My Favorite Arcades: Introduction

I hated the 80’s. Fucking loathed them. I hated Reagan, hated the music, the consumerism, and the yuppies who lived it. I hated the vast majority of my peers, who’s superficial pursuit of mindlessness was perfectly reflected in the droning synth-pop bullshit they sent shooting up the charts. The 1980’s will surely go down in history as the most culturally desolate decade in American history, a span of 10 years that we still haven’t completely recovered from. And it was in this climate that I spent my tenth through nineteenth years.

But that’s not to say there weren’t bright spots. I had a handful of like-minded friends, and when we weren’t in Bill and John’s basement hacking on their Trash-80 Color Computer, we were hanging out at the video arcade.

Now back in the early 80’s, arcades were not the slick corporate affairs they are now. They were small, locally owned joints with character. Most of them were downright seedy. The lights were low, the floors were dirty, the machines were loud, and the control panels were scarred with cigarette burns. Pre-pubescent boys and post-teenage stoners mingled without incident. The smells of smoke, sweat and high-fructose soda hung in the air. And there was always that one shirtless long-haired dude who could exploit the pterodactyl bug or play Galaga forever on a quarter, but we put our quarters up for next game anyway. Observing his godlike skill was almost as fun as getting our eventual turn. Arcades weren’t the kind of places our parents liked us hanging out, but we went there anyway. By bike or by foot, we could always get to an arcade and we could always beg borrow or steal a few bucks to drop into a Dig Dug machine a quarter at a time.

I don’t know if kids even go to arcades anymore. I doubt it. The only arcades I’ve seen in ages are Dave & Buster’s and Gillian’s, and places like that only have the personality their board of directors decided on. When I have to venture into a mall (which is rare these days), I never hear the siren’s song of a hundred arcade machines beckoning me to come and spend my quarters. Or maybe I just don’t recognize the sound anymore, now that it isn’t eight-bit bleeps and bloops and the machines all have card-readers instead of coin slots.

Even though I despised the 80’s, my memories of the arcades are some of the fondest of my childhood. If I had to choose a single moment to spend the rest of eternity trapped in, it may well be a moment in one of those dirty old arcades.

This post is the first part of a series. Look for new installments in the coming days.