!@#!$%! Jumping Jackpot
To elaborate, there is a little ball of light that runs around the rim of the machine, and the objective of this game is to jump over the light every time it passes below you, with the light moving faster and faster each time. Karen tried it and easily made it 30-50 rounds or so. Mr. Kuan tried it and made it to around 20-30 rounds on his second attempt. I couldn’t make it past one round.
Not. One. Round.
Every single time I would jump up just as I thought the light was passing beneath me, only to land in musical accompaniment to the game’s buzzer of failure. I tried everything. I jumped higher, I jumped earlier, I jumped only when the other two told me to do so, and each time for some god forsaken reason I would fail on the very fast round. I must have spent a good 20 dollars just repeatedly attempting this game, and each time I would announce loudly “I got it! I think I finally got it!” only to find out that no, I had not gotten it. I felt like Wile E. Coyote chasing the Road Runner, except instead of a very fast moving bird I had a really slow moving beam of light. And it wasn’t as if I couldn’t jump rope. Like with most things, I dabbled for a bit in doing jump rope tricks in my youth. But there was just something about that #@#!@ machine that crossed my mental circuitry
Eventually though, many many tries later, something clicked in my brain, the clouds parted and an angelic chorus rang out as I successfully jumped over my first loop.
“YES I DID IT!! TAKE THAT YOU B*****D!”
And then I failed on the second loop.
It was somewhere around my 20th attempt or so that I decided to give up and accept my complete inability in jumping over a slowly moving beam of yellow light. So curse you Dave and Busters, and curse your infernal Jumping Jackpot machine. I will have my revenge some day.
After my fail of epic proportions, Karen and WL went on to rack up a sizeable number of game tickets playing some Whack-A-Mole game while I went off to sit down in a corner, hugged myself, and rocked back and forth while singing soft kitty. It didn’t take me long to decide that earning game tickets whacking moles was infinitely more enjoyable than being a soft kitty, so I got up to join them in their spree of animal cruelty. Evenly spreading out the mole targets between the three of us, we proceeded to thoroughly trounce the current high score on the machine. Wanting to vent some steam though, I asked to go one round Mano-A-Mano with the moles myself, and proceeded to exterminate them with the cruel efficiency and rage of a man who really really sucks at jumping and has just discovered that fact. Lo and behold! I beat our combined high score.
So while I may not have the Jumping Jackpot abilities of an inebriated earthworm, my ability to slap plastic moles with my hands still remains intact. (Some of you might think that valuing trait like that probably points to some self esteem issues but screw that man The Mole* Master doesn’t have to listen to you.)
*The animal. Not the skin growth.
Pretty soon it hit night fall and it was time for us to exchange our hard-earned game tickets for some swag. With only a single day of playing though, the stuff we could exchange them for were limited to various small knickknacks. Faced with the sensible option of choosing one of an assortment of potentially useful items like stationary, pencil boxes and the like, we naturally went for the two fake mustaches instead.