X

K.T.: Man, I don’t get it, why would you spend that much on any wedding dress? You’re only going to use it once.

S.P.: Like a hooker.

Touché.

***

D.C., M.C., you know I don’t hate you guys. Part of what I had to do was update this, so that I could give everyone something to read for five minutes to help take the edge off while at work. I do this out of love. And the money. And the women.

***

I entertained a brief flirtation with camping out for one of the new-fangled X-box Three-sixties. Well, entertained is too strong a word, as I didn’t really get it drunk. I didn’t get drunk either, because when you’re in the cold, getting wasted is one of the worst things you can do. Or is it one of the best things, since Saint Bernards in rescue mode come equipped with alcohol? Either way, it was a brief glimmering hope, and a great way to spend eight hours.

Except, except, I’m too old for this. Far too old. Saturday night I drove down to Best Buy at twelve thirty. Still early enough, gauge how many people are out there, then figure out how early to wake the morning following in order to still get one. Based on internet information (the most reliable of all the forms of information), this particular Best Buy would receive forty-six of the tiny video game alters. So, my reconnaisance would consist of counting. Yeah. Just call me James Bunting. Based on absolutely nothing, I anticipated a good twenty to thirty in line.

Instead, I find a neo-apocalyptic wasteland, and the destitute and homeless in line, huddled around fires and tents, shivering, lonely, waiting for something. What could it be, but sustenance? What else would inspire so many to wait at night, many half-asleep?

Two brave souls sat at the head of the line, equipped with laptops. I mistook them for the hardiest squatters, only to discover later that they were assigned to apportion numbers to the crowd, in order to reduce the amount of chaos inherent in the X-box purchase process. Beyond them were several lawn chairs, and individuals cocooned upon them, wrapped up in multiple layers, sleeping bags, alien larvae waiting to be spawned, or respawned.

Beyond them, a small grill flamed upward, the flickering fire reaching up towards the heavy moon, as if pulling it down would bring the sun that much faster. Instead, its wild licks couldn’t even keep the fireherd warm. Behind that, a ten foot tall hemispherical tent, buttressed with arcing poles, tan even in the dark. A small congregation gathered around it. They had no choice, the tent took up a circle the size of a rhinoceros hoof. At least they all believed in the same thing: the power of X.

After the tent, the count exceeded forty. It was worthless to wait, but I had to tell the people at the end of the line. A father and his two sons, all seated, all cocooned. Have you ever read God Emperor of Dune? Think of a tiny version of Leto II, human face peering out, sandworms creating a second skin, writhing about, the movement imperceptible in the dark. They lounged in their canvas thrones, awaiting the oncoming dawn.

You all know there are only going to be forty-some X-boxes, right? I walked over, waited behind them, made small talk. Nothing smaller than telling someone that their hours of waiting will be in vain.

The older son suggested I tell everyone in line, try to get some of them to leave. After all, they were number sixty-five. A long shot, at best. The father heard that this Best Buy might only get thirty. Or did he hear they were getting thirty in addition to the forty-six? I was sleepy, and may have dreamed the entire sequence.

What the father said next surprised me. “We want to be part of history.”

What?

By waiting outside for the second shipment of the X-box Three-Sixties, this is how you will make history? People fight wars to make history. People cure diseases to make history. People discover new lands to make history. How exactly will people remember you for waiting outside for eight hours in December chill only to discover the store had exhausted its shipment of consoles? I know I am exhausted just considering your statement, so, you have made history in my personal recollection. I shall remember fondly your misguided optimism; though not unique, it certainly stood out in that freeze, and made me giggle a little inside.

At this point, caffeine belly was kicking in, I had to drive away, or risk standing in line just for the hell of it, to see what might happen. Now, as I walked away, did I really see a woman in a miniskirt walking towards the line, with the slightly haggard face of an experienced stripper? She had the bleached blonde hair, I see her once-shapely legs now starting to lose definition, even large hoop earrings. try as I might, I cannot help but believe that she existed, and walked towards the line. Was she just another post-apocalyptic detail, a neo-hooker working the lines to try and get some food ahead of everyone else? Was she a desperate consumer, willing to wait all night to purchase an X-box Three-Sixty?

Is that why I shouldn’t stay up past ten post-meridian?