As a good mother would ask their naughty son, "If everyone were jumping off a bridge, would you do it too?" I pondered this question the day after my 35th birthday and reminisced my father telling me at around 11 years old, "You can't make a living playing video games unless you make them as well." Wow, how times have changed in less than twenty-five years where I see young people becoming millionaires before hitting 20 years old before they can enter a bar and buy themselves a beer. I'm behind in the times, and I know it. If only the internet were what it is now when I was 15, my life would be different.
Is it jealousy? Honestly, yes. The thing is that by the time I got into my early 20's in the latter half of the early 2000s, I became a naughty child-adult, getting myself into using substances both legal and illegal (well, the illegal one is now legal in my state, but I digress) and partying like the world was going to end in one fine, painless flash. So my interest in playing video games dwindled into basic nothingness, and the fact that my Playstation 2 broke, and the original Xbox would no longer work soon after didn't help. The fact is, I gave up gaming before I even realized there were possibilities at making a living at it in front of an audience.
Two days after my 35th birthday, with a few beers in my belly, I decided to get my old Nintendo 64 out of storage in my father's garage. "Maybe I'll start one of those Twitch channels playing Super Mario 64," I thought. "Are kids these days even interested in watching a new old fart like me play it?" As I didn't bother answering these questions, I made my way to the garage's carport where my father housed the camping trailer. Behind it was a shelf he had built to house all the containers with all my various childhood goodies. I got a ladder that was hanging from the wall, stood it up, and took the steps to the shelf which had enough room on its surface for me to step onto it. As I stood bent over, moving the containers around, looking in each one to find where my Nintendo 64 was, I heard a growl. I said aloud, "Quiet, Bella," to my dog who I thought stood on the ground below looking up at my butt, wanting a treat. Then I heard another growl, and then an angry bark that kind of sounded like a pig. I immediately turned to yell at my precious Bella, but no one was there below. She wasn't around. The bark sounded again, but this time almost sounded like it came from a bear. It came from the corner of the shelf. I craned my head and saw what the sound was coming from: a fat, pregnant, angry Raccoon.
I was too drunk to panic. Too drunk to move at that moment. There are moments in our lives where it is better to be drunk than sober. If I were sober, I may have fallen off the shelf and broke my back, or screamed, moved fast towards the ladder, startling the nocturnal beast which may have caused her to bite me. But instead, all I felt like doing was playing my Nintendo 64 -- all I could think about was finding all the stars in Super Mario 64. So I simply said to the Angry Raccoon, "Look, I don't want any trouble, Little Bowser. Keep your little princesses, and have a wonderful family life. I just want to find my stars." I don't know why I used those words, but I do know the Angry Raccoon didn't attack me and let me go my way.
