After a few weeks off we made a trip to the city armed with 3 jigglers each. We headed back to Tilt, our old haunt, keen to play a brand new game we’d heard about. As we strolled past the scurity gaurd he looked us up and down… and I became suddenly and inexplicably overcome with a bad feeling. As we neared the back of the large pinball room I could see several large signs had been erected around the room. I walked up closer to one and read the large red print - “PLAYERS ATTEMPTING TO GAIN CREDITS ON THESE MACHINES ILLEGALLY WILL BE PROSECUTED”. I gulped as my fingers gently massaged the jiggler in my right pocket, rolling my thumb over the knot in the fishing line. I reached for the coins in my left pocket, and placed them on the glass of the nearest pinnie.
Feeling nervous, I decided to play using real money… the old fashioned way. Morris though, was far more cavallier. He snorted at the signs, and chastised me with “Booork Boooork Boooork” noises and chicken gestures. I hated it when he did that. After a quick scan of the room, he pulled out the jiggler and lowered it carefully into the coin slot. I watched as the credit counter rolled over quicky to 20 credits, before he withdrew the coin and calmly slipped it back into his pocket - slipping me a sly sideways look as he did so. He played two games and everything seemed fine, and I began to relax… when I noticed the large silhouette of the security guard approaching. He moved slowly in our general direction, ambling and looking around the room. I tried subtley to watch him over my shoulder while remaining nonchalant, switching from looking over my right shoulder to the left as he strolled menacingly behind me. I watched him slowly get closer to Morris… who was completely immersed in his game and oblvious. I looked long and hard at the bin full of Hungry Jack’s paper cups in the corner, and seriously considered dumping my three jigglers in it as soon as was humanly possible.
Something seemed to catch the guard’s attention over toward the “smack the shark” games, and I released the air I’d held in my lungs for what seemed like 5 minutes as he wandered purposefully off. But he’d rattled me… and I was not prepared to risk the jiggler that day. I soon ran out of change, and shuffled up to the machine Morris was playing. “I’m out of cash” I announced. His eyes remained fixed on the game. “We’re never out of cash. Did you lose all three or something?” he asked, assuming I’d had a triple jiggler malfunction. “No!” I replied, frowning. “That gaurd… I reckon he’s onto us”. Morris looked around as he trapped the ball in the crook of his left flipper. “What gaurd?” he mocked. I was more annoyed now. “He walked right behind you! I saw him… he looked you up and down. I reckon he knows.” Morris narrowed his eyes, and in his most cocksure voice, said, “knows what? He doesn’t know shit!”
At that moment I realised just how blase Morris had become, and it unnerved me. I’d seen bravado like this in films… those Vietnam War ones where one minute the company are marching and singing along to a transistor radio, and the very next they are shot into small pieces by the Vietcong. For a second I pictured his body dancing like some demented puppet as the enemy pumped him full of lead, and then him falling to the ground underneath a canopy of dense jungle. “I’m going” I told him, expecting him to tell me to wait until he’d finished this game. But I forgot I was dealing with another addict… and that reason and sense were not factors in the equation anymore. His eyes remained locked on the ball in play. “Sure” he replied tersely. “I’ll catch a later train”. I took a step back and watched for a moment, then leaned back toward him and stage whispered in his ear. “yeah well don’t get fucken caught” I snipped, and then turned and walked out.
On the train going home I was mad. Mad at Morris for chastising me. Mad at the security gaurd for ruining my day. Mad that I’d spent all my money, and didn’t even have enough left to buy a can of Coke. I pulled out one of the jigglers from my hip pocket and dangled it in front of my nose, the gentle rocking of the train forcing it to swing back and forth slowly. I thought of all the hours I spent collecting bottles, and drilling holes in coins, and slapping flippers and waiting to hear the addictive “crack” of a free game. I pulled down the window, and tossed the jiggler out of it. I imagined it landing perfectly on the farthest most of the southbound tracks - only to be flattened by the next train. I smiled at the thought.
Later that evening as the sun was setting, I rode my bike past Morris’ house, expecting to see his bike parked out the front - but it was nowhere to be seen. I was still pretty mad at him, but I went and rapped on the front door. His sister answered, and whined “Morris isn’t here”. I asked if she knew where he was. “Went to town to play pinball” she scowled. “I know” I offered, “we went togther”. She shrugged her shoulders and let the screen door slam shut, and began walking off down the long hall. “Don’t know… don’t care” she said in amocking, sing-song tone not unlike her brother.
I wheeled my bike away and began to fret. It was hours after I’d left him… I am sure he wouldn’t have played that long. Maybe he stopped at Hungry’s for a burger… still… for an hour? I doubted it. I started to grind my teeth. And soon the visions came again. Morris would be standing there, bumping the pinnie and slapping the flippers, 2,000 credits clocked up coutesy of the jiggler. He’s feel the large hairy hand on his shoulder and turn to see the angry face of the huge security gaurd, a cigarette and long sausage of ash hanging from his lower lip. “Let’s go for a walk kid” he’d sneer, and Morris would suddenly put on his innocent face, and start whimpering , “what? what? what have I done?”. The gaurd would take him to a small, dimly room out the back. He’d force Morris to turn out his pockets. The three jigglers would fall to the ground in slo-mo, the guard’s gaze following them all the way down. He’d look back up at Morris, who’s bottom lip would now be quivering in fear. Then he’d reach for the telephone book he kept in the back room, for special occasions such as this. 20 minutes later Morris would stagger out onto the street, split lip, black eye and spitting out blood. And he’d blame me.
A moment later I heard the squeal of caliper bicycle brakes echo down the street. I turned to see Morris stopped inched behind me. I stood slack jawed for a second, looking for the black eye… the bloodied shirt… for any evidence of the beating I was so certain he’d been given. There was nothing. “What are you staring at piker?” he mocked me again. I still couldn’t speak. “Should have stayed piker… I got the high score on Meteor”, and as he said it he mimed slapping the flippers, biting his lower lip in mock concetration. “But… the guard” I mumbled. “I thought….”. Morris just stared at me, then shook his head. “You’re gutto! I told ya… he didn’t know shit! I played for two hours after you went!”. Just then Morris’ mum called out the front door. “Morris! Get inside… dinner is on the table”. He spun round and jumped on his bike, standing on opne pedal and pushing with the other. He stepped off in the driveway, and looked back up the street at me. “Hiiiiiigh scoooooore” he sung. “Geeeeeb issssss guuuuut-toooooo”. Then he disappeared inside.
I stopped going to town after that. From pretty much that day on the pinnies just stopped doing it for me, and I could not muster any great enthusisam for them. I’d have the odd game now and then, for old time sake, but I could take it or leave it. I realised the spell was broken. Morris continued going into town and “jiggling”, and getting high scores, and bragging about it to me… until one day the gaurd really did catch him at it. He didn’t get beaten to a bloody pulp as I’d imagined, but his mum and dad did get a phone call… and he sure was grounded for a long time after. Enough to break his habit… almost.
Years on I sometimes come across a lonely pinnie in a fish and chip shop, and I’ll give it a longing glance. Sometimes I even shuffle in my pocket, and imagine one of the coins in there has piece of string tied to it.
Now and then, I wonder if it still works.
I secretly hope it does.
Tags: general, generalboy remembers by generalboy
2 Comments »
