Number Thirty-Six

"You jus' don' want me here," spat the red-haired man in the cover-alls. He tipped a beer back to his handlebar-moustached lips and wiped his mouth, gunslinger-lookin’-fer-a-fight style. His eyes never left mine.

“It’s not that,” I said, wondering for the first time if I should have been armed. “I just don’t want you to waste your time in the cold if you don’t have to.”

He spat out something simultaneously crude and unremarkable, then took a step towards me.

Oh, shit, I thought. It’s on.

Nobody on the sidewalk behind the drunk noticed. Those who hadn’t retreated to the warmth of their cars were too busy hunkering down under layers of blankets and sleeping bags to do anything. Only the steady stream of steam escaping from their lips made it clear that they were still alive.

I looked up into the eyes of the angry drunk and wondered again why in the hell I was standing out in the single-digit cold, shaking, in the pre-dawn dark of a Sunday morning.

Oh, yeah, that was right: I was doing this to get a freaking Xbox360.

Merry frigging Christmas.


An Early Start


As I’ve written before, SpousalUnit and I had put money down at our local Gamestop for an Xbox360 premium system back in late August. We had been assured that we’d get our unit by Christmas. Alas, that promise turned out to be as empty as Tara Reid’s stare and we’d set out to try and get another unit one way or another.

Finally, last Sunday, we confessed to MonkeyBoy and GothTrooper about their intended Christmas gift, and of our problems getting one. Neither minded that we wouldn’t be getting them a unit by Christmas. All they cared about was the fact that they were, indeed, getting one.

This, of course, made us try harder.

Through the miracle of the Internet (or, more specifically, because of the Xbox Scene forums) I learned that our local Best Buy would have 58 units for sale on Sunday, 18 December. I mentioned this to MonkeyBoy, and then offered up that, hey, if we felt up to it, he and I could try and get in line at 3:00 AM or so to nab one. He immediately agreed. Thus our plan was born.

Saturday night came early, as it’s wont to do in a northern climate. I was already tired from SpousalUnit’s birthday get-together the night before, so off to bed I went at 6:30 PM. I figured that I’d get up at midnight and MonkeyBoy and I would check out the location to see how many – if any – were camped-out on the sidewalk of Best Buy to grab a unit. Frankly, I wasn’t that worried. The temperature was brutally cold (single digits, often with that digit being "one"), the store was getting a lot of units (relatively speaking). Besides, the real hardcore people had already showed up on launch day. I suspected that, at most, we’d find five or six hardy souls in front of the store at the turn of the day.

I woke up at ten forty-five to an agitated MonkeyBoy.

"I think we should get out there, Dad," he said.

I didn’t agree, but I figured it would just be fun to hang out with my son for a while. So we put on our snow suits, loaded up our chairs, and made our way to the store. MonkeyBoy was anxious during the entire ride.

“You really think we’ll see a lot of people there?” I asked him.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think so.”

I smiled, turned the corner into the parking lot…

…and discovered that my son is far wiser than I sometimes give him credit for.

Half-a-dozen tents glistened in the late-night cold, with a bundle of lawn chairs and sleeping bags squeezed in-between. People wandered back-and-forth along the sidewalk, jamming hands under arms and pulling blankets in tight over their heads. More cars pulled into the parking lot and their occupants spilled out, thermoses in-hand, and made their way to the end of the line.

“Holy crap!” I said.

At this point I honestly didn’t think we’d have a chance. I turned to tell MonkeyBoy, and I could see him biting his jaw hard against the disappointment.

“Let’s try,” I said. “The worst that can hap—“

“Yeah, let’s try!” he interruped. He practically leapt out of the car before we’d stopped moving.

MonkeyBoy and I were immediately met by members of the line and given the rundown: There were thirty-eight units for sale, (twenty of the fifty-eight had been held for rain checks) and no one was quite sure how many systems were premium, and how many were core. Then I was handed a ratty-looking notebook.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“That’s the list,” I was told. “The guys up front are keeping it for Best Buy.”

I grabbed a pen and put MonkeyBoy and I down on the next available slot. We came up as number thirty-three.

That’s when it hit me: We actually stood to get one. I looked at MonkeyBoy.

“We’re in,” I said.

I couldn’t see him smile because of his hood, but his eyes lit up enough to brighten the side of the building.


Gamers in the Gauntlet


Once we’d got our place in line MonkeyBoy and I pulled out the lawn chairs and sleeping bags, covered ourselves, and hunkered down for the night. I made one call to SpousalUnit to let her know the score (“How many people are out there?!” she asked, incredulous) and to beg for hot coffee. She agreed, laughing, then hung up.

And that’s when I realized exactly how cold it was outside. Sure, I’d endured chilly temperatures outside before, but those were back in my Air Force and Civil Air Patrol days. Was I really willing to do this for a freaking video game system?

I tried to take our minds off of the chill in the air. We started chatting with people in line. Well, tried, anyway. To our right were some kids that, while pleasant enough, were more focused on keeping warm than talking. To my left was a guy who set up a blue ice tent on the sidewalk, complete with heater. He was already a couple of sheets to the wind when he arrived, and once his tent was built he vanished inside to throw back some more.

Well, so much for conversation.

Then another guy showed up, laughing. He stomped his feet, looked up and down the line, and said “Wow, it wasn’t this cold out here for launch day!”

Launch day? As in he’d already done this? As in he already had an Xbox360? When I connected those particular dots I couldn’t help myself. I looked up and before I even formed the words in my mind I said “You’re not here to eBay this, are you?”

The guy’s eyes widened and immediately mumbled an unconvincing negative. He waved at a couple of others, and then vanished into his buddy’s ice tent behind me in line.

Great.

SpousalUnit showed up a bit later, coffee for me and hot chocolate for MonkeyBoy. GothTrooper wanted to join us on line, but I couldn’t see allowing a nine-year-old girl to freeze for a game system. SpousalUnit agreed, and off to the grocery store they went. (“Since I’m up I might as well hit it now,” she said. I’m really married to an intensely cool person.)

Suddenly there was a commotion. The guys in charge of The List made their way down to us. Apparently, people ahead of us on The List had taken to crossing out names and adding others. No one was sure of the count. It suddenly seemed like we weren’t going to get a unit after all.

I’ve only seen MonkeyBoy look pissed a couple of times. One was when Mistress Betty teased him; this was another, except worse. Far, far worse.

A few minutes later the reconstructed list appeared and our new position was announced: Number Thirty-Six. MonkeyBoy and I sighed in relief. Not only were we still getting a unit, but it was still a Premium package. This was good, as there was no way in hell we’d wait all night for a Core system.

(Aside: Okay, so, what’s the deal with the whole “Core” and “Premium” thing anyway? Put simply, the “Core” is a rip-off. It comes without a hard drive, a wireless controller, HD Cables, a headset, and a media remote. Of course, Microsoft justifies this unit because it’s only $299.99, whereas the premium is $399.99. Unfortunately, to upgrade a Core to a Premium actually costs almost two hundred dollars more, should you opt to get everything. No one in their right mind wants a core. Period.)

Not everyone was so lucky. Some left, disgusted, leaving only a group of thirty-eight die-hards out in the cold to get a system.

I looked at MonkeyBoy. He was shivering. Yeah, enough of this crap. I walked over to my car, turned it on, and had him get inside. I popped in Return of the King into the DVD player so he could watch, then made my way back to my seat.

“He okay?” one of the guys next to me asked.

“He’s cold,” I said.

“Yeah, no reason to freeze our here, now that we got the list,” another guy offered. “You wanna warm up in the car, go ahead. We’ll vouch for ya,”

And that’s when the line actually became a cool experience. From that point onward we kind of looked out for each other. I retreated to the car almost immediately, and soon after only those in heated tents were left on the sidewalk.


The Night


And so the hours passed. MonkeyBoy and I didn’t chat as much as I would have liked, but we hung out together. Return of the King played on the speakers around me while I alternately tried to sleep and just sat on my heated seat and relaxed.

There’s something about human perception when it’s allowed to accept that a great deal of time needs to pass before a given event; it compresses. Though I can, if I willfully think about it, remember each and every hour of the wait before the doors opened, the truth is that there is a four hour period of time that just feels like, well, nothing. A dull, half-awake, numb nothing. And, strangely enough, this period was rather pleasant. I just relaxed, looked at the frost forming over the tents and empty chairs, and let myself be.

Ironically enough, MonkeyBoy and I both ended up being too warm in the car, so we’d step outside to cool down. It was during those times that I actually chatted more with people around us. The guys in the ice tent admitted they were selling stuff on eBay, but the truth was that, after about three in the morning I really didn’t care. They were toughing this out with the rest of us. They could do whatever they hell they wanted with their systems. Besides, they actually turned out to be pretty cool.

The other reason I stepped outside was to let the late arrivers know the score. I wasn’t the only one doing this, of course, and I have to say that the vast majority of late-arrivers thanked me for giving them the heads-up before they took off. It felt good to be saving some people from needless discomfort.

Of course, not everyone was pleasant. One gentleman – a spare Asian guy of indeterminate age -- stared hard at me and said “You trying to save spots for friends?”

I was pissed. After all, I’d been putting up with this crap for hours. I didn’t have to be accused of being a cheat from him. Still, it was an honest question, and one that deserved an honest response.

“No, just me and my son, for one unit,” I said. “I just don’t want you to have to freeze out here if you don’t have to.”

He fixed me with a gaze that made if very clear that he didn’t believe me and said “I’ll take my chances.”

Okay, rude, sure, but I had to respect his conviction. Besides, his words would turn out to be sadly prophetic.

And that was the night. Sit, warm up, tell people what was going down, and watch as the employees trickled in after four in the morning. Oh, yeah, and worry about The List, too.

See, truth be told, I had no faith in The List. I’d already read of some stores casually disregarding lists made up by campers and thus allowing cheaters to show up and grab systems they didn’t deserve. So, after the internal lights of the store came on, I got out of the car and walked over to the front door. There I saw one of the List makers handing The List to someone who appeared to be a manager. Then the List Maker Dude came out.

”What’s up?” I asked.

“They’re making a copy of the list,” he said. “Then they’re gonna come out and line us up officially in a bit.”

I relaxed. Cool, the store was respecting all of the work on the list. As I walked back one of the people in the line waved at me.

“What’s happening,” the woman – clearly a mom with her family – asked.

I gave her the rundown. “What’s a bit?” she asked.

“No idea,” I said, then worked my way to the end of the line. I then passed the info to the eBay Guys in their Ice Tent.

"Cool, dude, thanks,” they said. Then one of them farted. Loudly.

Ah, gamers.

So back to the car I went. I told MonkeyBoy the deal and he nodded. “I hope something doesn’t go wrong,” he said.

Now on any other night I would have assured him that everything was going to be fine. Tonight, though, MonkeyBoy seemed to really be tuned in to the Force, or the Universe, or to XM Radio, or something. I suspected he was right, but we couldn’t do anything about it until later anyway. Might as well relax.

Then a red-headed guy stepped out of his jeep, grabbed a lawn chair and a bottle of beer, and staggered towards the line. Nobody else moved to chat with him, so I hopped out to let him know what was up.

The moment I laid eyes on the guy I realized that he was trouble. Red handle-bar moustache. Booze-dulled, angry eyes. A perma-snear. This guy would have been much more at home on the set of Deadwood than he would have in my local Best Buy. Still, I figured, I’d let him know what was up.

The moment I got done telling him of the list and that there were no more units the guy got in my face. “It better not be ‘cause of those m---erf---ers!” he snapped, pointing at the empty chairs.

“Well, it’s cold, and since we have our place on the list we’re warming up,” I said.

”P-ssies,” he snapped, throwing back a drink. “Part of this f---ing s—t is dealing with the m----rf---ing cold.”

Okay, see, this is where a rational person would say “Whatever.” Thing is, after staying up for hours, in and out of a car and into the cold, all for a freaking video game system, I wasn’t feeling particularly rational. So before I could think I said this:

"Not with kids out here, dude. They deserve to be warm.”

That’s when he got up in my face and accused me of not wanting him there. I genuinely thought that it was on, and yes, I really did wish I’d had a weapon, just in case. But in the end he just sneered, spit on the ground, and sat down.

I walked away, pissed. Cripes, all I was doing was trying to help. One of the kids in the spot next to me, newly-returned from his car, saw the look on my face and walked over.

”What’s that dude’s frickin’ problem?” he asked.

I filled him in on what had gone down. He looked over at the guy again and said “He looks like a total douche.”

“Whatever,” I said. “That’s the last guy I try to help.” And I meant it. Let someone else try to stop people from getting in line.

After that the line got quite a bit longer. Occasionally someone would come over and asked what was going on, and we’d give them the scoop, but even then they’d opt to stay. Meanwhile the Red-Haired douche bag just glared at me like I’d crapped on his kitten and made him sniff it.

A while later eBay Guy #2 – the guy who I’d challenged when he’d first arrived – stepped out of his truck where he’d been napping. He looked at the now-lengthening line, confused. “Ain’t you guys been tellin’ people?”

“He has,” the guy next to me said, pointing at me. “’least until that douche bag showed up.”

I told the guy what went down and he shook his head. “That sucks, dude. But man, the system is worth it!”

Even at the time, sleep-deprived and cold, I didn’t for one instant believe that a video game system was worth getting physically violent over.

I looked over. The red-haired douche bag just glared at me and took another drink.


The Beginning of the End


I went in and checked on MonkeyBoy soon after. He and I decided to walk over to the door to see what was going down. A lot more employees had showed up, and they looked out the window at we fools in line with both amusement and contempt. No more word had come back from management, but the guys in charge of The List assured us all was well.

“I’m cold,” MonkeyBoy said, and he and I walked back to the car.

As I loaded MonkeyBoy back into the car the red-haired douche bag muttered something, gathered his chair, took a swig of beer, then left. Apparently, it was too cold for him.

Yep. That was one moment where it was good to be alive.

I spent less time in the car at this point, and more chatting with the people on-line. The woman who was out with her entire family couldn’t believe that she was doing this. “Why the hell won’t they just give us tickets at midnight and have us come back in the morning?” she groused. It was a good question for which I didn’t have an answer.

I talked to one tent-full of guys who were all together to buy one system between them. Well, in truth, one guy was buying it but he forced his friends to come along. “They want to play it,” the kid said, “They have to stay out here with me.”

I spoke to a guy with a Green Bay Packers hat who casually mentioned he already had a system. Cripes; another eBay shill. That made three that I knew of in my line alone. Bugger.

Most of the time, though, was spent talking to the gaggle of guys near our spot. We talked about the system, about what games we’d be getting, and about how much fun we’d have when we got it home.

Oh, yeah, and we talked about the cold. A lot.

Then I noticed that it wasn’t dark any longer. I looked out to the east and saw the sky slowly changing to a pale salmon color.

Dawn as seen from a frigid sidewalk in the suburbs is a lovely sight in spite of the location from where it’s viewed. For me, though, it meant the end was near.

I wasn’t the only one to get this idea. Tent people peeked out for the first time all night, some rested, most not, and started to break down their portable homes. Others gathered blankets and chairs and hauled them back to their cars.

Still, my nagging concern about The List came back, so I walked to the head of the line. There I saw another Best Buy manager chatting with one of The List guys before he went inside.

“What’s the word?” I asked.

"They’re gonna pull us in one at a time,” he said.

Okay, that didn’t sound right. Before I could object, though, a kid behind me said “What’s with this f---ing list?”

I turned to see a kid, not more than sixteen, taking a drag on a cigarette. He looked at me with his best Juvie-stare and sneered.

“You had to sign the list last night,” I said. “It was done at midnight. All the units are spoken for.”

“Bullshit,” he said. “I was hear all f---ing night.”

Have you ever had someone lie to you who doesn’t know how to lie? How you can see it all over their face? Well, this was one of those times.

“No, you weren’t,” I said. I actually laughed when I said it.

“How do you know?” he challenged, his voice every bit as petulant as the words he spoke.

“I know because I was here all frigging night,” I said, my good humor fading. “Hell, you don’t even look cold.”

He immediately tried to avoid my gaze. “I was sleeping in a tent.”

“No, you weren’t,” I said.

The kid wouldn’t meet my gaze.

Wow, I thought. This kid is one lousy liar.

Thing is, would Best Buy see through that if they didn’t recognize The List?

As I walked back to my spot I looked over at the guys in charge of The List. They’d seen the kid lying. They nodded at me. They knew the score.

Still, seeing an obvious cheater in our midst bugged me. I told my local gaggle about the “one-at-a-time” comment, and about the cheater. They all perked up, annoyed, and gathered their stuff. MonkeyBoy and I hauled our chairs and blankets in, too. Once done we stood outside, keeping an eye peeled towards the front.

By this time it was light outside. All of the tents were broken down, and we all stood (or hopped, or in-place jogged) in one spot. The eBay guys behind me were really concerned.

“Man, there’s some bullshit goin’ on up there,” eBay Guy #1 (the guy with the tent) said.

“Yeah,” eBay Guy #2 said. “Lookit those frickin bird-doggers.”

Sure enough, new people had arrived, and to a one had gathered around the front of the doors. I frowned, told MonkeyBoy to wait, and worked my way up front.

I immediately smelled trouble. The guys in charge of The List looked a little punch-drunk, and the Cheater with the cigarette was still keeping a close-eye on stuff. I looked over at the guys in charge of The List and asked what was up.

“They’re gonna line us up soon,” they said.

“And the list is okay?” I asked.

“They’ve got the list,” was all he said. He wouldn't meet my eyes.

Uh–oh.

I dashed back, but on my way said “Guys, we should probably line up in order and move forward.” I did this because, frankly, I didn’t want the frigging bird-doggers to sneak in and claim a spot. Within moments we’d pressed forward, ready to get inside.

I looked forward. The guy with the Green Bay Packers cap was leaning in and grumbling to one of the guys in charge of The List. He looked really concerned. I moved forward, curious.

“…and this asshole is making them all line up!” the guy was complaining.

“Who?” one of the guys in charge of The List responded.

”The guy who's gettin' the last premium,” the guy said.

”Yeah,” I interrupted. “That asshole would be me.”

I swear, Green Bay Guy leapt about half a foot. I ignored him and leaned in to the guy in charge of The List.

"You lining these guys up?" the guy said.

"Yes," I replied. “I did this because we have way, way too many new people here. I don’t want people missing out on their units.”

The guy shot me a dirty look. Before I could ask why -- didn't he see what was going on? -- the manager of our local Best Buy stepped out.

I stepped back and held my breath. Face it; this was the moment we’d stayed up all night to get to. I didn’t want to miss it.


WORST Buy


Later on, after I’d come home and had some coffee to warm up, I sat at my Media PC upstairs and read the Xbox Scene forums. I wanted to see what other people had experienced.

One Best Buy in Florida had handed out tickets at midnight for those in line and had them return at 7:00 AM to get their units.

One Best Buy in Colorado had allowed people in-line to use the store bathrooms, and had even ordered Pizza for them.

One Best Buy had brought people standing in line chairs to sit on, and even played music for them.

To a one people complimented the staff, and the experience, and felt fairly treated.

Not so with our Best Buy.

The manager stepped out, into the cold, and held up his hands.

“Okay,” he said, sounding annoyed and disgusted at having to be back to work so early, “You all need to line up against the wall in the order which you were last night. Then we’ll get you tickets and we’ll get you through.”

“What about the list!?” someone yelled out.

“I cannot be legally obligated to follow this list,” he said. “Now you all line up…”

“Oh, this is bullshit!” someone yelled.

That’s when the crowd got ugly.

I looked over at MonkeyBoy. I didn’t know what to expect. Maybe tears, maybe anger. Instead, he just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Man, I’m proud of that kid.

Within moments the guys in charge of The List got the manager and talked to him. A few moments later they guys with The List and the manager walked down the line, calling out names.

Okay, I thought. Maybe this will work out.

One neat thing happened; apparently a couple of people had left during the night. This bumped us up to number Thirty-Four. Cool. Even better, the gentleman who’d decided to ignore me at first had nabbed one. I turned and shook his hand. He smiled and thanked me for trying to warn him.

Cool. That felt good.

“Okay,” the Best Buy manager said, sounding even more pissed-off, “Line up against the wall and we’ll hand out these tickets.”

We pressed against the wall. Or tried to; somehow, we’d grown bodies. Even worse, the Best Buy manager was snagged handing out tickets right at the front of the line.

Uh-oh.

I waited for a bit, then told MonkeyBoy to hold my spot. I moved up front. Sure enough, there was the little Cheater arguing with the manager. Before I could even open my mouth the manager saw me, then said “Okay, keep moving.”

I moved back and told my gaggle.

“I better get a unit,” the guy behind me said.

“You’ve already got one,” MonkeyBoy countered. The guys around us laughed. Heck, so did the guy behind us.

Then the manager reached me…and handed me ticket number thirty-seven.

A Core unit.

“What the hell is this?!” I snapped.

He ignored me, and handed the last ticket to the guy behind me.

“What the f—k!?” eBay Guy #2 snapped.

“That’s all, folks,” the manager said, moving away.

“Wait a f—king minute, dude!” the last guy in line snapped. “You just called my name!”

”That’s all the units we have,” the manager said in a manner that was a hair’s-breadth away from “La-La-La-La-I’m-Not-Listening-To-You-La-La-La-La!” The crowd grumbled as one, the gaggle of people behind us in line retreated to their cars, and we stood waiting for the doors to open.

I was furious. I moved forward to the guys in charge of The List.

“What the hell happened?” I asked.

“Oh, we know exactly what happened,” one of them said.

“We have a cheater in our midst,” another offered. He nodded his head behind him.

Sure enough, the Cheater kid stood there. He looked at me and his eyes went wide.

“Oh, him,” I said. I was surprisingly calm. The kid, though, looked down at his feet and wouldn’t move his head.

“So,” I asked. “How did the little shit manage this?”

“His friends vouched for him, even though he wasn’t there,” I was told.

“Really?” I said, staring hard at his head and moving forward a step. “Well, they’re no worse than he is. Just lying scumbags who would rather cheat people than earn it something themselves.”

I caught a glimpse of his cheek. It burned red.

I stepped back. I thanked the guys for running The List, wished them a happy holiday, was told to tell my son congratulations for getting one, and moved back to MonkeyBoy.

"At least we’re getting one,” MonkeyBoy said before I could even say anything.

“You’re right,” I said.

The guys around him – most notably the eBay guys – immediately went to work setting his mind at ease. “It’ll be a little more expensive,” they said, “But it’s worth it.”

Still, some others weren’t so easy to forgive and forget. The guy in front of me – as soft-spoken sort who had been cool all night – said “Where is that little shit?” The tone in his voice had the word “lynch” all over it.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

"We can kick his ass,” one of the other guys said.

“Damn right,” another said.

You know what? They meant it.

Luckily, we didn’t have to see it happen. The doors opened and we filed in. We grabbed our accessories – keeping an eye-out for the people hovering around the entire time -- walked around, handed in our ticket, and, because of the peculiarities of the in-store line, MonkeyBoy and I got the last Xbox360 in the store. One massive bill later and it was ours.

I made MonkeyBoy wait in the store with the unit while I went to get the car. I’d read stories of people getting mugged on leaving the store with an Xbox360, and between the Cheater, the Red-Haired douche bag, and the bird-dogs everywhere (to say nothing of our local Best Buy’s studied indifference) I didn’t want to chance it. So out the doors I went, keys in hand…

…and saw nothing.

The line was gone, and the parking lot was empty. The entire adventure had, in fact, come to an end. Strangely enough, that made me feel sad.

I shivered. It was still cold out, and my god, I was tired. I rubbed my eyes and went to get the car.