Halo Hell
As most of you know, I reserved my copy of Halo 2 like a month and a half ago. That's because I want this game before the end of this century. Now, unlike I would say 80% of the gaming world, I picked the Wherehouse to reserve it. Why? Because no one buys games there and it would be easy. Well, that's part of the logic, as I discovered. The other part entailed why no reserves there, but hold your horses, I'm getting there.
So I get home from school on November the 9th (Halo Day, naturally) as early as possible: 3:30 I would say. Now, as soon as I walk in the door, my mom is talking to some guy. I sit there waiting for this game that she promised to pick up for me (since I was busy getting an education) to materialize from wherever she's hiding it. A little backstory: I had to basically harass the living crap out of my mom to get her to get to Wherehouse in the morning. She works at home, and it's like a five minute drive. At least, in the normal universe (more on this later). And this is all after cleaning the whole damn house at her command. Well, what comes out of her mouth but "RUN TO MAITLAND MARKET YOUR SISTER IS UNDER ATTACK! DEPLOY!" And then she insulted my game some how, but I filtered her impudence. Anyhow, I'm running full speed, ready for ass kicking. I call my friend Eric as I'm running since he lives like a block away from where my sister is, but alas, he's not home. So I barrel down at full speed. The market is a few blocks away, but when you've just walked for seven blocks and you think a sibling is in danger, it's taxing. I get there, and lo and behold, my sister is hiding in the store. I tell my mom that I'm on my way back with her and ask what happened. This is the conversation, I shit you not:
Sister: I was so afraid!
Me: Well, what happened?
Sis: This guy asked if I was Ashley!
Me: ...and?
Sis: And I ran! It was so scary!
Me: .....why didn't you just say no, I'm Katie?
Sis: Psh, I don't give out that kind of personal information.
Me: ...YOUR FIRST NAME?!?
Of course, the reason this pisses me off is that my mother has drilled this psychotic paranoia into her head, and it doesn't bother her at all. Since my sister drags ass when she walks, it took us forever to get home. I get home and get the all clear. I tell my mom what happened and she congratulates my sister for being a pent up bag of psychosis. It was a kid from her class, for Godssakes! Okay, now the game must be coming right? Well, my mom makes me wait while she takes a call....that lasts two hours long. She couldn't say excuse me and take five seconds to tell me anything, because I guess the person on the other end would get confused or something. Anyway, she finally gets off the phone and what does she say?
"I didn't go and get it because they said they can't sell it and that will just have to do."
A sudden desire to unclean the house swept over me. I understand if you're too busy or whatever, but don't make me toil for four hours for nothing. That's just wrong. And before you go, "Oh Dante, God forbid you be responsible ever," consider that vacuuming her floor and cleaning her bathroom has not and never will be my responsibility.
Anyhow, she goes on about how we'll leave in fifteen minutes or something, and then a twenty minute arguement over what we're going to eat (my sister is convinced that being within the near proximity of a Burger King will melt her face off). Finally, mom agrees with my assessment of the situation (tell my sister to suck it up and let's go, Goddamnit). We get on the road. It must be 8:30 or something close to it. We run into the heaviest traffic I've ever seen in Alameda EVER. "Oh, it must be rush hour," my mom says as she ignores a sidestreet that leads directly to Wherehouse and stays on the main road.
We finally pull up and I dash in at lightspeed...only to be stopped by a fiver person long line. I get in back of line and wait patiently. Now, there' something interesting I noticed about Wherehouse right off the bat: time does not travel there. Time is a concept that is widely ignored by the staff and to a good degree, the customers too. So when I see the lady in front of me has what looks like a notebook-sized stack of papers on a clipboard, I knew things were only going to get worse.
FIVE HUDNRED DAYS LATER, this woman has gone off the ENTIRE LIST of shit she wrote down. She, she wondered if they had all these things and, rather than move her gigantic ass herself and look with her own two eyes, she needs to rely on the clerk's memory of what's on the stock list. What the Hell is wrong with this country where shit like this actually happens? I could run from one side of this building to the other probably a thousand times in ten minutes. Why can't this moron roll her lard-ass over two aisles and...okay, now I'm rambling.
So after the three-toed sloth creature is done checking stock on the place, I get in line and pull out my receipt. Finally. Or not. He looks at the receipt and tells me that the game shouldn't have been reserved since they were already full up. Better luck next time. But no, after all that, I was getting Halo, or I was shedding blood. I told the guy to look for a copy or so help me God I was going to share the Hell I had been through. My mom concurred, and she's actually scary, so the guy went digging around in the back. VICTORY! One copy left.
After five hours of bullshit, I finally got Halo 2. On the ride home, I read the back of the box lovingly. My mom turned to me and said:
"You realize you're only on that game for thirty minutes, right? Then it's family time."
So I get home from school on November the 9th (Halo Day, naturally) as early as possible: 3:30 I would say. Now, as soon as I walk in the door, my mom is talking to some guy. I sit there waiting for this game that she promised to pick up for me (since I was busy getting an education) to materialize from wherever she's hiding it. A little backstory: I had to basically harass the living crap out of my mom to get her to get to Wherehouse in the morning. She works at home, and it's like a five minute drive. At least, in the normal universe (more on this later). And this is all after cleaning the whole damn house at her command. Well, what comes out of her mouth but "RUN TO MAITLAND MARKET YOUR SISTER IS UNDER ATTACK! DEPLOY!" And then she insulted my game some how, but I filtered her impudence. Anyhow, I'm running full speed, ready for ass kicking. I call my friend Eric as I'm running since he lives like a block away from where my sister is, but alas, he's not home. So I barrel down at full speed. The market is a few blocks away, but when you've just walked for seven blocks and you think a sibling is in danger, it's taxing. I get there, and lo and behold, my sister is hiding in the store. I tell my mom that I'm on my way back with her and ask what happened. This is the conversation, I shit you not:
Sister: I was so afraid!
Me: Well, what happened?
Sis: This guy asked if I was Ashley!
Me: ...and?
Sis: And I ran! It was so scary!
Me: .....why didn't you just say no, I'm Katie?
Sis: Psh, I don't give out that kind of personal information.
Me: ...YOUR FIRST NAME?!?
Of course, the reason this pisses me off is that my mother has drilled this psychotic paranoia into her head, and it doesn't bother her at all. Since my sister drags ass when she walks, it took us forever to get home. I get home and get the all clear. I tell my mom what happened and she congratulates my sister for being a pent up bag of psychosis. It was a kid from her class, for Godssakes! Okay, now the game must be coming right? Well, my mom makes me wait while she takes a call....that lasts two hours long. She couldn't say excuse me and take five seconds to tell me anything, because I guess the person on the other end would get confused or something. Anyway, she finally gets off the phone and what does she say?
"I didn't go and get it because they said they can't sell it and that will just have to do."
A sudden desire to unclean the house swept over me. I understand if you're too busy or whatever, but don't make me toil for four hours for nothing. That's just wrong. And before you go, "Oh Dante, God forbid you be responsible ever," consider that vacuuming her floor and cleaning her bathroom has not and never will be my responsibility.
Anyhow, she goes on about how we'll leave in fifteen minutes or something, and then a twenty minute arguement over what we're going to eat (my sister is convinced that being within the near proximity of a Burger King will melt her face off). Finally, mom agrees with my assessment of the situation (tell my sister to suck it up and let's go, Goddamnit). We get on the road. It must be 8:30 or something close to it. We run into the heaviest traffic I've ever seen in Alameda EVER. "Oh, it must be rush hour," my mom says as she ignores a sidestreet that leads directly to Wherehouse and stays on the main road.
We finally pull up and I dash in at lightspeed...only to be stopped by a fiver person long line. I get in back of line and wait patiently. Now, there' something interesting I noticed about Wherehouse right off the bat: time does not travel there. Time is a concept that is widely ignored by the staff and to a good degree, the customers too. So when I see the lady in front of me has what looks like a notebook-sized stack of papers on a clipboard, I knew things were only going to get worse.
FIVE HUDNRED DAYS LATER, this woman has gone off the ENTIRE LIST of shit she wrote down. She, she wondered if they had all these things and, rather than move her gigantic ass herself and look with her own two eyes, she needs to rely on the clerk's memory of what's on the stock list. What the Hell is wrong with this country where shit like this actually happens? I could run from one side of this building to the other probably a thousand times in ten minutes. Why can't this moron roll her lard-ass over two aisles and...okay, now I'm rambling.
So after the three-toed sloth creature is done checking stock on the place, I get in line and pull out my receipt. Finally. Or not. He looks at the receipt and tells me that the game shouldn't have been reserved since they were already full up. Better luck next time. But no, after all that, I was getting Halo, or I was shedding blood. I told the guy to look for a copy or so help me God I was going to share the Hell I had been through. My mom concurred, and she's actually scary, so the guy went digging around in the back. VICTORY! One copy left.
After five hours of bullshit, I finally got Halo 2. On the ride home, I read the back of the box lovingly. My mom turned to me and said:
"You realize you're only on that game for thirty minutes, right? Then it's family time."
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