The 3 Stages of Gamer Maturity

WARNING: the following article is filled with sarcasm and humor, but it's also filled with a whole lot of love for the art of gaming.  Enjoy.

Ah, the simple satisfaction of coming home from school without a care in the world.  No bills to pay, no reports to finish, no mess to clean up—just you and a pixelated adventure.  Slipping a controller between your fingers felt like hooking your genitals up to an electrical socket, nothing but pure elation.  Enough to make you cry and laugh and sometimes…even throw the controller at the wall.  These are simple moments of absolute joystick fondling goodness.  But time marched on. 

You awake one day to find more hair growing in your nose than on your head.  You look around and discover that—holy crap—you grew up.  But only in the physical sense, because even though you can solve big problems like why the Wi-Fi is out, or why two small humans keep calling you daddy or mommy, you still haven't grown out of the need to level up a Mage or a Wizard or a Thief or—you get the picture.  You're a gamer, an adult gamer.  But adult gaming comes in stages.  And it all begins with a little money in your pocket.

"Perfect!  Now kill the hooker, so you can get back the money you just spent on the handjob."

STAGE ONE: THE MONEY ISSUE.

Nothing hurts worse than your parents telling you no.  And no amount of crying or pulling on your mother's arm will help.  So you suction-cup yourself to the video game display case and hold on for dear life, but it makes no difference.  When you were young, parents beating children in public was a standard and most of the time even encouraged.  As a result, you always returned home with nothing more than a sore bottom.

Years flew by and you finally obtained a job.  A mystical place adults travel to every day to complain about life and bosses and in return are rewarded with a paycheck.  This gave you a chance to venture forth to the electronic store and buy your own damn game.  You skip down the aisle and slap an entire week's pay on the counter in return for the latest platformer.  It's a magical moment, but it comes with a cost: TIME.  You now have the money to afford the fun, but no frigging time to enjoy it.  Why?  Because of all the newly acquired hours at your job.  Damn.  A loud ding echoes in the distance.  Welcome to the first stage of gamer maturity.

"I'm serious.  In that outfit, you look good enough to eat."

STAGE TWO: BECOMING A WUSS

It's 7am.  Your eyes are stuck open from no blinking in the last nine hours.  Your brain has shut down and is running on gaming instinct alone.  A, B, A, B, B, UP, DOWN, A plus B, FORWARD.  You eye the clock.  If you spend just another half hour trying to get to the next level, you'll have exactly eight minutes to shower, eat, crap, dress, and drive to work.  "You have died," has been displayed on the screen so many times, it's now burned into the TV.  But the necessity to beat the game has overcome all priorities in life, including relieving yourself.  What do you do?

You pull what any desperate gamer in this situation would.  You switch the difficultly from hardcore to puss.  Not because you lack skill of course, but out of sheer necessity.  Valuable time is slipping away.  And it's okay, because no one will ever know about your trek into wussville.  You'll never tell your better half, co-workers, or even best friend.  You'll just live with the shame and sadness of wussy gameplay deep inside your heart.  Only you and the pixel gods will know of this sacrilege.  But such is gaming life.  A loud ding sounds in the heavens, alerting the world that you have achieved stage two of gamer maturity.  With one final push you can become a fully mature gamer: a player that is easily crushed in online matches by nine year olds that squeal about banging your mother.

"You talkin' to me.  You talkin' to me.  Well, I'm the only one here--dammit!  Do you guys have to 

stand directly behind me all the time?  You're ruining my De Niro."

STAGE THREE: PASSING THE BATON

With money in your pocket and easy difficulty hiding in your heart, you somehow manage to find that special someone.  They make you laugh and cry and hide your gaming addiction until marriage.  And you realize this feeling is called love…or stupidity, depending on who's doing the defining.  But you don't only want an extra person sleeping in your bed.  No, you also need a miniature version of yourself running around, wreaking havoc, and smearing crap everywhere.

Against everyone's better judgment, you take the plunge and produce another human and find yourself at a loss, because you can't pick the gender or align skill points.  You wait for a ding, but nothing happens, because this isn't the final step in gaming maturity.  The love you have for electronic storytelling must be passed on to future generations, so says the pixelated text.  Only then can one obtain the rank of fully mature gamer.

"Ow!  It burns, it burns.  Hurry up and do the other armpit."

"Will you stop jumping around like a little girl."

"Are you sure the ladies like a smooth-shaven beast?"

"Just hold still."

So you wait.  And wait, until the tiny human can finally sit up without their head lolling from side to side like some broken Vault-Tec bobblehead.  You look at your controller and then at the smaller version of yourself and smile.  Cautiously, you push the controller toward their baby hands and can't help but feel sadness and joy at the same time.  As if you're passing on a part of yourself.  But wait…what the hell are you doing?  There's no way you're giving up on the greatest form of storytelling.  You snatch the controller back like a hungry convict with the last Twinkie.  The miniature person starts to cry and you cringe.  But then a light shines down from the heavens, illuminating the answer sitting right next to your gaming rig.  A second controller.  You dive at it like a fumble in the Super Bowl and then jam it into the whiny kid's hands and the excessive screaming stops. 

Three loud dings.  Congratulations, you have achieved the final step in gamer maturity.  And the best part?  You don't even have to connect their controller, because they're too young and dumb to realize that all their button mashing and slobbering does nothing.  Isn't parenting fun?  They're happy and you're happy.  The world is once again at peace.

"Jesus Chri--will you stop with the camera already!  Can't you see I'm busy?  It's not 

like you're the one snooping around, elbowing faces.  Why don't you go shoot something?"

"I am shooting something."

"Nobody likes a smart-ass."

END GAME

Some people may look at you like you have three heads and crap out of the side of your mouth, but other gamers understand.  You have an appreciation for pixelated storytelling that will never disappear.  Game playing may reduce in allotted time or even difficulty, but the amount of love will never change.  Gaming isn't a hobby or a bad habit.  It's a way of life.  And for better or for worse, till death do you part.


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