Late to the Game: An Arcade Memoir.
I watched them, with my hands gripped on the edge of the air hockey table enter the arcade. In baby blue jumpsuits and leather boots they moved towards the pinball machines. I was horrified at what I saw. My air hockey opponent was ecstatic.
“Here they come!” Jose was three years older and obviously much cooler than I.
“What are they doing?” I asked.
“Asteroids is coming!”
“Hey,” he yelled at the token guy, “Are they bringing Asteroids?”
“What is Astreroi — what are they doing the the pinball machines?” I was screaming.
“Calm down, they’re going to bring Asteroids and Pac-Man.” I knew enough to know that I was totally out of the loop. I watched the Baby Blues unplug, then dismantle, then remove every last pinball machine.
“Are you gonna play?” My partner asked. He wanted to leave the game, but I had to fulfill my contract with the quarter I just sunk into the machine.
“Fine.” SWACK! I plunged the hockey puck into the goal. We exchanged middle fingers, and continued to volley like unskilled tennis players.
“Well hurry up.” He kept looking over his shoulder at the Baby Blues. “I want to be the first to play Asteroids.”
Clueless, I looked over my shoulder at the incoming cabinets. They were large colorful cabinets with low dark TV monitors and a shitload of buttons. I had no clue what was going on and as I write this I can see why.
I had no context for the video game revolution of 1980 whatever. I did not own a video game console, we were not using video games in school and most importantly, I was a 10 year old girl.
Being both nerd and tomboy did not protect me from the gender discrimination that continues today. Although my friends were boys, I was subtly kicked out of D&D when I wanted to make maps. After school, while I played baseball, listened to the Mighty 690, and read Wrinkle in Time; my latch key, male counter parts played baseball, became D &D Masters and swarmed 7–11 for the latest gaming experiences. My best friend and fellow latch key kid on the other end of the air hockey table mentioned playing games at other friends’ homes and at 7–11, but I must admit I usually had no idea what he was talking about. In fact I remember thinking, “how does he play Pong at 7–11?”
Back to the arcade.
“I won!” Jose flung his arms in the air. It was always questionable. Ok, maybe it wasn’t. He raced over slapped me on the shoulder so hard my afropuffs came loose.
“Come on, let’s play this!”
“This,” was Asteroids. He might as well have said, “Let’s smoke butterfly wings,” or “Let’s eat unicorn ash!” He led me over to the dark side.
We were an odd a pair and often got teased by our partnership but it worked. So, I trusted his judgement not knowing this new world would soon be the end of so many good things.
It seemed like the screen flashed, “GAME OVER,” as soon as I put a quarter in it. That’s when anxiety began. I usually got two hours of arcade time out of a dollar and a partner. Today, that time was cut significantly. I heard my mother, who gave me a dollar each weekend, mumbling about the value of single parent money in my ear.
“What the fuck just happened?” I used my serious ten year old language skills.
“Here, watch me.” These were my only instructions to video gaming in the 1980s. My cousin would use them in a few years to teach me (unsuccessfully, ok. I don’t want cops at my house) how to string quarters to play Joust.
For Asteroids, I had so many questions-most of them existential:
Why am I playing this?
What are these flying things?
Why are asteroids coming after me?
Why do I have to die after three tries?
Who is the pilot — what do you mean I am the pilot?
There should have been a training from analog to electronic arcade games. My hands could not manipulate the four buttons plus track ball. After playing with my teeth clenched, shoulders high and at a $3.00 loss (a two/thirds of that borrowed). I never wanted to play again. I would get off that and every other new game like a drowning victim coming up for air. That summer I returned to the neighborhood arcade to play every non-tech game until I couldn’t. The token-guy tried to prepare me for the inevitable.
He bent down on one knee at my level one Saturday while I played a lonely game of pool.
“Why don’t you play Centipede today? Have you tried Centipede?”
“No.” I shrugged.
“ Well, it’s fun!” All these new games are fun. Jose is getting good at Asteroids.” He motioned over to Jose and some other boys, who were huddled over the game.
“Why did you get rid of ALL the pinball machines?” I asked as I chalked my pool cue.”
“Not my decision, but I’ll give you 4 tokens to play the game that comes in tomorrow.” He waved his arm over the pool table like a magician. “Abracadabra!”
24 hours later, Pool was replaced by Pac-Man, Pin-Ball wizards became Asteroid addicts. I petulantly pouted on the sidelines, clutched my quarters and watched an organic age transform.