The other day, I was convinced to accompany some pals of mine to the local Game Stop. Now, I don’t have any personal qualms with the store, even though I feel like I never get the price I deserve when I try to sell back my games. I rarely make an appearance simply because there isn’t anything I would want to buy. See, I am perpetually mired in the past, therefore my collection of consoles range from old, to older, to rotting away. My favorite console will of course, always be the computer, and it’s absolutely pointless to browse the computer game section at Game Stop. It’s sparse and full of EverQuest garbage, and I’m simply not interested. But I digress, I went to Game Stop anyway to hang out with my buddies. I made a beeline for the Wii console in the corner, and loaded up the generic racing game that was playing. Fun.
So, I am there, minding my own business playing some generic racing game thing, when the cutest little boy in the whole damn world waddles up to me, huge doe eyes staring up at my tattooed, pierced up self, and says, “Can I play with you?”
Awww, that is adorable! Some innocent little tyke wants to play a game with me? With me??? Nobody ever wants to hang out with me! My friends don’t even want to hang out with me! Alright lil kid. Let’s play.
I gave the youngin’ my best, sweetest, motherly like smile, and said. “Sure thing. Here, take a control–”
“YAAAAAAY!!!”
“Ok..then…”
So me and this 7 or 8 year old kid duke it out at this racing game, and damned if I was going to lose. I don’t know if it was the competitive side of me, or if the lil guy sucked at racing games, but I slaughtered him. I creamed him, I blew his pathetic racing car out of the water. I. Am. Awesome.
I felt pretty good about myself until I looked down and saw the most disturbing thing I have ever seen; that little boy had a well of tears as big as the Atlantic shining off his eyes, and that lower lip was quivering. I knew I had to say something. I knew I couldn’t let his sadness spill over into hysterics, or even worse…a temper tantrum.
In a moment of desperation, I meekly say, “Well, better luck next time, right?…”
Bad move.
This kid unleashed sobbing of biblical proportions. I step back from the console, nearly falling over from the sheer volume of the crying. Where are this kids parents?! Who leaves their kids alone in a Game Stop anyway, right? This isn’t my fault! It’s not my fault this kid sucks at gaming!
My buddies rush over to me and immediately exclaim, “SARAH WHAT DID YOU DO TO THIS KID?! WHAT DID YOU DO!?”
“Nothing! I didn’t do anything!”
“What did you DO?! Damn!”
I was then escorted out by my friends. As we drove past the store, I looked out the window to see that little brat was perfectly fine, dry eyed, and playing that stupid racing game. What a faker.
The moral of the story? You need to let your kids win at games, and you will save yourself a lot of grief. But…don’t always let them win. Slaughter them a couple of time to show them the what for! But then let them win again.
