For once in my life, I was grateful for social networking yesterday.
My Saturday had amounted to me sitting at the computer and typing away, not knowing there was a video game market for one day only at Leeds Town Hall - and it had opened an hour ago. All of a sudden, I found myself in a montage of: eat, clean house, shower, clean some more - before grabbing the car keys and driving aggressively towards the closest car park. I was anxiously aware that any time wasted brought with it the chance of someone buying the one thing I wanted - and I didn’t even know what that would be yet.
Speed-walking like a madman through the city center, there was a little excitement brewing inside me; but when I made it to the home stretch, my heart sank as I noticed a massive queue stretching out from inside the convention building. As I got closer, a little voice of hope inside me was saying, “surely they’re not all here for this, there must be something else on”. But that voice started to wane as I edged closer and a sign revealed itself. Yes, they were indeed all waiting to get inside the same market that I was.
Bugger.
My first thought was “wow”; my second, was that I was surprised by the diversity of age, gender and race of the people in the queue, all openly talking about videogames. I found myself amongst my own kind: chatting about the latest big releases, Titanfall and Dark Souls II, talking about the old and the new.
But in the back of my mind, there was still that anxiety of the stalls running out of stock, as I saw people walking out of the market with a range of games and consoles: Sega Mega Drive, Gameboy Advance, Sega Saturn, Nintendo 64… one gentleman even had a boxed NES Power Glove. I watched him as he walked towards me and pass the queue. I wanted him to pry the box open - other than on the internet I had never seen a Power Glove. My sense of jealousy was intense.
One by one, people came out with delighted smiles talking about what they had seen: “Mint condition Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask”, someone uttered. The amount of geek apparel being worn was more than I had ever witnessed: a variety of t-shirts and jackets - the best one I saw was a Deadpool jacket - from seemingly every franchise that could be considered even remotely geeky were being worn with pride. Calvin Kline, Hugo Boss, Ralph Lauren - they did not exist in this world; it made me happier, knowing that I was standing alongside my fellow geeks, strangers who shared the same passions as my own.
In the walk up to the door, I was fooled twice, mistakenly believing that I was nearly inside. The first time was when I was working my way up the stairs outside, I believed I was approaching the light - a salvation of sorts - when all of a sudden I saw how far from paradise I was. Far from being near the front of the queue as I had hoped, I noticed that the line continued to snake down a corridor before curving back around past the entrance to the building. The second time I was fooled was when I got near to the door. I couldn’t see what was beyond it, but in my mind I thought that I was truly getting close to the end of my wait; but no, I was tricked again. A crowded staircase led down to whatever waited for me and the many people behind me.
And then the heat hit me.
The weather outside wasn’t the best you could have hoped for, but what kept me warm despite the harsh conditions was the combined body heat of so many people packed together like proverbial sardines. Slowly cooking in the heat, unfortunately I had no time to shed layers; the queue had picked up pace, spiralling its way down the stairs to the real entrance.
I noticed that there was an entrance fee. I knew my wallet would be taking a critical hit, but once my eyes had seen the medium sized room, I didn’t care about that (too much). People were tightly packed into the windowless room and I could hear what sounded like a million conversations: punters, businesses, parties of friends - all trying to talk and hear each other over the din surrounding them.
Finally, I got inside. The first stall I had to ignore - I couldn’t see the seller or their merchandise, so dense was the crowd of people around it. Moving on was the only option. I knew that I needed to be ruthless; that if I saw something I wanted, I had to buy it. There would be no second chances. It was a while before I could squeeze myself into a small gap in front of someone’s shop. By that point, I had reached the other side of the room and was ready to make my first purchase. I knew from the size of the crowd waiting for their chance to fit into any space that became available, that there was something waiting for me.
I quickly spotted my prize. Some N64 games - a console for which I have recently developed a new-found appreciation for - were in a couple of the boxes on display, next to a vast number of Mega Drive and Master System games. Talking to one of the gentleman that worked on the stall, I was informed this was but a fraction of what he had. If I wanted anything more, I should contact him and go to his market in York . I’ll probably take him up on his offer; the variety of consoles and games was excellent, some even in mint condition - though for much higher prices. Flicking my way through the assortment of N64 games, I picked up a copy of Micro Machines 64; but it wasn’t enough. I’d been bitten by the shopping bug. I had to get at least one more game, purely due to the range of goods on offer and some very competitive pricing.
Two guys who were stood next to me quickly reminisced about playing Mace: The Dark Age after spotting it on offer, before putting it down. I didn’t talk to them, but instead instantly picked it up - trusting the words of total strangers, words that weren’t even meant for me.
On to the next stall, and I found myself distracted by some bead art (the stuff you arrange and then iron so that it melts and sticks together). The small stall offered bead art key-rings of various games: Pac Man, Super Mario, Bomberman, etc. There were a couple of larger ones of Ken and Ryu from Street Fighter. I quickly acquired 2 key-rings for £1.50 each: one of a white Bomberman, and the other of a question block from Super Mario.
It was back to looking for games after that. One of the smaller stalls I noticed had a small range of GameCube games - a favorite console of mine. I saw a copy of Capcom Vs. SNK 2 for an agreeable £11. In my opinion, Capcom has always made fantastic fighting games - so I knew that there would be no way that I’d be disappointed.
The stall I was stood in front of was small, but it contained some rare items. One instantly caught my eye: it was a Sega Game Gear, but none like any that I had ever seen. Sitting in a well-maintained white case, it had a whole host of components sat next to it. When I got home later, I looked it up online. My jaw dropped. The reason that the game gear had stood out to me, was because it was white. I’d never known that Sega’s ill-fated handheld had ever come in anything other than black, but it turns out that I was wrong. That white Sega Game Gear on display was one of 10,000. 10,000 of the 11 million total game Gears that still exist are white - that’s 0.09%. I didn’t know how much the vendor was selling it for, but I doubt I would have been able to afford it.
I turned around to the stall behind me on the hunt for a little bit more with the money I had left picking up one N64 game, Armorines: Project S.W.A.R.M., and Marble Madness for the NES and if money was no object then half of the contents of this stall would have been swooped up with the rest of the room as the quality of the products, especially boxed were worth selling my own organs for, something I would have been happy to do if it meant I could take home more.
I had spent all my money and had only been to half of the stalls, but had no regrets when I saw something I wanted as I had picked up some items and there would be another chance someday in the near future.
Amongst the stalls was one man, Mike Hanson, showcasing his game Power-Up: a retro-styled Shmup, currently on Steam Greenlight after being recently successful on Kickstarter. Speaking to Mike, he told me how he’d developed the game single-handedly. After being impressed by his work I wished him all the best. Perhaps I’ll review it one day.
I was about to end my little adventure, but I had been gripped by something inside me; I wanted to stay here for a little longer, talk some more with people, and buy more stuff - so I made my way to the exit via the last few stalls that I hadn’t yet seen. Close to the exit, a gentleman was selling homemade tabletop arcade machines, each containing over 400 games. I’ve always wanted an old school arcade machine, but it’ll be a couple of years before I’m able to afford one. But we chatted for a short while, discussing the sad demise of the arcade sector and the loss of game tables from pubs around the land.
After my conversation with the gentleman, I was done - I could leave the sweat box, go home, wipe the dust off of an old console, and play with my haul. New games could wait while I indulged my need for nostalgia, even if only for 30 minutes.
What had begun as just another boredom-infused Saturday, was transformed into something amazing by that market. I left with a warm feeling and a spring in my step. Thankfully, I learned that the organizers are already planning a second, to be held later this year. Hopefully that will give me a chance to return and claim what I may have missed. Perhaps I’ll be able to afford one of those white Game Gears.
I have plenty of time to sell my organs, at least.
