Tuesday, August 16, 2011

In a brief reunion tour with my secret geek tendencies, I agreed to join a caravan to a classic video game store on Friday, a move which may seem at odds with the new, game-free persona I’ve been cultivating. It isn’t, though, because there have been a few notable occasions when I’ve shared selected bits of geek knowledge. Nothing overt, mind you, and nothing even remotely celebratory, but enough to warrant an invitation to the shop and, even better, a clever new nickname: Wukipedia, curator of random bits of dork lore.

I didn’t buy a single thing, mainly because the establishment refused to accept my favorite credit card. Didn’t have to spend a single dime, though. The store was a festival for the senses on its own merits, with its worn carpet and musty atmosphere. It was a trove of ancient electronic entertainments. My old man threw out the boxes for all his Intellivision games, and some of those boxes apparently ended up here. This place was a nerd tomb, counters piled high with depleted bottles of 7UP, arcade circuit boards, and soldering irons.

And the patrons! The patrons were, well, exactly whom you’d imagine, like caricatures come to life. It was a stark reminder to stay the course and remain a secret gamer. Too self-conscious, perhaps? Maybe, but in my mind it’s a necessary measure. The secret gamer routine used to be an affectation. Now, it’s not an act anymore. It’s me.