Jim--Nickelcade Cashier or Modern-day Buddha?

This blog, my final blog of the semester, is dedicated to my dear friend Jim. On the surface, Jim is merely a cashier who quietly counts the tickets, passes out nickels, and retrieves prizes for the patrons of the Nickelcade; however, behind those large-rimmed glasses, timid smile, and accommodating demeanor, there exists a fountain of knowledge of which few have ever truly partaken. Jim, you're a light unto us all.

I remember the first time I recognized the wisdom of Jim's spirit. Several months ago, some friends and I gathered together for the ritual of male enrichment and bonding--known to the layman as "the man-date"--and it was decided that on that particular occasion we would solidify the bonds of manness at the Nickelcade. A few minutes later, we arrived at the Nickelcade: We came to offer up our nickels to those machines in exchange for a few moments of distraction and enjoyment; nevertheless, Jim took our humble offering and, in exchange, removed the theoretical blinders that had restricted our gaming experience for so long.

It started when Jim was passing out our nickels for the night. I remember asking him in a joking way, "Are there any machines putting out mad tickets tonight?" He turned, slowly, looking me over, as if asking the question, "Is this casual Nickelcader worthy of the knowledge inside my head? Is he truly prepared, or will my wisdom overfloweth his cup?" In his mercy, Jim came closer to me and said, "Oh, there are many, if one knows how and where to use his nickels..."

I was hooked, Jim's mysterious answer confirmed in my mind that there was indeed something more than what I had been living at the Nickelcade. Of course, there is nothing wrong with Skeeball, the occasional DDR, and even Crusin World 3-player competitions; nevertheless, Jim's response alluded to an elevated path, a higher plane. I leaned forward and replied, "I'm listening, teach me."

Then came the deluge, just as the shepard knoweth his sheep, Jim knewth his arcade games. He told us of Disco Fever, a game that offered up to a 200 ticket return on a single nickel. He spoke of Red Hot!, Egyptian Pharaoh, Bass Master, and others. Games that to the casual visitor seemed so difficult that they were built to be impossible. As Jim spoke of these long-forgotten and disregarded games, I thought I saw the twinkle of a tear shine from beneath his glasses. Jim saw the beauty and genius of the everyday dedication and sacrifice required to win those games. It broke his heart to stand there each day and watch as casual gamers mocked the validity of his life's work.

That day, as we stood enveloped in his wisdom, Jim must have seen a brighter future, perhaps a few diamonds in the rough. He looked over this raggedy band of college students and just as Master Splinter took the Ninja Turtles under his care and raised them to become mighty warriors, Jim took a motley crew of untrained and undisciplined weekend gamers and began to mold them into true masters of the Nickelcade domain.

It began with simple economics: Look for games that offered a small initial outlay of capital yet promised reasonable returns with manageable risk. I felt so foolish, here I was, enrolled in the Marriott School of Business and yet Jim stood teaching me about the importance of well-planned capital budgeting. Additionally, Jim taught us to see the bigger picture. In the long run, is playing that 5 nickel DDR game going to offer the same lasting benefits that 5 nickels can give at Disco Fever? He caused us to look inward, to reevaluate our playing, and to repent if necessary.

Is there sacrifice? Of course. Are there times when my fingers, blackened by nickels, grow weary and long to rest? Indeed there are many. Nevertheless, Jim's way offers a higher degree of rewards. At the end of each night we come before Jim and present our tickets to be counted. There is a quiet satisfaction when Jim, usually reserved to a silent dignity, cracks a smile and states, "Wow guys, you've got a lot of tickets." It's a validation, a validation of all the sacrifice, the blood and sweat left behind on the carpet of the Nickelcade. Jim recommends prizes to us and advises us of any new additions: switchblade combs, snap bracelets, bouncy balls, rubber band guns. As he places those prizes into our hands he looks us in the eye, and while no words are spoken, we know he's proud of us.

After each trip we leave exhausted, having left it all on the Nickelcade floor; still, just before that glass door closes for the night, I turn back, look to Jim, and say, "We'll be back Jim, we'll be back."

Jim turns, dips his head as a gesture of respect among champions, and smiles. Then the next patron asks for a blue slushie and once again Jim is just the Nickelcade cashier, unappreciated and unnoticed; but never to us Jim, never again.

Keep playing Jim, keep playing.