I’ve been a die hard gamer for well over 30 years. It wasn’t long before a third player joined in and suddenly the time at the laundromat flashed by in an instant.Ĭut to the summer of 2020. But in Rampage, we had a common goal to clear all the stages, and while you can choose to attack the other players, to play as a team would ensure you got the full value out of your 25 cent investment. Pac-Man, defeat your opponents in Karate Champ, or clear all four stages in Donkey Kong, these were the objectives in games I’ve played in the past couple of years. Until then, video games always drove me from a competitive mindset. The other player didn’t say a word as I joined in on the action and played what would be my first co-operative video game experience. After watching for a couple of minutes, I asked my mother for a quarter and selected the green dinosaur, Lizzie. Sporting three joysticks that didn't make the clickety clack sound as you moved them and a colorful control panel that labeled the buttons with ‘jump’ and ‘punch’ in comic book style font, this game Rampage seemed different.Ī young man, probably in his early twenties, was using George, the oversized gorilla. Unlike other arcade machines, this one seemed larger than most I’ve played in the past. While I didn’t notice it on the way in, a brand new arcade machine featuring characters inspired by King Kong and Godzilla destroying cities and smashing tanks stopped me dead in my tracks. Once I was given the subtle nod of approval from the matriarchy, I headed back out the door. My mother had already started the color separation process, which meant I was free to run to the park and play with my friends. One day, in the summer of 1986, the laundromat introduced a new feature that would forever change me. While I played, my mother would sit in the laundromat reading a book or crocheting scarves, hats, or mittens for the upcoming winter. When I saw that metal cart sitting by the front door, I was like the family dog realizing the leash is out on the living room table, ready for a new adventure at the playground. The walk was about five blocks away from our third floor apartment home in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. My mother pushed my baby sister in an oversized navy blue stroller, and I was responsible for our folding wire-frame laundry cart with one rickety old wheel that always seemed to need oil. Super slides with what seemed like two-story ladders were only safe (if you made it to the top) after pouring water down the white-hot sheet-metal chute on most summer days but never a day went by where there wasn’t a line for the adrenaline rush. Across the street was the Garibaldi Playground where wooden see-saws and metal swings were launch pads for daredevils with nothing to stop your fall but hard concrete. My mother and I would walk to our local laundromat next door to the Waldbaum’s supermarket on 18th Avenue at least once a week. When I was nine years old, I learned to love doing laundry.
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