Since you all liked my GameStop article, and I like all of you (especially you, handsome ;D), I’ve decided to share some of my more memorable experiences as a Senior Game Advisor for the Preowned Empire.

A big part of the job was explaining the ESRB ratings to parents. Despite how mainstream video games have become, there are still a lot of parents out there who are under the impression that all video games are for kids. Whenever a customer purchased a game that was rated Mature, we had to card them if they looked underage, or explain what the M rating meant if they had kids with them. A lot of parents were really grateful for the information, and some didn’t care.

I LOVED when a kid would try to slip one past his parents and try to tell them that an M rated game wasn’t bad, and then I’d tell them the truth and they’d make him pick out something else. I’m not really a jerk in real life, despite how I portray myself in my writing, but I did enjoy shutting those punks down. I had a parent ask me once about God of War because her 10 year old son wanted it. “I know it says it has nudity on the back,” his mom asked me, “but he says it’s only in one part of the game and you don’t even have to go there.” I had quite a laugh, and the kid left empty handed for lying to his mom. Score.

Anyway, this particular story begins on a Friday afternoon. It was starting to get busy, and it was me and the store’s assistant manager Jeff working the counter. An older man, probably in his late 60s, came to the counter with his grandson and his friend, who were both no older than 10 years old. He plopped the display box for Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas for the PlayStation 2 on the counter. “My grandson wants this for his birthday.”

“Sure,” I said, “But you should know that this game is rated M for Mature for ages 17 and up, because it contains blood, gore, intense violence, strong language, strong sexual content and drug use. This is basically a rated R video game.”

“Yeah, just ring it up,” he said, shoving a 20 at me.

I rang through the last shrinkwrapped copy we had. “As long as it’s still sealed, you can return the game within seven days. Once it’s open, though, we can’t take it back.”

He said nothing else as I handed him his receipt. They went on their way and the store was peaceful for about an hour before they came back in, and I got that unshakable feeling that I was going to be hating my life for the next half hour, even more so than I usually did when I was working there.

He drops the game on the counter. It’s open. “His mom doesn’t want him to have this. Give me my money back.”

“I’m sorry sir, but I can’t take this back. It’s open.”

“So?”

“So it’s not a new game anymore. We can’t sell this again. All I can do is exchange it for another copy of the same game.”

Before you cyber vigilantes start igniting your flaming catapults of hate mail, this is actually a standard return policy for software of any kind, mostly because it’s so easy to copy these days. GameStop’s “new” games weren’t always really new, this is true, but it was store policy and although the job sucked, I needed it for the time being.

“What do you think I am, some kinda knucklehead? Give me my money back.”

I had every intention of doing the return despite store policy, because I’m a nice guy, but I felt like teaching him a lesson for being so flip and inattentive when I tried to warn him not to buy it in the first place. The fact that his attitude was becoming increasingly hostile certainly wasn’t helping his cause.

“We’re not doing the return,” Jeff says from the other register nonchalantly. “Store policy. Sorry.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m some kinda knucklehead! Give me my damn money back!” He slammed his fist on the counter. His grandson recoiled, and everyone in the store turned to watch. At this point, I leaned back against the counter, partly to show him that I wasn’t going to respond to him being a jerk, and partly because I knew the situation was about to go from bad to worse and I decided I’d rather watch it play out than be directly involved. Luckily for me, Jeff LOVED dealing with customers like that, and in a stunning display of non verbal communication, we immediately switched registers mid-transaction so he could get his hands dirty.

“Sir! There are other customers in the store and if you’re going to yell and scream you can either go outside or I can call mall security. It’s up to you.”

PLEASE let it be security, I thought.

His grandson and friend were crying, begging to go home. He ignored them.

“I’m not leaving until I get my damn money back! Call security!”

Jeff had already dialed before the customer had finished talking. I finished ringing his customer and I handed her her bag, and she just stepped off to the side so she could keep watching.

Mall security came in, and everyone knows mall security can’t really do anything. The guy kept screaming, kept demanding his money back, kept ignoring his crying grandson and basically acted like a dick. It was to the point where the other customers had already invested so much attention to the situation they were hanging around just to see how it would all turn out.

A few minutes later the cops arrived. I laughed out loud. The police had to come to GameStop because a cantankerous old man hadn’t listened to me and had gotten mad that we wouldn’t break store policy to correct his mistake. The funny thing is, I had EVERY INTENTION of giving him his money back, since the game was obviously not even played and using it as the store’s “gut” copy, but the situation escalated so quickly I was never in control long enough to even try to steer it the right direction. When the cops tried to explain to him that his grandson was crying and he was making a fool of himself, he started YELLING AT THE COPS about treating him “like a knucklehead.” Eventually, the old man, the children, and the copy of San Andreas were escorted from mall property, and we never saw them again.

When the store manager came back later that day, we all had to write statements to the police and all kinds of stupid garbage I could have done without. If I’m going to write a police report, I want it to be for something awesome, like I stopped an armed robbery and they need to know who to make the reward check out to.

To this day, the only police report I’ve ever been involved in was because a grumpy old man didn’t get his way and lost $20. Reading that sentence again, that’s probably a good thing.