It happens several times every week, if not every day. Some young whippersnapper comes in and asks if we have any Playstations.

"Do you mean PS2s?" I ask.

They look at me oddly. "Yes..."

And I give them the price.

The Playstation came out about twelve years ago, and it's already been forgotten by most of the yuth of today. Heck, they're eight, the only PS most of them have ever known was black and blue. The amount of kids asking if we have the PS2 is outstripped only by the amount who keep asking if we have GTA. And this is understandable. What's strange is the ones who come in and ask if we have the Game Boy Advance charger.

"You mean the SP?" I ask, knowing the answer.

"Yes."

"$18.99."

It is at times like this that I take my chariot home, and look over the dark forest from my tower, and the full weight of my twenty years bears heavy upon my brow. I'm so disconnected with the youth of today, their cars and clothing and hippity-hop. I've always felt a few steps off from my peers, like I was looking down a cardboard tube. I assumed I was alone in my geekery, my drawings and writings and love of obscure internet catchphrases.

Then, one day, a dude came into the store, wearing a Bleach shirt, with several other young men of the type that buy bootleg shirts with Tony Montana. Because he's the original gangsta thug.

"Is that a Bleach shirt?" I ask.

"Yes."

Time for the test.

"All your base are belong to us."

"I know that, that's from, that's from...don't tell me..."

"Zero Wing."

"Zero Wing, that was it!"

So here was a young man, who could've been me. He had friends who were not like him. That much was obvious from their sideways hat.*

I had assumed that I would never make friends who weren't geeks, and that since I had difficulty finding them, that some elder had neglected to tell me the secret handshake. Turns out they were living among us in plain sight; more than meets the eye.

*I have a theory; If there is a Man, a powerful individual determined to keep a Brother down, all he's doing is thinking up ridiculous fashions and releasing them onto an unsuspecting Black public. We do the rest.



There are two stereos in the store.

Well, actually, there are about a dozen. But we're focusing on these two. My boss regularly plays music on them, through radio or CD.

One of my coworkers has an annoying habit of turning up the radios to 24 or so. The thing is, it's impossible to conduct a conversation past twenty. And this guy is standing in front of the set when he turns up the volume.

So he's there jamming to the beat, while everyone else in the store can't hear themselves think. And when I try to turn it back down, he sneaks it back up when I'm not looking.

Dude, can't you live without bad remix Christian Reggae for eight hours? It's not that hard. Millions of people do it every day. Try it and see!

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