Short Story: The Night of Halo 3

Heyo. In lieu of a regular post, tonight I'm going to share with y'all something special. See, I was speaking with one of my journalism professors, and expressed my interest in getting into video gaming journalism. He suggested that the Gainesville Sun has a writer who does a weekly column on games, and that maybe I should write the editor with a sample piece and see what he thinks. He added that I could add his personal recommendation, and that this meant a lot because he and the aforesaid editor were friends.

So I did a story based on my wait in line for Halo 3 and emailed it to him. It's too long for a traditional column, but it's only meant to be an example. I'm posting it here. Tell me what you think.

And by that I mean comment, darn it. I can't be having with 1 or 2 measly comments per post. I live and breathe from those. They're...they're feedback. They're all I have. They're the only assurances that anyone at all is reading this malarkey.

Anyway. Story time.
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My girlfriend and I pulled into the food court parking lot around 8:30 or so. She was driving. I had no car, and while a bus would have taken me there, no bus would have operated late enough to take me back. Getting there early was crucial. Though the game could only be sold starting at midnight, a good spot in line would be essential. She wouldn’t normally have come, not being a big gamer herself, but I had asked and she had agreed.

As we approached the GameStop, there was not yet any evidence that tonight was going to be the release of one of the most highly anticipated games in a decade. We stopped inside briefly. My girlfriend flipped idly through a World of WarCraft strategy guide and looked with some interest at the PlayStation 3 demo unit. I spoke to the manager, asking him if my employee discount would still apply to the purchase of the game tonight. He seemed too busy to look into it immediately; I did not blame him. This would be a busy night for him. I wrote down the phone number of the GameStop where I had worked over the summer, thanked him, and the two of us departed.

Around 8:50, a minor crowd had built up outside the doors to the mall. It had been decreed, an employee had told me, that we could not wait inside the mall proper until 10:00. There was much discontent as to this ruling, and grumbling about foolish mall policies. Later, we found out the reason. The security personnel had to create a barrier, making sure we stayed in an orderly line inside the mall, not straying into the rest of the building.

By 9:30, there were two lines in place. There were two game stores in the mall, each of which had accepted many pre-orders for the game. There were taunts floating back and forth across the evening air about the merits of one line versus the other. Two people in particular, one from each line, repeatedly called out to each other, each attempting to anger the other enough to make him come over, thus losing his place in line. It never happened. Insults held no power to people dedicated enough to stand in line for three hours on a Monday night for a video game.

I had found some friends. Two stood out in particular, a solidly built fellow student, who I’ll call “Ivan,” and a younger boy, only 15 years old, who I’ll call “Steve.” Steve in particular was in anguish about his evening. He was not old enough to buy the game on his own, as GameStop will not sell M-rated games to people under 17. Calling his father to come buy it with him was proving fruitless. We assured him that something would turn up to allow him to take home his game.
The store, or perhaps the mall, had thoughtfully provided ice chests full of cans of Mountain Dew for the line-goers. A good thing, too, as by this time, the number of people in line surely counted in the hundreds. A fire truck pulled up, to general interest and whispered rumors that a fire in the back rooms had burned up all the copies of the game. To our amusement, two firemen came out and joined the line. The joke went around that they had left a message at the firehouse, asking politely that the citizens of Gainesville not set fire to anything while they were gone.

Ivan showed me his iPhone, the new and ridiculously expensive gadget from Apple. We were all much impressed, and I in particular spent several minutes gleefully manipulating the touch-screen. I tend to be enraptured by high-tech devices such as those. During all this, my girlfriend was sitting on a nearby bench, on her laptop. She was writing an essay for her Introduction to Buddhism class. This kept her occupied until her laptop battery ran out.

10:00 rolled around, and those of us fortunate to be at the head of the line (myself among them) fairly skittered about in our anticipation. A friendly security officer, to whom we had spoken earlier, informed the crowd that we were not to disturb the barriers he had erected. He had spent a long time setting them up, he said, and assured us in no uncertain terms that he would come down like a ton of bricks on the first person to disrespect their presence. We agreed quickly, anxious to get inside. As I passed the barriers, I noted that they were, in fact, just yellow caution tape strung between poles and chairs. They were mainly symbolic in any case.

As it happened, there were to be two lines for each store. The first line’s purpose was to verify the fact that we had pre-orders, and to pay off any remaining balance left owed. The second line was for people who had already paid, to wait in order for their games to be handed out. Upon my inquiry, the harried-looking manager recalled our earlier conversation. No, he said, I could not use my discount. It had been more than six weeks since I worked at a GameStop; I had been removed from the system. Chagrined, I paid the remaining balance and resettled in the second line.

Ivan and Steve joined me shortly after. Steve was jubilant; he had found a way to trick the system. Ivan had affirmed that he was Steve’s step-brother, and thus an over-17 parent or guardian had been confirmed. We sat down on the edge of the store. I was fifth in line to receive my copy of the game; Ivan and Steve, due to some confusion on our parts, slightly ahead of me.

Ivan produced a pack of cards, and we played a few games of Egyptian poker, which I still believe he made up on the spot. Cards soon lost their appeal, and we began an animated conversation. As it happened, Ivan was a fan of a popular trading card game, Magic: the Gathering ™, which I have followed zealously for a long time. He had not played in years, and urged me to acquaint him with the cards that had been printed in his absence from the game. A breathless account on my part revealed to him many of the more recent cards, and he affirmed that he wished to get back into the game.

My girlfriend had found an empty outlet in the wall of the store. A quick plea to the manager had won her the right to use it to power her laptop. Even more interestingly, she found a wireless network in the store, which she speedily connected to. She then started up World of WarCraft, to the astonishment of all around, and the envy of several. Thus engaged, she began speaking with the people behind us in line, who expressed an interest in the game.

Time passed, as it does. The hour of midnight grew near. Anticipation increased among the people in both lines. I ventured out of the store to observe the scene behind us. The line to pay, the first line, was still out the door, while the line of those that had already paid stretched out of my line of sight, behind a wall. I congratulated myself quietly on having had the foresight to come early. It would surely save me time later. Ivan and Steve were growing restless, as was I. A few sentences of desultory conversation trailed off; none of our minds were on anything but the game we were about to receive. My girlfriend ended her session of World of WarCraft and put her laptop away. The hour, as they say, was nigh.

Finally, with a cheer from the denizens of the line, it had begun. Midnight had officially occurred. The first few copies of the game were handed out. Ivan assured me that we would meet online. Earlier, he had taken care to write down all of our “gamertags”, the online names we used to identify ourselves in the game. He promised to email me a copy of the list from his iPhone. He received his copy of the game, and smiling broadly, strode away.

Steve was next. He had paid the premium and received the “Legendary” edition of the game, so named for the hardest difficulty setting on which it could be played. This edition contained not only the game, but several special-edition DVDs containing extra material, and a replica of the helmet of the Master Chief, the hero of the game. He took the large black box, and walking outside, held it high for all to see. He had the first Legendary copy. A roar arose from the lines, and Steve jubilantly walked out.

The moment of truth. The clerk behind the wall of boxes studied my receipt and my photo ID. A match was assured. He asked what copy I had bought. I replied that I had purchased only the ordinary copy. A game box was plucked from a nearby crate and bagged. As I took the bag, I felt tremendously elated, as one might who has just completed some onerous task. My girlfriend asked to hold the game. I allowed her to do so, gently reminding her not to open it. That was to be my privilege.

We walked out, past both lines. As we exited the mall, we noted that the line to purchase stretched out the door and down the sidewalk quite a ways. I felt a twinge of sympathy for those who had arrived perhaps twenty minutes later than I, and now had to wait an hour or more extra. But there was no room in my heart for sympathy. I had the game. I climbed into my girlfriend’s car, closed the door, and buckled my seatbelt.

Halo 3. The end of a mighty trilogy of games. Would it live up to the hype? Given the astronomical levels of hype and supposition, almost certainly not. But, I thought as my girlfriend pulled out of the parking lot, it didn’t have to be the ultimate experience of my life. It was, after all, only a game.
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And this I sent to a professional newspaper editor. How foolish am I? I don't know, do I? Nobody seems to want to give me their opinions.

Oh, yeah, one last thing. The physics test was this morning. It was about as hard as I thought it would be, and I'm fairly confident I did well.

Until next time.