Every Text Is A Treasure

Prologue

It's 1991, and I've FINALLY convinced my parents to get me a game console.  Having bested all obstacles set forth before me--chores, grades, learning Japanese--I'd earned the right to rot my brains out with hours upon hours of 16-bit goodness.  And so there it was--the Super Nintendo Entertainment System.  And with it came perhaps one of the most iconic and memorable titles of all-time: The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past.

I can't tell you how much of my precious youth I wasted exploring every nook and cranny of Hyrule and Dark World.  And in so doing, a certain sound became ingrained in my head.  This.  We'll call it the "Secret Sound" for ease of reference.  Now, if you've played any of the Zelda games, then you know the Secret Sound is associated with the unlocking of, well, a secret.  You know, a hidden passageway or treasure chest.  And the Secret Sound don't come cheap, neither!  Requiring the solving of a puzzle or other brain teaser.  It's usually only after the frenzied firing of neurons that you get to hear the Secret Sound.  And, perhaps this is an experience shared by all Zelda aficionados, but for me I'd say the Secret Sound itself was often more of a reward than the passageway or treasure revealed, eliciting almost a Pavlovian response.  Secret Sound = success!  Good job!  Go forth and conquer!  In any case, it's a sound that to this day still resonates deeply within me.

The Encounter

As is my custom, I'm in the Express Lane at the supermarket (life in the fast lane, right!?) when I notice that the regular somewhat-Eeyore-ish male clerk has been replaced with someone new.  Someone female.  Someone attractive.  Someone checking text messages on her phone and ignoring customers.  But I can forgive that last part given the certain je nais se quoi--the aura--about her.  Oh, it's not cheery.  Definitely not cheery.  A bit on the dark side.  Without any tinge of hyperbole I'd say it's like a black hole or some other energy-crushing vortex.  And looks to match--pale but with black hair, black eyes, black nail polish, black eyeglass frames, black hoodie.  Oh, and a neck tattoo.  Some kind of bird?  A dragon?  Did it move?  I think the tattoo just moved.  Basically she's some kind of supermarket sorceress.

And she's got me vexed.

So there I am, inching closer and closer to the front of the line; to the inevitable confrontation with this sorceress and with nothing to shield me but my carton of soy milk.  My palms are sweaty, and I promise myself I won't say or do anything stupid because I value my soul and want to walk out of this establishment with 100% of it intact.  But of course, the more you try to avoid your soul being stolen, the more you feel it slipping away.  Like trying to escape from quicksand, I imagine.

And then it hits me.  I'll turn the tables on her!  I'll vex her with my wit and charm.  I mean, didn't I just write this blustery New Year's Eve post about putting myself out there?  This can be sort of a trial run.  Practice, you know?  Yeah!  Bring it on!

So with my nerves steeled and ready for battle, it's finally my turn at the front of the line.  When I get there the sorceress is futzing about on her phone again.  Good, an extra second for me to savor the impending victory!!!  That is until she looks me in the eye, opens her mouth, and says something.  At once, her gaze and the sound of her seductive siren's song tear through my nerves like a hot knife through butter.  I can barely even make out what she's saying.  Something about my club card?  "Um, yah, um, I didn't bring it but I have my phone number."  I quickly turn my attention to the keypad, mashing my fingers at the numbers and refocusing again on the modest goal of escaping this trap with my soul intact.  Customer not recognized!??!  Damn you fat fingers!  Paper or plastic?  I don't know!!!  Will this transaction never end!?

And that's when I hear it.  The Secret Sound.  It's her text chime.  The Secret Sound is her text chime!!

Her spell broken as she looks at her phone to check her text message, a thought crosses my mind: seldom in life are you confronted with a moment in time where your soul hangs in the balance.  You know, an actual moment of truth.  Choose correctly, and escape home to enjoy some cereal.  Choose poorly, and, well. . . we all saw the end of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.  And let me tell you something, face-melting is not on the agenda for the evening.  Resolved once more, I turn my attention back to the sorceress.  As I see her start to put her phone away, I muster all the wit and charm I've accumulated on my journeys, meet her gaze, and utter the following incantation: "Every text is a treasure."

Epilogue

I'm eating a bowl of cereal.  With soy milk.  Ah yes, "victory cereal" always tastes best.  Yes, I'm happy to report that my soul remains intact.  As it had so many times before in 16-bit days gone by, the Secret Sound unlocked an until-then unknown hidden passageway.  Referencing the Secret Sound elicited a chortle from the sorceress and admiration at my arcane video game knowledge.  Her grim look was replaced for a brief moment with what I can only describe as mirth.  Temporarily dazed by my incantation, she completed the transaction without exacting any soul tax, and I was on my way.

A close call, certainly, but also a bit of adventure on an otherwise mundane weeknight.  As for "practice," I can certainly think of some better ways to hone my wit and charm in the future.  Oh, what do they say about hindsight?  Still, I definitely learned a thing or two from my encounter with the sorceress: (1) I still got it, baby; and (2) next time I'm using the self-checkout machine.

--KM

"I was out of your league, and you were 20,000 underneath the sea."