What caught my
attention, though, was talk that people were already selling
their preorders for the system for many times its actual worth,
and that these buyers were not at all put off by the many
potential problems with the system, not the least of which being
that each console had been coated with a lead-based paint,
making them very heavy and giving them toxic properties that can
lead to madness (the so-called "Playstation Dementia" that
medical experts had mistakenly diagnosed as a late-breaking case
of "March Madness"). All this had got me thinking that, perhaps,
I could secure one of these expensive pieces of high technology
and sell it to some rube over the internet. And with a Best Buy
in walking distance of my apartment, my plan seemed foolproof.
After all, what are the odds that a line to buy the PS3 could
get very long in a place like LA?
Best Buy had announced on their website that they would be
opening at 8AM on the 17th, and that they would begin handing
out tickets good for the purchase of a PS3 at 7AM. I had never
actually tried to get in one of these lines before, so I wasn't
sure what to expect. I decided to walk over to the Best Buy the
day before the sale to check out how many people were camping
out for the big release. To my surprise, there was no one
outside the store, apart from a couple of employees with
clipboards, probably waiting for an army of folding
chair-wielding fans to descend upon the storefront. I was
cautiously optimistic about the whole thing. Just to be on the
safe side, though, I decided that I should try to be at the
store by around 5 in the morning to guarantee myself a ticket.
The next morning was almost more fun than I could handle. I had
come down with the common cold at the beginning of the week, and
the one-two punch of orange juice and Benedryl had failed to
drive it away by Thursday night, so my planned seven hours of
sleep had shrunk to a one-hour catnap. No matter, I thought, I
can keep myself awake for a few measly hours and get back in
time to collapse on my crummy carpeting. Outside, the streets
were positively deserted. Not even the crazy fellow who walks up
and down the block all day everyday was out. I was briefly
accosted by a man wanting to know if I would buy a filthy Mario
plush doll from him, but other than that, it was clear sailing.
There was a short line of about twenty people in front of Best
Buy. A bunch of those nearest the front had gathered together in
some kind of huddle, presumably to tell each other war stories
about how bad the wait was in lines past. I hadn't brought a
chair of my own, but luckily, my spot at the end of the line was
near a planter that was just high enough to make a perfect
bench. Yes, everything was turning out ok. I hoped things would
go just as well when they finally did start to pass out the
tickets. After about twenty minutes, one of my fellow queuemates
broke off from the huddle at the front of the line and came over
to the guy just in front of me. He explained to both of us that
the manager of the Best Buy had come by the store earlier and
explained to the first guy in line, who had been there since 1
AM, that the tickets had already been given away the day before,
for some reason. That seemed like a fairly gauche thing to do,
especially considering that there were stories on the news about
people getting shot at PS3 sales for far less. However, this
particular Best Buy had proven to be a bit lacking when it came
to... well, everything, so his story wasn't that hard to
believe. The lead guy finally wound up taking a list of
everyone's name and number, which he said he would include in an
angry missive to the top dogs at Best Buy, and eventually
everyone dispersed. As I left, it occurred to me that it could
all be an elaborate ruse to get people to leave the line, but
with only an hour of sleep to go on and a cold that had all but
drained the life out of me, I was looking for any excuse to
leave that line and get back to bed.
In the end, I was disappointed. I wasn't too disappointed,
though, as I didn't bother to preorder the thing, and I was just
looking to score some quick cash, and I got to go home and get a
few more hours of sleep, but I was disappointed nonetheless. If
I was really interested in playing the PS3 (which I'd have to
be, considering the $600 price tag), I probably would have been
infuriated by Best Buy's decision to blow off their own ticket
schedule, but all I can say is, "meh." I can't let myself be
brought down by one little setback. After all, I've got to get
over to the big Elmo TMX sale. I've got a good feeling about
this one.
If you enjoyed this piece, be sure to check out:
Video Game Censorship!
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