That pre-booking of highly anticipated games gig, that's all a load of bollox, isn't it? It's a money making gimmick designed to increase the hype, right? They said all this shit about 'Halo' and there were a million copies fucking flopping around every Xtravision in the country.
And so I fake my way through a body conditioning class, managing to refrain from screaming 'Squat correctly mofos or I'll cook you fools' and hasten home to pick up Data. I then drop by the homestead to check on Pneumonia Girl.
'You're going to go and buy it now?'
'What if they don't have any?'
'Of course they'll have them.'
'What if they don't?'
'Of course they will.'
'Ring them for me.'
'Ring them yourself.'
'But I'm shy.'
'I have pneumonia.'
'Yeah, but I'm shy.'
'Oh, Jesus. Give me the phone.'
Common Law calls the local Xtravision.
'They don't have any.'
A noise that I cannot accurately transcribe escapes my lips. The kind of noise one's heart makes as it's being stabbed by a hunting knife. It's a squelchy sound though not quite a squelch.
'Pre -booked copies only.'
Again with the punctured heart noise.
'I'll try Fairview.'
I whimper 'Okay.'
I had to go to Xtravision anyway, in order to keep Common Law supplied with watching material. It's lunchtime. There is a large queue. Every fucker wants a copy. Every fucker is turned away. No Grand Theft Auto at the inn. The woman is front of me is on the same mission as everyone else but she's extra determined, Xtravision determined. This lady, this lady is willing to go the extra kilometre, to give her all.
'Do you have Grand Theft Auto?'
'Do you have one pre-ordered?'
He checks her name. She does not have a copy pre-ordered. She claims she pre-ordered one in Artane.
'So fucking go to Artane.' He doesn't say that. He stares blankly. The queue grows. She insists that he rings Artane. He does. They don't have her phantom copy either. So she brings out the big guns.
'It's for me son. He has special needs. He'll be really disappointed.'
It would be so very wrong, insulting and insensitive of me to suggest that every fibre of my being believes that this is a porky of the most porcine variety. But I am what I am. I don't fucking believe her. I'm not sure that Xtravision man believes her either. It makes no odds though, his hands are tied. The woman gives up and the queue moves on.
This story, such as it is, has a happy ending. Happy for Gimme, at least. I discover that Game in Blanchardstown have loads of copies. I go, I see, I buy.
I am now living on slimline milk through a straw. Not sure about the rest of the family.
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