We all know the old adage. Thought to be honest I?m not sure it?s a quality that I posses.
Like most people at the moment (aside from the lucky buggers who have already been blessed) I?m gagging for my copy of Shadow of the Colossus to arrive.
In fact, it?s all I?ve been able to think about for the last week and a half. From the run up to it?s release, to the time it was actually out Stateside, to the agonising wait for it to turn up through the post.
It got me thinking about when I was younger. I have fond, painful memories of my mother having ordered something from those ad?s in the back of Mean Machines (usually games that there wasn?t a hope in hell of me getting locally). Cue me pressing my nose up against the front window to get a better view down the street to see if the Postie was coming.
I particularly recall the agonising wait for my copy of Mega Man 2.
Where is he? (presses face harder against the glass)
Is that someone? No it?s the Labrador from three doors down.
Wait! Who?s that?
Oh, just some random bloke. Why aren?t you the Postman dammit?
Wait! Here he comes. Down the street. A house at a time. Why is he going so slowly? He?s finally at the gate to the house. Now he?s at the door. He?s putting something through the letterbox (by which time I?m there as well).
Is it...? Damn, nothing except bills for the parents and a Grattans catalogue.
Rush back to the window in the hope there?s a second postman desperately winging his way to my house to cover for his workmate?s incompetence - ready to scold him for leaving my parcel at the depot that morning.
It was even worse on the days when the postman would just sail past the front gate without stopping...
But when it did arrive? oh the sweet, sweet joy.
In those days it was even worse waiting for something to arrive. Without the Internet and email you had no real idea if it had been dispatched; well, aside from ringing the retailer up to pester them about it. But they tended to get a bit narked with some young kid doing that day in day out.
I try to kid myself now that I?m over all that childish, feverish anticipation.
Pah! Just who is it that I?m trying to kid?
When I know something?s on the way its all I can think about on the drive home from work. I get that gut-wrenching knot of excitement as I put the key in the door. The key just won?t turn fast enough. I long for the sound of that bubble wrap package scooting along the floor as I push the door open.
Sometimes it?s there and I can?t help but break into a smile, a triumphant (but reserved) cry of `Yes`, before trying to compose myself and put my work stuff away properly (lest I get shouted at by the other half). Only then do I allow myself to open the package and my desperately awaited slice of the latest gaming goodness.
Pleasure delaying can be fun, but it's sometime hard to remember that 30 seconds more won't kill you when you've waited for 6 months or so.
Sometimes it?s not there. The knot of excitement disappears to be replaced with an aching pang of disappointment. There?s usually more than a few swear words banded around too.
In a world where teleportation devices were real, this wouldn?t be a problem. No more hanging on the Postie, freaking him out as a twenty something adult watches his every move up the street. No more smear marks on the front window.
Ah, the bittersweet joys of importing?
Like most people at the moment (aside from the lucky buggers who have already been blessed) I?m gagging for my copy of Shadow of the Colossus to arrive.
In fact, it?s all I?ve been able to think about for the last week and a half. From the run up to it?s release, to the time it was actually out Stateside, to the agonising wait for it to turn up through the post.
It got me thinking about when I was younger. I have fond, painful memories of my mother having ordered something from those ad?s in the back of Mean Machines (usually games that there wasn?t a hope in hell of me getting locally). Cue me pressing my nose up against the front window to get a better view down the street to see if the Postie was coming.
I particularly recall the agonising wait for my copy of Mega Man 2.
Where is he? (presses face harder against the glass)
Is that someone? No it?s the Labrador from three doors down.
Wait! Who?s that?
Oh, just some random bloke. Why aren?t you the Postman dammit?
Wait! Here he comes. Down the street. A house at a time. Why is he going so slowly? He?s finally at the gate to the house. Now he?s at the door. He?s putting something through the letterbox (by which time I?m there as well).
Is it...? Damn, nothing except bills for the parents and a Grattans catalogue.
Rush back to the window in the hope there?s a second postman desperately winging his way to my house to cover for his workmate?s incompetence - ready to scold him for leaving my parcel at the depot that morning.
It was even worse on the days when the postman would just sail past the front gate without stopping...
But when it did arrive? oh the sweet, sweet joy.
In those days it was even worse waiting for something to arrive. Without the Internet and email you had no real idea if it had been dispatched; well, aside from ringing the retailer up to pester them about it. But they tended to get a bit narked with some young kid doing that day in day out.
I try to kid myself now that I?m over all that childish, feverish anticipation.
Pah! Just who is it that I?m trying to kid?
When I know something?s on the way its all I can think about on the drive home from work. I get that gut-wrenching knot of excitement as I put the key in the door. The key just won?t turn fast enough. I long for the sound of that bubble wrap package scooting along the floor as I push the door open.
Sometimes it?s there and I can?t help but break into a smile, a triumphant (but reserved) cry of `Yes`, before trying to compose myself and put my work stuff away properly (lest I get shouted at by the other half). Only then do I allow myself to open the package and my desperately awaited slice of the latest gaming goodness.
Pleasure delaying can be fun, but it's sometime hard to remember that 30 seconds more won't kill you when you've waited for 6 months or so.
Sometimes it?s not there. The knot of excitement disappears to be replaced with an aching pang of disappointment. There?s usually more than a few swear words banded around too.
In a world where teleportation devices were real, this wouldn?t be a problem. No more hanging on the Postie, freaking him out as a twenty something adult watches his every move up the street. No more smear marks on the front window.
Ah, the bittersweet joys of importing?
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