Never send an old-school geek to buy a geek toy for a child...
December 25, 2008 (11:56 p.m.)
The mission seemed simple enough: get a Star Wars ship for my nephew.
I should have known it would be trouble, though, from the start. When I asked my wife "Well, does he want a Rebel ship or an Empire ship?" she responded with, "He doesn't have a preference." What? As Stephen Colbert often says, "We're at war, sir. Pick a side!" I'm sure it's just that kind of ambivalence that let the Empire get a foothold to begin with.
When I was my nephew's age, I ordered a Cylon Raider from Sears. Back in those days, if you found something that the local Sears didn't carry, you ordered it from the catalog and a few weeks later, Sears called you to let you know that it had come in, and that you could come pick it up at the depot. My two-year-old, who probably already knows the Amazon-package-carrying UPS man by sight, will never believe that part of the story. I might as well tell her we cured our own hams out in the barn or something!
At any rate, I ordered this Cylon Raider and when the call came, I went to pick it up (or rather, mom drove me). But they had sent me a Colonial Viper instead. I promptly sent it back. A few weeks later, I got the call again, only to go back and find out that not only had they sent a Colonial Viper again, they'd apparently sent the very same one (judging from the dings and scuffs of multiple to-and-fro trips on the box). As I was sending this one back, the guy behind the counter wearily asked me why I couldn't just take the one they'd sent. I don't know what kind of look I gave him at such a ludicrous suggestion, but I knew that I had picked a side -- granted, it was the evil Cylon humanity-destroying side, but maybe subconsciously I knew that the pretty-boy, perfect-hair antics of Dirk Benedict were poison for my young sci-fi soul -- and before even a Centon had passed, I told him that I had to have a Raider. I mean, really, he might as well have asked me to take a pink Barbie car instead of a Dukes of Hazzard General Lee! The noive!
And indeed, I got a Raider the next time -- and if memory serves, it was one that actually fired missiles from its wings, back before the "you'll put your eye out" crew put a stop to unfiltered moments of joy like using your sister for target practice. I played with that thing forever. But anyway...
Back in the present day, I diligently went to the local toy stores, only to be faced with shelves upon shelves of toys that did the Star Wars legacy no favors. Star Wars Transformers? It'd be a hot day on Hoth before I dignified a continuity-wrecking travesty like that with my purchasing dollar. Cutesy-pie ships and figurines that looked like they belonged in the Lego Star Wars games? I could see the appeal to my nephew, who does enjoy a good Lego game, but I wanted to go old school. Where were the X-wing fighters, the Tie Fighters, or, ooh, the Darth Vader Tie Fighter?
Oh, there they were in that same cutesy-pie style. Where were the leaner, meaner toys that looked like they could actually fight a battle? I mean, even after my time as a toy-user was way over in 1995, they were making X-wing fighters covered in burn marks and dings. That's what I was looking for. But instead, I was staring at toys that looked like they'd saunter up to the Death Star (which, if it exists as a current toy, probably looks like the sun from the Teletubbies) and hug it to death. No sharp edges, no clean lines, no sense of purpose. Heck, the X-Wing fighter I was looking at might as well have had a smile on its face like Speed Buggy.
I have to admit, I was faced with a geek crisis. And I wasn't up to the task. I had to go home and think about it. I talked to my wife, who calmly told me, "He probably won't care." I think she understood my dilemma, but she knew it was more important to use a little tough-love to get me through.
And then I went back out, checking out several other stores, and coming to the conclusion that I just wasn't going to have any choice.
So there I was in Toys R Us one final time, staring down the Star Wars toys as the Sounds of the Season filled my ears (this year, it seemed to be some variation of people gritting their teeth and hissing, "I'll be in the car!"). What could I do? I grabbed a stubby little X-Wing Fighter and paid my blood money to the Lucas Empire.