I’m not trying to be arrogant, but jeez Louise… I can’t stand GameStop!  As a matter of fact, I’ve found that I have a deep-seated resentment for the entire establishment.

     This afternoon’s visit even more strongly reinforced that resentment.

     I went into several different locations — in several different states — before Christmas looking for a particular gift which was “soon to be released” instead of “in stock now!” as their advertisements said, and that kinda ticked me off, anyway.
     But that’s not what this rant is about.  In fact, it’s far more pointed — and perhaps more personal — than that.

     Now, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that all GameStop employees are idiots, because that’s not true.  There are Accountants, Franchise Owners and Managers (more on them later) who might be associated with any given location and who may be, by all accounts, “normal.”  I can’t say the same of the Ad people, because Ad people are pretty much abnormal anywhere they’re employed — and they’re not the reason I dislike GameStop.  Even with the “in stock now!” garbage…

     No, the thing I hate about GameStop?

     It’s the regular employees, of which there are at least eight at any given location.

     At first, you think they’re just black-shirted customers, running around the store acting like idiots, hiding behind the displays yelling, “Bee-owp!  Bee-owp!” as they pretend to shoot at each other with invisible implements of destruction.
     “Can I help you find anything?” they’ll eventually ask.
     “No,” you reply.  “This is a pretty small store.”

     Immediately, six of them begin dodging their invisible lasers, screaming, “Bee-owp!  Bee-owp!” again.

     At some point, the seventh employee will run out from the back, ripping the latest firearm-style controller (for the latest mega-cool platform!) from out of its protective box, screaming, “Bee-owp!  Bee-owp!” at his invisibly armed compatriots.

     Upon closer inspection, you’ll notice their tell-tale GameStop employee ID’s, which, instead of being pinned to their shirt, hang from around their necks like they’re roadies guarding the back-stage of a Metallica concert.  Only, they listen to Europop Techno…
     In fact, the only thing they have in common with the “cool” guys they’re trying to emulate is the fact that they’re like … forty.
     The “younger,” eighth employee (a mere thirty-years-old) feverishly slaves away behind the cash register, his penance for being “so much younger” and “less cool” than his elder brethren.

     The Manager is always in the back, pulling his hair out.  Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the balls to control his motley crew — yeah, not the band — of prepubescent middle-agers and attempt to set things right.  Instead, he comes to help customers at the cash register because he just can’t have his employees arguing with customers about those damn ads…
     He leaves the store at 10PM, gets home at 10:15PM, and is drunk by 10:30PM.  His wife screams at him incessantly, and he just can’t handle it any more.
     You just know that at any moment, some proverbial needle will hit the floor, breaking the silence like cannon fire, and our mild-mannered Manager will suddenly become Michael Douglas in “Falling Down.”  (Perks of the job — he scarfed that movie from out of the Used DVD bin last Thursday, and watched it while getting wasted on Peach Schnapps and Mountain Dew.)

     Maybe there are normal GameStop stores in the world.  Maybe all of their counter staff aren’t overgrown, pimply-faced, forty-year-old virgins who are sadly content to live in their grandmother’s basements pretending to be part of Vader’s 501st Stormtrooper Legion, Klingon Commander Haktarr, or Yoric the Hill Giant Slayer.

     I just haven’t met them yet, because I am way too cool for GameStop…

     And don’t even get me started on Starbucks…