So I strolled into GameStop the other day to browse the selection of Nintendo Entertainment System games. It had been a long time since I had last gone shopping for ’em, as I had felt the need to take a break and save money once I passed the hundred game mark. Halfway across the store, I realized that the games are not in their usual back corner rack. “No worries”, I thought, “It’s been months since I’ve been back in the state, much less this store. Probably just a routine reshelving.” If only that were the case. As each second passed, I searched more and more frantically for those glorious nuggets of plastic. But alas, they were nowhere to be found.
Upon my inquiry, I was informed by the rude and most likely menstruating clerk that GameStop no longer carries NES games. Apparently they don’t sell well enough for it to be cost effective enough to keep them there. Had the world skipped a beat in my untimely absence? Had my regular purchasing kept the whole operation afloat? What was to happen to my collection now that a major means of obtaining games was now closed? More and more of these questions swarmed my head as I staggered into the parking lot. It had become painfully clear: My collection was surely doomed.
Perhaps far too hasty a comment, you say? Unlikely. This is no isolated incident. The termination of NES sales at GameStop is yet another brick in the wall that stands between me and an extremely bountiful video game collection. My once favorite event to purchase dirt cheap golden finds, Philly Classic, had now become an expo of the elaborate displays and disappointed expectations. Columbus Farmers Market boasts the same three g ames each and every week, and when a game is found that is actually wanted, it is usually a shade of brown rather than gray, and undoubtedly caked with dirt. And that, kids, is the big trifector. GameStop, Philly Classic, and Columbus. The three places I buy my games. The third door had finally closed, leaving me with only emptiness.
Maybe instead of flipping out and spewing obscenities, as I’m sure you were all depending on, I should just accept it. Let’s face it, you learn to swim or you sink like a stone. Apparently, I’m not meant to keep my heroic NES collection going. In fact, in all honesty, there’s a greater 70 games of that which I don’t even plan on playing in the near future, or come to think of it, ever again. I broke 100 games. The last I counted, it was 170. That’s nothing to frown at, people. At this point, it’d be better to spend that $2.00 on food rather than another “Wrath of the Black Manta”.
And that’s that. No, I’m not quitting games forever. And no, I’m not quitting GameCola. I’m not gonna kill myself. This is simply a situation that in the past I would’ve handled quite different, and by quite differently, I mean much worse. And if you don’t know me, by much worse I mean like a total asshole. I think it’s kinda neat that standing where there was once a guy that couldn’t handle change or adversity stands a guy that welcomes and accepts the fact that it might not be the right time to buy “Bad Dudes”. My lack of anger may make for worse writing, but I’m happier with myself, so fuck all youse. This has been Neal, and I am awesomer than you.