System Tragic

As of this writing, the high street here in Merrie old England is in total decay. A variety of once colourful and interesting stores are being beaten into submission through the digital age and terrible governing. As such, many towns are literally a rinse and repeat chain of Subway, Bookies, Phone shop, Greggs, Subway, Bookies, Greggs, Subway, Subway.

Primark.

Few independent video game stores exist from city to city, often with horribly outdated names like "Chips" or "Joystick" or just plain shit names like "Grainger Games"
Regardless, these humble franchises should be commended for manging to stay alive in the face of such a horrible economic downturn, and whilst ailing giants like HMV furrow their brows in a vain attempt to understand "What went wrong" (Your poorly stocked stores were 10x the price of teh intarnetz) These courageous young companies fight off rising rent costs and miserable sales forecasts to fight on, year after year.

When I was a wee lad, back before the weight of the world crushed my spirits forever, there was a suprisingly large selection of one-shop establishments with which to pick up terrible games for my Spectrum/Master System/NES/SNES (delete as applicable)
These were dimly lit, foreboding venues, often staffed by tie-straightening gamers and the precursor to the indie shop staple: The Comic Book Guy.

One however, held my attention more than the others, and ironically, it had nothing to do with actually wanting to shop there.
System Addict, no doubt named after the (s)hit song by bootleg Jackson 5 group  Five-Star, was a local videogame store in the very early 90s that fell into all of the cliches of any small run gaming proprietor, sparse shelves, sarcastic staff, roll-a-dice prices and a questionable trade-in policy.
It did however have one thing going for it, JAMMA.

Y'see, System Addict was a place where I'd never spend a dime of my not-so-hard-earned pocket money, but one day I waltzed in whilst my dad was in Kwik-Save to find they had taken in three JAMMA cabs, running at the 1992-1996 staple prices of 20p a credit (3 for 50p)
I was ecstatic. An arcade? five minutes from my house?? I was pretty much sorted for every Saturday from then on. Along I went, avoiding the dangers of playing out in the sun with my friends, or encouraging any artistic talents, to spend/waste much time and money on the three cabs that would have a variety of popular games installed on regular rotation.

Over time I honed my skills on Final Fight, Sunset Riders, WWF Wrestlefest, SFII, Vendetta (uncensored version), Cadillacs and Dinosaurs and many other fine classics, games that are often my go-to on MAME, showing how ingratiated they became in my psyche.

I also have to credit System Addict with the start of my love affair with Mortal Kombat, as I first experienced it beneath the flickering bulbs of this establishment.
I remember making the run between a newsagent and the shop, memorising Fatality codes from magazines and then performing them in all their gory glory on the arcade. (I couldn't do all of them though, System Addicts MK only had three buttons)
I was once even thrown to the floor by a proper adult (in reality, probably about 17) just for kicking his ass on said machine. The guy then turned the machine off at the power and left.
If it was 2011 it would have been a perfect time to say "U mad lol?" but it was 1992 and retardation hadn't been invented yet.

The draw of System Addicts three cabs took over the youth of Beeston, and they renovated a stockroom upstairs to furnish more cabinets, eventually taking the grand total to around nine.
They enlistied the MOODIEST GIRL EVER to sit in a booth and give change whilst eating coleslaw straight from the tub. She was truly living the dream.

Whilst all this arcade excitement did wonders for filling the shop, it did very little to fill the tills. I would visit the store every single weekend for arcade fun, but I don't remember once buying a single item from the store itself. Not Space Ace on the Amiga, nor Dynamite Dux on the Master System. Nothing.
System Addict was kidding itself. It wasn't a store, it was daycare. A place to offload your hated children whilst you went shopping or simply left the country. A place where you could get into fights over Knights of the Round or whether or not you mates dad "Brought him a prototype Sonic the Hedgehog for the SNES." (From America, of course)
It was a place to loiter, to make enemies, to waste time and money and to have some fun doing all three.

System Addict is long gone, it moved a little further into the High Street for a short while before vanishing for good. At the end of the day, when I remember the shop, my only memories are of playing the arcades, bypassing the shelves and counter completely, of it being a place to while away Saturday morning, but never of a place to buy games or hardware and certainly not a place to engage the staff in conversation.

I don't think it's missed by its patrons, not in a malicious way, but in the same way many arcades aren't missed. People, particulary gamers, have lost that need to go out to be entertained, and let's not forget that people like myself are old enough now that the gaming generation behind us never went out to experience arcades. They have all the entertainment they need at home, in tablets, smart phones, home cinemas and the like.

Which brings us full circle, to the digital age that's whipping the high street.
Whilst that appears to be an inevitability, I still hope that the few independent stores that do remain today fight on and always remain standing in some form, because they aren't all viewed like me and my friends viewed System Addict.
Many indies have a "home-grown" appeal, a place that is "yours" to shop at, where pre-owned prices can often be fairer, oddities and rarities can be discovered amongst the shelves, you aren't bombarded by talk of pre-orders and loyalty cards, and you can feel a sort of camaraderie between yourself and the humble staff behind the counter.

Oh, but as an aside, don't assume they love all the same games you do.

And, in name of all that is holy, if you call your local store for any reason, no matter how often you go in, no matter how long term a customer you are
Don't refer to staff on the phone by their first names.
Ever.