The Joy of Joysticks

My heart swelled with joy as soon as I pushed open the double doors and walked into the dark, yet vibrantly colored arcade. The place was huge with at least forty or fifty machines in the first room and multiple hallways leading to more. Their screens flickered with retro glee and the air filled with their delightful sounds of beeps of bloops. I did not believe that there could still be such a busy and well-stocked arcade in this day and age, but I was proven to be wrong. There seemed to be games from all eras and places, from some late seventies pixelated classics to weird looking Japanese games that were full of vividly animated cute cats and overly muscular golden haired men. And it all was just a ten minute walk from my dorm!

My roommate Nicole, who I drug along with me on my expedition, seemed far less impressed. In fact, her expression could easily be described as infinitely annoyed, confused, and horrified. "Petra, why the hell did you bring me here," she asked with a disgusted tone.

I looked at her blankly with my arms crossed. She probably had a series of preconceived notions about arcades and the people who hung out there. That or all the blinking lights were giving her a headache, which in that case, I had some aspirin in my purse. I could feel her silent judgment of me, probably making base assertions about my social life and hobbies. In truth, she actually didn't know the half of it.

Growing up, I was the only sister of five brothers, so I was rather used to video games and other things stereotyped towards boys. I was never a true tomboy, but there was one area of interest that we all shared. Our weekend trips to the arcade were a highlight of my Saturdays. We would spend hours pumping quarters into the litany of machines. I spent countless days of my youth earning high scores, beating huge bosses, and occasionally winning plushies from claw machines. Sadly, that local arcade was also kind of a dismal den of nightmares. It was located in the old mall that no one ever went to and was maintained by an overly wrinkled man with the creepiest mustache ever grown. In fact, half the time, most of the machines were out of order or smelled too bad to use.

"I didn't know what this place would be like," I finally responded. "At my local arcade, it was never wise to go by yourself."

"Well, it seems perfectly safe," Nicole said, "which means that I am getting the hell out of here to, you know... do stuff normal people do. Buh bye!" She then promptly fulfilled her statement by rushing out the doors as fast as any human possibly could.

I merely grimaced and sighed. All the old stereotypes about these kind of things were super tiring to me. My friends in high school made fun of me for hanging out in that sad old arcade all the time. Even after graduating from high school and going to the local college, I still got flack for my hobby, even from those commonly considered nerds. I finally transferred to a a bigger school, but I guess there were still going to be people like Nicole clinging to the same old ideas. For example, not all men who hung out in arcades were creepy losers who have never been with a woman. Of course, the two men who played Pac-man stared at me like I was some sort kind of headless ghost. I ignored them and started to check out the inventory.

They had all the old games that I grew up playing, even the obscure ones. Still, I had yet to come across the one that had consumed most of my free time back home. That game in question, of course, was "Punch Masters 3." They had plenty of different fighting games, even the terrible original "Punch Masters," but the third entry seemed absent. It was the most popular and best one! How could they not have it?

I noticed a small gathering in the the side room of the arcade. The patrons talked in hushed tones among themselves while surrounding a single machine. A huge window lined the back of the room, though it was tinted to obscure excess light. I smirked as I saw Nicole sitting on a bench out front, furiously fidgeting with her phone, probably playing a game, ironically. Due to my distraction, I nearly ran into a rather rotund man without realizing it. The embarrassing moment caused me to stop and focus on the sounds filling the room. I recognized them immediately. It was my beloved Punch Masters 3.

About twenty men were gathered around it, ten of them forming a line for the second player's slot. In the first player's position was a tall and lean man with a short and well groomed beard that was night black. On continue appraisal of his physical features, his muscles were well toned and his ass was quite lovely in the tight pair of jeans he was wearing... not that I was staring or anything.

His hands moved quickly in almost zen like precision. What I witnessed on the screen sent a chill through my bones. The man was using Boxton the Bull, a rather large and imposing character in the game. What he did with Boxton was unlike anything I had ever seen before. Player one was not giving player two any opportunity to attack. Every time player two tried something, this man retorted with the right combination to knock his enemy back. Within thirty seconds, player one won without taking a single hit. I had always avoided Boxton due to the character's slow speed, but player one controlled him like he was human lightning.

Upon defeat, player two retreated with his head hung low. At least player one didn't gloat about, instead patting his fallen opponent on the back and saying "maybe next time, buddy" in a mostly sincere tone. The next guy in line stepped up and he seemed actually scared. Player one picked a character even slower than Boxton and beat the new challenger in less than fifteen seconds.

Saying I was intimidated would have been an understatement. I watched as challenger after challenger stepped up to take down player one, only to be beaten in no time. Some brave souls even went back for seconds, only to be beaten even quicker than they were in their first defeats. This went on for a good hour with no sign of slowing down. Despite player one's dominance, the line did not wither. In fact, there always seemed to be new people willing to take on player one... only to fail miserably.

The short man next to me seemed to have been checking me out, more interested in my visuals than the ones in the game. Perhaps, in this rare moment, I wished for the "scared of women" stereotype, not in the mood for sexual advances with all this virtual carnage about. The man seemed rather normal though, despite the bizarre t-shirt he wore that depicted the logo of some Swedish speed metal group. I decided to use my admirer to score some information. "Who is this guy?" I asked my neighboring speed metal enthusiast as I watched player one take down his latest victim.

The man seemed half surprised that I actually talked to him. "Oh? Are you new or something? That's Max Pagani. He's, like, a big deal. The guy is a like professional or something! I think he won some big tournament thing."

I looked at my semi-helpful informant with a sense of awe. "I didn't know there were tournaments for this stuff," I said. Seriously, why didn't anyone tell me about that? That felt like something I should have known about.

"Yeah," the guy nodded. "According to my roomie, he's been practicing to go to the biggest one in the country. So, he is here, like, everyday beating the crap out of anyone dumb enough to face him. Every time I think of trying to enter a tournament, I think of Max Pagani and then want to shit my pants."

I wrinkled my nose at such a... colorful descriptor of fear. "So, he doesn't seem to focus on any particular character."

My new 'friend' simply nodded. "Yeah, that may be the scariest part. He is good with, like, every character. I wasn't lying about that pants shitting!"

I watched as three more people were cruelly decimated by Max's hands. I had yearned to play a match of "Punch Masters 3" from the moment I heard about the arcade. Yet, the idea of being destroyed by this expert super dude, in front of a crowd no less, made me want to curl up in the corner in a fetal position. Or in more crass and vile terms, shit my pants. Speaking of which, I hadn't even noticed that the guy I was talking to was still talking to me.

"...and that's why I had to hide the raccoon in his record cabinet," he said, finishing a story I didn't hear the beginning to. Judging by the end, I actually wished I would have listened. "So, do you want to go grab something to eat?"

What I really wanted to do was punch something in Punch Masters 3. Still, I did not want to go up against this seemingly inhuman Punch Master master. "I guess you could buy me noodles," I sighed, realizing that Max was probably not going to leave any time soon, judging by what Mr. Speed Metal Pants Shitter said. So, said guy, who turned out to be named Arnie, bought me some pretty crappy noodles. On the way home, I checked back at the arcade, but Max Pagani was still there beating anyone who crossed him. With a heavy heart, I returned back to my dorm room, not ready to be beaten in my favorite game by a total stranger.

****

Time passed as time is wont to do. Oh time, you crazy forward moving rascal. The arcade turned into my favorite place to go after class and before dinner. My laundry started to suffer due to my quarters being invested elsewhere, but beyond that, hanging out at the arcade was fun. I met interesting new people that introduced me to new games... and hit on me a lot. So much for all nerds being afraid of women.

Sadly, "Punch Masters 3" staid out of my grasp. Yes, I could have played it, but that Max Pagani character was always there when I was. Everyday before going to the arcade, I would pump myself up, thinking that I would try finally facing off with the man. Sadly, when I gathered enough courage to actually enter the line, I would once again witness Max ruthlessly owning a poor contender. That would be enough to cause me to back off and partake in a game that would be far less soul crushing.

I even practiced on my home version, though it was not to the level of the arcade one. Plus, I could mostly only face off against the computer, which was often cheap and not a good opponent to learn off of. All the people I knew outside of the arcade were dreadfully normal and found my weird fighting game obsession kind of off putting. I tried fighting people over the internet a few times, but it turns out the dorm bandwidth was beyond brutal. I brought back a few guys from the arcade to play with me, but they always turned out to be less interested in helping me practice and more interested in well... me. Basically, the practice sessions often turned into make-out sessions, not that I'm entirely complaining about that.

It was a rather warm Friday night and I was prepping for a date I wasn't particularly excited about. It was with a cute guy from my Chemistry class that I went out with a few times. As I finished my make-up, I questioned why I was going on this date to begin with. Then, I remembered the free fancy meal and went back to making my long red hair look perfect and shiny, after fighting a pang of guilt for being "that" kind of girl. I wore one of my cuter blouses which was a red scoop neck top that had the word "POW" written on it in big white letters. Around my waist was my favorite black skirt that had cute red hearts all over it. I finished my ensemble off with a nice pair of fishnets and my new pair of heeled ankle boots.

As I walked to the restaurant, I felt the guilt within me increase. Was I really the kind of woman who would go on a date for free food? My guilt started to overtake my mind as I approached closer and closer to my destination. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that I was very near to the arcade. I decided to stop in for a second and hopefully calm my tempestuous mind.

The place was quite busy for a Friday evening. Most of the patrons were in groups, probably hanging out and playing some games before hitting the bars on main street. Then, as I cashed in a dollar bill for some quarters, I witnessed a miraculous sight. "Punch Masters 3" was vacant. That man who constantly haunted the machine was not there for once! Maybe he actually did other things with his life! It was my chance to play without pressure or threat of immediate obliteration.

I readied my quarters as I approached the machine, having this weird feeling I could be ambushed any second... by what, I have no idea. A ghost, maybe? Maybe Max Pagani was actually a ghost! That would explain a lot.

The satisfying sound of the quarter sliding down the slot sent a tingle of joy through my spine. Here I was, in the player one position, ready to take on the world. Unlike Max, I was really only good at one character and that was Mimi the Magnificent. She had comically oversized breasts and a skirt way too short. I knew her every move and combo.

I started to play the game, easily conquering any computer opponents sent my way. It only took a few minutes for a contender to come my way. He was monstrously tall with the thickest neck hair I had ever seen. He picked Noseman, a strange choice to be honest. The weird character could only kick and it constantly screamed out quips about hot sauce for some reason.

The match started and the garishly dressed Noseman stood mere feet away from my quite ample Mimi. Things... didn't start well. Noseman jumped into action immediately, flying in the air with a series of quick kicks that I failed to block. This led into some pretty devilish moves that left me knocked out without scoring a hit. The round ended with neck hair man achieving a flawless victory.

Strangely, I was not deterred. I noted that the man relied on simple tactics. As soon as round two started, I decided it was my turn to dominate. I countered his every attempted attack, quickly knocking out Noseman again. Round three started and I knew all the man's tricks. I denied his every advance, easily winning the last round.

His face contorted to an expression of absolute shock. "That was just lucky," he retorted, popping in another quarter.

This time, he decided to play it safe by picking Ming Vah, a notoriously powerful character. The menacing well dressed dictator jumped into action immediately. Despite this character's stronger moves, the man relied on his same jumping strategy. I kicked his ass in less than twenty seconds, not getting hit once. A bit of pride washed over me as the man left the machine immediately, grumbling to himself.

I was a bit surprised as another man immediately stepped up to take his place. He was much shorter and much friendlier, flashing me a smile. "Nice moves," he complimented.

"Thanks," I beamed graciously. He picked Kim Kia, the defacto main character that most people pick. The match started and the guy rushed Kim towards me. His moves were less predictable than the that of Lord Neck Hair, but they were easier to counter. The guy seemed genuinely surprised when I beat him in less than fifteen seconds.

"Holy crap," he exclaimed. "Are you just Max in drag?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Unless Max can magically shorten himself, I doubt it. Also, rumor is... he's a ghost."

The man stepped aside and his friend quickly took his place. "I'm gonna take you down, girl," the newcomer said in the most cliched manner possible.

He picked Ichi the Statue Man, the slowest character in the game. I had him beaten in twenty second without taking a hit. He swore a lot upon relinquishing the controls, only to be replaced by another man. I turned my head to the side and witnessed a shocking revelation. A line had formed to take me on that consisted of at least ten people. Some stood next to the line just to watch. It certainly looked like I was going to stand up my date. By the way, please let me re-iterate that I'm not a monster. I'm just flighty.

The next guy tried Kim Kia, but I defeated him soundly. The guy after that gave me a bit of trouble with Brocula the Vegetarian Vampire, but I won in the end. The following competitor chose Boxton and lost pretty quickly. Then, there was another Kim Kia player who I lost a round to before making a comeback and beating him into submission.

This went on for quite a while. As soon as one man was defeated, another stood up to take his place. My wrists became tired, but I never faltered. The most I ever lost was one round and that became a rare occurrence after a while. Few of the challengers came close to topping me. I started to become pretty sure of myself, pumping my fists and gloating a bit. My brattyness seemed to just make me more endearing to the line and crowd. A group of about twenty guys watched and whispered to each other. More and more challengers came just to be defeated by my big breasted brawler. There were some repeat costumers, their eyes burning with aims at revenge. Some of these retreads gave me problems, but I always won.

My legs started to stiffen from standing so long, in heels none the less, which caused me to realize that I lost track of time. If the clock above my head was to be believed, I had been playing for for two hours. Perhaps due to my growing tiredness, I did not notice the change in atmosphere. The crowd suddenly grew at one point, seemingly consisting of most of the arcade patrons. The conversation became quieter, yet more excited. The line also stopped generating new attendants.

The current opposition went down with incredible ease. I nodded to him with a big smile and patted him on the back. "Good game," I remarked honestly, thinking he was the last person in line. I had been ready to bow out undefeated for the evening. Unfortunately, I discovered there was one more challenger.

I had seen him a million times by that point, but had never actually talked to him. His tall frame and night black beard seemed even more intimidating than it did from the sidelines. Yes, Max Pagani had arrived and stood in the player two position to face off against me. He certainly was not a ghost (unless that is the secret twist ending.) "You are crazy good," the man exclaimed in an honest and jovial way. I was not necessarily feeling warm and jolly in the moment.

"I thought you weren't around," I said flabbergasted, my complexion suddenly pale. I finally had my moment and it was about to be crushed.

Max looked down at me strangely. My immediate crippling fear was obviously making him confused. "Well, despite the rumors, I do have a life," he explained, "but a friend of mine texted me about some hot girl being crazy good, so I had to check it out."

I raised an eyebrow as I picked Mimi once again. "Some hot girl," I parroted back.

The man immediately blushed a deep red, which I found rather cute. "I didn't mean anything offensive by that," he responded. "That did come out wrong, but believe me, his text said some far more dirty sounding things about you." Max then paused before continuing. "Which I guess was probably the worst thing to tell you I should just shut up or learn how to talk to women," he joked wryly with a wink, picking Kim Kia.

My nerves grew as the game went through its pre-match nonsense. I looked up at Max. The man seemed genuinely excited. "I have seen you here a bunch of times," he said, "but I didn't know you played. Its been months since I've faced some one as good at you." His anticipation of my skill just made my nerves worse.

The match began and Max rushed towards me with his first attack. I failed to block it. I couldn't even block the combo that followed that. After a quick jump maneuver, I managed to get a few hits off, but the round ended in my sound defeat. The crowd reacted loudly to my flailing failure as I pouted my lips. Now I knew how the neck hair guy felt.

I shut my eyes between rounds and took a deep breath. I wasn't going to let this guy, despite how good he was, end my streak in a shut out. My eyes opened again, burning with a fierce intensity. As soon as the second phase of the bout started, I rushed forward and initiated a ten hit combo. I used everything that I knew to keep Max off me, performing all of my best moves in rapid succession. Max tried to counter attack, but failed every time. I was the swift victor of round two, somehow managing to stave off Max without taking a hit.