Knockoff

One weekend back in the mid 80s my mother and I housesat for one of her friends. Her son and I were the same age, but worlds apart financially. Stepping into his room was like walking into Toys R Us. There was something on his dresser--something I'd never seen before--that caught my eye. It was a Nintendo. I was probably five or six and was the master of all things Atari, but this was some new sorcery. I played that game all weekend long, only stopping to use the bathroom and beg my mother to buy me one when we got home.

For the next few months leading up to my birthday that's all I talked about. I tried to discreetly drop hints like, "Do you think Santa Claus knows that I got all A's on my report card? Should I send him another letter asking about my Nintendo?" Either that or, "Hey Mommy, did you know that Zaire's (Ames) sells Nintendos too? I thought only K.B Toy Store, Toys R Us, Lionel Kiddie City and Children's Palace sold them, but they sell them at the Zaire's on Rhode Island Avenue."

Finally, my birthday came. I wanted two things, a real Ghostbuster Proton Pack (like one that shoots actual electron beams) or a Nintendo. I awoke to find this:

The word of the day, boys and girls, is asshole. Do you know any assholes? I bet you do!

[caption id="attachment_2631" align="alignnone" width="315"] The word of the day, boys and girls, is asshole. Do you know any assholes? I bet you do![/caption]

You should know by now that I have a great memory, but seeing this box was so traumatic to me that I don't remember who gave it to me. I opened the box on my birthday in '88, a voice said "You wanted Super Mario, right?" and the next thing I knew it was 1989. Everything else is a blur.

The same thing happened several years later in high school. Personally, I never gave a damn about brand name clothes, but the girls in my school did. For most of junior high I got clowned for wearing JC Penny's finest and because no one had any cut cards, a random "tag inspection" was common. I had this shirt that looked like Polo, but one day someone pulled the tag and read it out loud "What the fuck is King's Court?" That's when everyone noticed that the man on my shirt wasn't holding a polo club, rather a jousting lance. Do you know how hard it was to live that down? That's why I was so good at joaning (cutting, the dozens, etc) on people. The best defense is a strong offense.

In 9th grade I said that I didn't care if it meant I could only have two shirts for the whole year, I wanted something brand name. So, I went out to Landover Mall and the mysterious person whom trauma has erased from my mind took me inside this store where I was told everything was dirt cheap for some reason. "Must be because they get it wholesale." I saw two shirts, one was a Polo shirt and the other was a Tommy Hilfiger shirt. I bought them both.

The first thing I noticed was that they were kinda itchy, but maybe my ghetto skin just wasn't accustomed to wearing brand names. So one day I'm in school and I start joaning on this girl that I liked. It was playful for the most part, but we drew the interest of other people in the class. I made a joke offering her some lotion for her ashy black jeans and the next thing I know she said, "I know you not talking with that fake ass Tommy Hilfiger shirt!"

What?

"Fake? Man you better check my fucking tag. This joint is all real!" She just started laughing like some kinda cartoon villain. "No boo-boo. I aint gotta check the tag. I can fucking spell. T-O-M-M-4-E-V-E-R. What's that, your Wheel of Fortune shirt? I'd like to buy a 'Y!'" The confused look on my face made her laugh even more. "Oh shit, you didn't know!"

(Attention passengers, we're losing cabin pressure)

I looked down at my shirt and realized that I was a dumb ass. It was written all over my shirt in big letters and I never noticed the 'Y' was missing. The brain sees what it wants to see I guess. At least my other shirt was real.

"And didn't you have on some fake ass Polo shirt the other day too? POLOGAME? Ralph Lauren makes Polo, Ordale, not POLOGAME as one word."

Just as it was with the Super Mario handheld, everything after that is a blur. The next thing I remember is that it was summer after 9th grade and I was standing at the register in Hechts in Wheaton Mall asking the cashier how he could be sure that my new shirt was actually made by Nautica and what their return policy was if I determined later that it wasn't.