Oh, Those Wacky Cash Registers

The cash registers at the GameStop where I work on holidays, like all last week, are a vicious lot. Some of you may think, "But they're just cash registers, no brains in their heads, no heads even, only slightly more intelligent than Scientologists! How can they possibly possess such a personified quirk as viciousness?" Well, I highly doubt any of you actually thought that. I've yet to meet a person who speaks and writes the way I do, and I guess the thought process engenders the writing process. You probably thought something more along the lines of "Cash registers? Vicious? How?" or "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Nevertheless. They hate me. Nobody else seems to have a problem with them, except for me, and I will mention why: They like to shoot out their drawers and hit me in a certain area of my body which I will genteely avoid mentioning by name, and instead I will refer to with popular brands of farm equipment. Why I chose farm equipment, I couldn't say. It just seemed like a good idea at the time.

So basically this is the situation. We have three cash registers at the store - normally we have two, but this time of year we have three, to handle the increased customer load caused by the holiday season. Let me intrude slightly onto my narrative, which I haven't even really begun yet, to mention that I really, really wish people would not go into the store without even the first inkling of an idea of what they're going to get. I understand that not everybody knows games, and I'm okay with that. Nobody's perfect, after all. But if you get the idea into your head that you're going to buy a game for your son or nephew or boyfriend (the girlfriends are usually better at this, it's probably the generation gap that has the older folks floundering), at least attempt to establish a vague idea of what you're doing.

At least once or twice a day, someone will point into the PS2 or Xbox or PSP or whatever section and say "I want a Mario game for that." Usually, they will understand when I tell them that Mario games are only on certain consoles. But I get the occasional "I'm older than you, you're just a kid, therefore I am always right and you are always wrong" person who insists that in fact, there are Mario games on that system, and I am wrong - or worse, deliberately lying to them, in order to...I don't know, make my store lose business or something. These people make me want to gnaw my own ears off in rage.

A few other things that annoy me about working there:

- People who get offended when I don't know every feature of every game, ever. No amount of saying "I don't play sports games at all" will divert some people from grilling me on every aspect of a six-year-old hockey game for a system I never owned.

- People who are infuriatingly vague about a game they want, that may not even technically exist. One gentleman asked me for the game "where you were a cat, and ran through the jungle...can't you look it up?" I now sympathize with librarians everywhere.

- People who barely speak English. This isn't a complaint unique to game stores, but come on, at least bring someone with you who knows a semi-decent amount of English.

- People who are convinced I'm trying to scam them when I offer discount cards and pre-orders of games. The discount cards may or may not be a scam, but honestly, if you're going to buy a game, there's no real reason not to reserve it. Not like it costs anything or puts you under any obligation - you can cancel at any time. Besides, it's my job to ask if you want these things.

- People who bring in an opened Xbox that they purchased thirteen months ago, sans extended warranty, but bearing a tattered and stained receipt, that turns out to be from a store two states away, and scream that I'm robbing them when I point out our return policy - the one that is printed on the very receipt they are brandishing - clearly states that they can in no way do what they are trying to do; who then go on to demand to speak to my manager, the result of which is that he staggers into the back room fifteen minutes later and puts his face in his hands, a broken shell of a man. (Well, this isn't really "people" so much as it is "one jerk," but at least he didn't get his refund. I would have never forgiven my boss if he had given in.)

- Et cetera.

Let me note that these people represent but a small fraction of the customers I deal with daily. Most of the people I serve are in fact decent human beings who either know enough about games to get by or, failing that, are willing to admit their game-related ignorance so that I might aid them. But the idiots stand out, I've always believed.

Well, that's that. Now to my main story.

There are three cash registers in the shop. One's just for the holiday season. The other two, well, they're malevolent year-round. One of them I have nicknamed The Tyson, because that's how it hits - fast, hard, and without mercy. The first time I was naive enough to stand directly against the countertop when the drawer popped open, it erupted from the register like a Polaris missile and slammed into my John Deere so hard that my eyebrows burst into flames. After a few more painful experiences, I learned to dodge away before the drawer began its dynamic entry. I swear, the first time I managed to evade its onslaught, I heard the drawer grumble to itself in disappointment as I shut it. Occasionally I slip, though, and during the busy periods I must grit my teeth and power through the pain, but when the store is relatively empty, my coworkers can always be counted on to offer a humorous quip as to why I am on the floor in a fetal position, tears streaming from my eyes, frozen in an agonizing self-embrace that makes me look like a prolapsed question mark.

The second one seems much less threatening, at first. This one I have called The Juggernaut. It does not move quickly like The Tyson does; to the contrary, it grinds out of its drawer slowly and ponderously. When I first jumped ship to the second register, after being thoroughly soured on the first, I realized with glee that I could easily avoid the register. No more shots to the ol' Masey-Ferguson for me, I declared. But, unfortunately, this caused complacence. Despite the wide breadth of time I had to escape the groin-crushing doom, I would frequently slip out of the way with only a fraction of a second to spare. I naively assumed that there would be no trouble at all - even if it did hit me, what damage could it do? So once, I didn't even bother dodging.

Big. Mistake.

It was precisely then that I realized that the drawer possessed the quality that made me liken it to the famous X-Men villain: It is absolutely unstoppable. It moves slowly, but no object can check its momentum. The inexorable force of its impact left me reeling, and I staggered back only just in time. Had I been a moment too late, it would have pushed my pelvis out through my spinal column. I theorize that I could break into bank vaults by pushing my way through the heavy steel doors, a little at a time, with this register as my only tool.

The third register is only a seasonal offender, and for that I have christened it The Kringle. It does not move fast like The Tyson, or unstoppably like The Juggernaut. Instead, its weapon is the element of surprise. For you see, this register is several inches higher up than the other two. Upon glimpsing the placement of this register for the first time, I smiled in delight: no matter its impact, it hitting my stomach was preferable to it crashing into my Caterpillar. I still dodged its attack, out of sheer habit, but one day I was busy and neglected to make the necessary defensive maneuvers. Even as a small corner of my brain shrieked in alarm at the advancing drawer, the rest of my brain shrugged it off. We can take a hit to the belly, it said. No biggie.

Yes, biggie. I had neglected to examine the precise placement of both this register and the other two. For you see, the other two registers hit me with the top edge of their drawers, adding semi-sharpness to their already formidable arsenals. Apparently, the gap was just enough that the bottom part of the third drawer still managed to score a direct hit on my Tonka. (All right, I don't know that many farm equipment brands. Tonka makes tractors and trucks, just tiny ones.) One might think that this would only be a problem once, and as this drawer lacks the special properties of the other two, I would be in the clear. If one would think that, it would only serve to prove that one does not know me very well. I'm constantly forgetting stuff like that. So without fail, every few minutes, the memory fades like a cheap pair of jeans, and once more I sink to the floor, cursing profusely.

If a crook were to come in and rob the store, I would endeavor to have him stand in front of the register when I opened it. That way, while he was curled up and weeping on the floor, I could call the police or simply stroll to the station down the road and find a cop - he's not going anywhere. Even if he tries to stand up, he'll bang his head on the open drawer, and then down he goes again.

The Luke-Approved YouTube Link of the Day is this little ditty: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFOz-hLhpsU In the game Guitar Hero II, there exists a song of legendary difficulty known as "Jordan." This game was the first to ever feature a recording of this song, which is extraordinarily hard to play. The person who plays this song does not get it perfect, but he 5-stars it with 88% notes hit, and this is the best-quality high-score video I could find of it. Enjoy, and revel in its difficulty.

REPLIES.

Mom: Yes, that would have been awkward. I couldn't exactly ask for a trash can and conceal my trash from him.

Jake: Well, good. At least if I'm not persuading or informing, I'm entertaining, and that's the third legitimate usage of communication. One out of three ain't bad, says I. And you kind of went off on a weird tangent with the end of that.

Michelle: Awesomesauce. Love you too.

To the person who I know only as Anonymous: Feel free to email me at gthunder@ufl.edu, and I will be willing to speak with you on this in a less public manner. My only real comment is: Yes, I know, we know, we've known for years, we do give a damn, but remind us exactly what it is we can do about it that we haven't tried? (To anyone who doesn't know what this is about: It's better that way.)

Steve: A fine line that I walk daily. And I wouldn't consider an exploding star on wheat bread to be a normal breakfast.

Dad: Maybe not only me, but I'm certainly one of a select few.

Travis: Yes, my purist ways save me in an unexpected fashion. You'll have to show me how to embed images like that.

I'm out.