Friday lunch has meant one thing over the past few years: pizza. Every Friday my compatriots at work and I journey to the local pizza spot and enjoy some tasty 'za. This tradition has expanded to include not only those we work with that meet a certain standard of excellence, often directly proportional to a high G.Q. (Geek Quotient), but also other trusted few in our sphere of influence who don't mind the extra driving time from their respective places of employment. Although these lunches have deteriorated to some extent in recent times (due to the unfortunate consequences of daily life), they are usually a celebration of everything nerdy. The topic of conversation invariable turns to the latest and greatest hardware and technology, the newest games, or topics of interest gleaned from Slashdot, Boing Boing, Dubious Quality, or any number of other InterWeb sites catering to our highly selective tastes. It is a joyous time and my only regret is that the human brain is not specifically suited to interfacing with others in binary as I believe the exchange of information would be considerably more efficient (particularly when extolling the virtues of, say, the mighty TiVo, while cramming a slice of Hawaiian pizza down one's gullet).

Today was a geek lunch of the highest quality.

As with lunch every day, I was joined by my good pal and sometimes partner in crime, hereafter to be know by his alter ego, Grim WeasL. We had expected to be eating mostly alone today, but were pleasantly surprised to find that we'd have the company of some like-minded gentlemen who managed to sneak out for a long lunch. The topic of conversation revolved mostly around the (relatively) recently released first-person shooter, Battlefield 2, sequel to the highly popular Battlefield 1942 series for the PC.

As PC gamers, WeasL and myself are wont to purchasing a new title on the day of release. It's like seeing a movie on opening night: you've waited months or years for the title and it seems a crime to have the object of so much desire not cradled close to your bosom on its debut. However, betraying our true character, both he and I decided we would pass on this release. You see, the FPS genre is a highly exploited one in the current game industry. In a given year, one might see at least two dozen titles, and it's probably not an exaggeration to guess that there may be anywhere from 50-100 on the market if you include all platforms (PCs and gaming consoles). The overriding concept behind a FPS is to walk around and shoot stuff, so you can perhaps see why one would want to be selective about which ones a person buys (since it can all feel the same after awhile).

Another thing to note is that our group of friends tends to enjoy playing these games online together, either against or with each other, as opposed to playing by ourselves on a server with a bunch of strangers. Going out and whomping on random people is certainly fun, but it doesn't compare to teaming up with my pals to drop some collective whoop-ass on the unsuspecting masses. Also, getting a headshot on a good friend when playing opposite them is deliciously fulfilling, a fact that can probably only be understood by other gamers. So, WeasL and I (as well as others) passed up Battlefield 2 because it was just one more game to buy and there was no guarantee that in a few weeks we'd all still be playing it, or that enough of our friends would have it to make it worthwhile.

Then our lunch companions started verbally ejaculating about the game, and we were convinced. I could feel myself salivating uncontrollably as they unleashed upon me tales of beautiful graphics and the ability to form up in a squad with your buddies. My heart beat faster, my eyes took on a familiar twinkle, and I'm certain that foam formed at the corners of my mouth. From my pocket I heard a muffled little voice crying out. "Use us, Kato!" said the falsetto voice from my wallet. "Use us to fulfill your every fantasy". It was a stack of twenties I had recently acquired from the ATM. "We can make you whole again!"

Sometimes money talks to me. Weird, huh?

So, post lunch WeasL and I decided we'd extend our already late outing by stopping by a local purveyor of personal computing pleasure. Mmm, alliteration. Since we were closest to CompUSA, I elected that we stop there, ignoring the voices in my head that were warning me against ever stepping foot in that den of ineptitude and obfuscation.

Incidentally, don't ever ask me to help you choose, let's say, the right horse to bet on in a race. Invariably I will pick the last place lame mare who minutes after crossing the finish line will be trucked off to either the glue or dog food factory.

We ventured into CompUSA after hunting for a parking spot. Not a good way to start, but it happens. Inside we pored over the PC game titles which by all appearances were organized by, I dunno, their checksum or something equally as oblique. I felt like I was witnessing entropy on a very local scale: the longer the boxes had been sitting on the shelves, the more likely their once organized system had degraded into chaotic nonsense. When we did eventually find our virtual fix of choice, it came in two flavors: CD and DVD.

As a quick aside for those less in the know, computer software has been slowly shifting from CD media to DVD, much like how it migrated from floppies to CDs a decade ago. DVDs store considerably more (4.5GB compared to 700MB) which is particularly suitable for PC games which (unlike most other pieces of software) usually contain a large amount of data, primarily in the form of textures, video, and audio (all of which are space hogs inherently). I prefer to pick up the DVD copy of a game when possible since it's easier to keep track of than, say, 6 CDs, and requires no annoying disc swaps during install. Incidentally, the industry has been reluctant to release games on DVD media because they claim most people don't have DVD-ROM drives on their PCs, a claim I think is ridiculous (especially considering they are so cheap now and are standard equipment at this point).

At this point our internal alarms should have gone off as the shelf copy of the game was inside an impenetrable plastic anti-theft case which, in actuality, only contained a photocopy of the box cover. Some chains have resorted to this tactic to, apparently, curb theft of video games by requiring you to bring the empty box up to the counter where they then proceed to give you the actual product. Fine, whatever. The second alarm should have gone off when we had to hunt for another "copy" of the game, assuming (incorrectly) that these plastic containers each represented a real version of the game. After searching around for a bit we spied another copy on a shelf a few isles away, filed again in some obscure method known only to those in the dark inner circle of CompUSA managers, revealed at a ceremony involving the drinking of the blood of a virgin librarian. Apparently, not putting the game above the sticker that clearly identifies the product and its price is another theft-prevention system: if the thieves can't find the game, they can't steal it.

During our search for the elusive "second copy" it was suggested that we just go to Best Buy. Like the naive fool that I am, I refused, feeling perhaps some need to prove that my decision to steer us here was not ill-conceived.

We made our way to the checkout and handed the girl working the register one of our copies. She looked at it the way a surgeon might look at the head nurse if he asked for a scalpel and she handed him a spatula. She clearly had no idea what to do with it and, of course, had to go ask another employee what to make of this strange translucent box. WeasL and I collectively rolled our eyes. Checking out at CompUSA is always a pain in the ass as they never seem to have more than one person working at the registers (even if there are ten employees on the floor) and more than half of them, I would guess, wouldn't be qualified to operate a PC, let alone sell you one.

The powwow between the counter girl and the other employee went on for an unjustifiable amount of time before another girl was brought into the fray. Unless the employees have to speak to each other in some longhand form of ancient Farsi, I can't possibly imagine how it took that long to ask "How do I ring this up?" and respond with "Get a copy from the back room."

Girl number two was, apparently, assigned the daunting task of tracking down two copies of our game. As she disappeared into the back, my heart sunk. I have never actually seen the back room of a retail store but I imagine it must be an impenetrable labyrinth wrought with booby traps, moats, dead ends, and shifting walls, filling one with an overwhelming sense of despair. At the end you no doubt have to fight off a Minotaur only to find you have forgotten what it was you came in search of in the first place. This must be so, as any time I have ever had someone "go in the back" for something I have found myself left up front to die. You've seen this guy before, his face is sallow, his eyes fixed in a soulless gaze. Pity him, for he will likely never see that helpful sales assistant again.

The maze must have been a bit too much for the girl, seeing as how when I entered the store I was clean shaven and by the time she returned I had grown visible stubble. And, of course, she was unsuccessful in her quest. She came back with two boxes in hand, but immediately said to her cohort, "I don't know what you are talking about, 'DVD' version". Clearly she had returned with the CD version. I'm betting even the Minotaur could hear the load moan with which we greeted this news.

"So, you don't have the DVD version?" We asked, irritated. Up until this point we were both willing to concede that, hey, things happen and they are just doing their job. But then the register girl tried to make a sale, anyway, in spite the fact that it wasn't the product we wanted.

"Well, I heard the CD version is actually faster."

You've gotta be fucking kidding me. You did not just try to pull that shit on me and my man Weas. You did not just blatantly lie and try to pull a fast one on two guys who, individually, have been around computers longer than you have been alive. You didn't hear shit.

We both let out a disgusted, almost petulant, laugh. At this point there was no masking our contempt. Weas and I exchanged glances, turned and left, saying, "Forget it, we're going to Best Buy," as we walked out the door.

Somewhere in my mind I could hear a clip from Chapelle's Show: "Is Wayne Brady gonna have to choke a bitch?"

Ironically, Best Buy didn't carry the DVD version either. But they had plenty of copies of the CD version, on the shelf, and when we asked a nearby employee about it he confirmed that, no, they didn't have the DVD release yet. None of this "let's go in the back and have a look for half an hour" bullshit. So, we bit the bullet, not wanting to walk home empty handed and postulating that the edition we wanted was, for the moment, unattainable. Plus our lunch break had well exceeded reasonable (except, of course, for management types) and we needed to get back.

Needless to say, I will never step foot in a CompUSA again, if I can help it. Weas, however, managed to find the bright side to the whole ordeal. "At least we got the faster version," he said.

Indeed.

Tags: CompUSA, Humor, Idiocy, Ramblings, Video Game