Humor
Game Over: Hostile Takeover Of North Beach Arcade
It Was Child’s Play
Photo Credit: Carl Raw, Unsplash.
Hi there, sir. I’m simply an innocent local youth with a mild case of eczema, here to redeem my North Beach Arcade prize tickets. Let’s see, I’ll take 3 of the cherry Starburst at the list price of one ticket per candy. I’ll have two miniature Army riflemen. Oh, and one of the grenadiers, please. Lastly, I’ll also take…your entire prize inventory! That’s right, my dear post-pubescent teenage arcade worker, this is a hostile takeover. I’m packing thousands of prize tickets. We shall seize the stuffed animals, that RC helicopter, the two Nintendo game consoles. The whole shooting match!
What’s that, sir? I’m nine. Nine years of age. Now, I suggest you summon up the proprietor. Make it quick, because my associates are about to initiate the transfer of all arcade prize products to our 22-foot Penske rental moving truck.
Team, start loading the Penske while the arcade minion fetches the charlatan. Please, friends, treat the stuffed animals and gaming systems with utmost care. And each of you be sure to consume at least four of the individually wrapped Tootsie Rolls. And please leave a couple of the pink Airheads on the counter for me. We need sugar, the Mountain Dew is wearing off. We can’t screw around, for we have practice later. To the Penske!
Ah, there you are, the soon to be former arcade owner. Thanks for gracing me with your presence. The man that had it all, only to be outwitted and outmaneuvered, left holding a limp joystick. Yes, I’m that kid. Grinding day after day at ski ball, whack a mole, the motorcycle game, and the claw grabber thing. Biding my time, solemnly racking up prize tickets.
Remember when you and your colleagues were reminiscing about the glory days of Galaga and Donkey Kong? I was the kid that politely interrupted you to ask for a refund after the basketball machine ripped me off. You sneered at me, said you didn’t believe me, and went back to braying about Pole Position. Well sir, you just dig dugged yourself a financial hole, because guess what? You can replenish your prize inventory tonight, but I’ll be back tomorrow to clean you out again. I have tens and tens of thousands of prize tickets. Infinite tickets.
Sadly, it may be tough for you to secure another small business loan. The records will reveal that you got wrecked by a nine year old child, albeit a maniacal genius. Not a great look on the resume either: North Beach Arcade Owner, 2018–2023, driven out of business, forced to leave town after deservedly receiving comeuppance.
You can stand behind the counter, fuming and scowling at me like Tucker Carlson, pre-firing. However, in the end, you’re going to be looking like a bewildered Don Lemon, post-firing. That’s right, I know all the big people topics, too. And think how juvenile you’ll look, telling vacationing families their children won’t be getting any North Beach Arcade prizes…because they’ve all been whisked away by a juvenile in a Penske.
I know, I’m like a cross between Robin Hood and The Grinch, such is the lot I’ve chosen. But now, the choice is yours. We can do this all again tomorrow, or you can simply sign the arcade over to me. There is no way out, don’t bother rifling through your paperwork or frantically searching the web for a cheat code. I’ve analyzed every document you filed with the state, and the small business plan you submitted through the town. There are no Easter eggs, there is no bonus life. It’s game over.
Team, to the Penske. We’ve got candy to consume, gaming to conduct, and I need to charge my phone. Make haste, we only have two hours until little league practice. I call shotgun!
