The Arcade of Life

 I have had a lifelong love affair with video games. It started with video arcades. On second thought, that isn't really where I played my first coin operated games. It started with arcade cabinets in places like Pizza Hut, the Bowling Alley, and even in a few diners.

 I remember clearly the day my little brain put together the concept that I needed money to actually play. I was standing on a stool moving the joystick and smashing buttons on a Galaga cabinet. During my stunning performance the leader board suddenly flashed across the screen. I let go of the controls. When "play" resumed (also known as the game's demo screens) my ship went back to deftly firing without me pushing a single button. 

I had been duped. In the inquisition that followed my Mom and Dad were amused at my discomfiture. Dad patiently explained how quarters operated the machine. He good naturedly let me have a real play and I will never forget him saying something along the lines of," I was hoping it would be a bit longer before he figured that out." For many years following this I was constantly bumming quarters from him. I have to admit there is something inauthentic about modern arcade machines (when you can find them) and their card swiping mechanisms. 

For my brain, born in the 1980s as it was, life is a bit like being at a wonderful arcade. I know at some point the quarters (tokens) are going to run out even if I don't accept that truth. Having crossed the bridge into middle age some time ago, I have come to the realization that I haven't spent all my quarters in life on games that I really enjoyed playing. There have been a few metaphorical rigged claw machines and out of service cabinets along the way that I foolishly tried to play anyway (deftly displaying that I was making a bad choice). Realizing I don't have a measure of how many plays I have left is making me introspective on how I spend my coins. 

That was the thing about a trip to the arcade. I never could spend as many quarters as I really wanted even once I got to the point that I wasn't bumming them from my Dad who seemed to have an endless supply in his blue jeans pocket (one of those many ways where Dad is magical.) The trip to the arcade was going to end eventually whether I had a whole bucket of tokens to spend or just a few quarters. When I was a kid those last few plays were tough to enjoy knowing that time to go was imminent. I really wanted to play more games. My typical strategy was to play a game that I was good to try and get as much time out of it as possible. I put time and effort into mastering a few games in their arcade forms over the years. 

I knew the patterns to the first several level of Ikari Warriors. I got good enough at Dig Dug to be able to occupy a good half hour or so per quarter. This was enough that a few time I had to walk away from games in progress when Mom got tired of waiting around for me to finish. I am sure we had somewhere to be that was more important than my twenty-five cents worth of entertainment. I was really a monster at fighting games like Mortal Kombat  or Street Fighter II. You could give me 50 cents and one of those machines and I was likely occupied for an hour or two depending on who might walk up to challenge me. Occasionally, a person would walk up and pop in a quarter and absolutely destroy me. I didn't get too upset at this. With any luck I could watch them play and learn a few things. These were, typically, really fun times.

I don't know if all of this is a good indication for how I want to spend what is left of my life or not. I think the message I am pondering comes in two parts. The first is be careful how you spend your coins. A poor choice can rob you over your time, your good mood, and you aren't going to get that investment back. For the record I never understood why those machine bothered with a coin return function. You didn't ever get your money back once it was inside. Like Never. The attendant in the arcade didn't care if the game was glitchy, awful (which was rare for me actually), or if you block button was gunky and cost you to lose a key fight. 

The second thing I am coming away with is that it is better to double down and spend time on the games that you really love to get quality out of the time and coins that you have. I never got tired of playing Golden Axe. I would much rather pump my last two quarters into it knowing that I am going to love every swing of my axe and every kick to the little magical elf's head which made him drop potions. Calm down, it was the 80s when fantasy violence wasn't even really noticeable in a video game.

David, if you always put your tokens into the same old machines how do you find new and interesting games to play? In arcades I tried to spend time shoulder surfing. That is to say, I watched other people play quite a bit. I did a lot of talking to strangers too. I discovered Ninja Gaiden in this way. Some "older" dude (remember I was around 7 at the time) in a jean jacket and bandana ran a couple dollars through a Nintendo Multi-game cabinet at the Pizza Hut. I was glued to the side of the machine watching him play, poorly. The next time I was there I finished the first three levels on a single quarter and wondered if I was amazing or if he was awful. I found Time Crisis, Crazy Taxi, and The Simpsons the same way. You should have seen the face of the guy I took over Time Crisis from when I easily cleared several levels without taking damage on my first ever play. This is a fond memory. Some days I have the flow. Others not so much. That was a great day.

I am certain that I won't spend the rest of my life doing only the things I have discovered for myself. I pay attention to what other people enjoy, but I invest my time and energy carefully. Those coins are irreplaceable. 

I guess that is a good lesson too. The time at the arcade was valuable to me because it wasn't always available. As a kid I mapped my city through places I could play these games. I knew what Wal-marts were best based on the cabinets in the entry area. I knew all of the cabinets in each arcade. I kept a mental catalog of how far I had progressed in each game. When something new showed up it was an event. When an old favorite disappeared it was a disappointment. I valued these things for their novelty and their scarcity. I never got to work at an arcade and this too is a blessing. If I could have played as much as I really wanted to I would have mastered each game and the magic would have been lost. Life is the same way. The things that are good are best with some scarcity. Their value is enhanced by being a little mysterious and unobtainable. 

Then again maybe I just channel the fact I overthink into long rambling posts.