Sooo Ive resisted the urge to post anything too personal in my blog, mostly controversial topics, like political and religious stuff and my favorite indigenous flowers of Guam, you know, stuff like that. Just in case you guys wanted to get to know me a little better, here is a neat lil story of one of my first dream jobs.

This story takes place in ancient times (The 1980's), in a land far far away, which most of you have probably never heard of (Los Angeles). I was a little crombie back then, and took weekly trips to the nearby den of iniquity (Toys R Us). Myself and the other kids had loads of fun, fighting over the newest Barbie, or pulling the head off the newly released ROB NES Robot that was always on display. (This was back when Toys R Us was cool).

But the real attraction was the shiny flaps which had pictures of the game boxes on them, front and back (cause back then, most NES and SNES game purchases were made solely on how cool microscopic pictures of the game looked on a cardboard box. Nevermind that the game never looked like that on your tv, or your friend's tv. You couldnt play touch football with the game boxes in the store like you can today either.)

What was neat was you had to take a ticket with the price of the game written in 72 point font (so everyone else's parents could see how much better yours were), to the cashier, and then to a little room in the store that had one small door, one small window, and game boxes piled as high as the eye could see. It was like completing a quest to get the game! How medieval! Inside was something of an enigma. There was always the same dude inside, he was probably 30, though he looked about 80. He had glasses that looked like night vision goggles (I guess for any sniper work that needed to be done in the toy store). He would only appear if the bell out in front of the little room were pressed, like some badly aged magic genie, who would make all your video game wishes come true (of course I would push the bell no less than 8 or 9 times). The first time I saw him, I thought, "now that's an awesome job!".

Over the course of many games that we bought there, me and the mysterious guy in the box began to bond. Oh sure, he didnt say anything and neither did I, but it was the little things I noticed. Like the way he'd pretend not to know me, even though I'd been there about 20 times during the year. Or the gruff way he'd look at me and say, "hurry up kid, I've got an ulcer the size of a watermelon", while I was passing him the ticket. He was kind of like an uncle we visited every now and then who didnt bother to send me gifts on holidays and never showed up for family reunions (thankfully).

I'd often wonder what else went on in that little room, when I wasnt there. Did they let the guy out at night to frolic in the parking lot, when no one else was around? Was he allowed carte blanche at the nearby gumball machine? Its odd, but some unnamed guy in a little room had a profound impact on my gaming habits, at least at a young age.

Sadly, Toys R Us discontinued the little room and my dream job went with it. I like to think the guy moved on to better things, while still doing what he loved, like chasing groups of kids off with a jovial, "get out of here, you punk kids!", a big mac in one hand, a power glove in the other. (Come to think of it, he was a little on the chunky side).