Do you remember the 8-bit graphics of the early 90s version of Oregon Trail? It was the only computer game you were allowed to play in Elementary or Middle School and it was AWESOME because, well, for obvious reasons it’s awesome anyway, but there weren’t any other crazy games out there except Doom and it’s much more fun to fight off typhoid than kill monsters if you’re 9 year old me.
I used to name my characters Faith, Hope, and Charity, and pretend they were real 19th Century pilgrims. My father character was always a doctor so he could ward off disease and snakebite, and much like my normal life, I played conservatively in the hopes of arriving in Oregon with all my kids in one piece. Those darn boulders in the river at the end always gave me trouble though. Clearly I have some unfinished Oregon Trail business, but I can get back to that later. Suffice it to say I took my responsibility as their hand-picked guide to the land of plenty seriously.
Apparently not everyone played the game the way I did. Some way or another Joe and I got on the topic of Oregon Trail and we were reminiscing and I realized, horror upon horrors, that he thought my well-conceived plan was a pile of hooey. He would have much rather been killing monsters. So, to rebel against the pioneer spirit, he would TRY to lose his charges in Utah rather than ensure their safety. Ford the river? Sure! Guides are expensive, after all. Instead of Felicity and Mary as names, he used Poop, Fart, and Diarrhea. Except, he said he couldn’t spell Diarrhea, so it always wound up looking like Diharreahh or Diyarea, which, remarkably, could pass as 19th Century names if you didn’t know any better. I almost lost it when he mentioned that Dyarrheah nearly always died of dysentery. Oh, the irony. He was the one pumping buffalo with bullets like there’s no tomorrow and shooting 1429 pounds of meat but only being able to carry 56 of it back to the wagon because dear old Pimple, his oldest and strongest, died of cholera.
What a metaphor Oregon Trail is for life. We balance each other well, but can you guess who is the more fun-loving of the two of us? I pay for a guide and wait two days; he caulks the wagon and floats it.
P.S. Did you know that Poop and Fart are second cousins once removed?
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