Tag Archives: things like that

I ain’t making shit

The job I do could reasonably be considered a creative role, seeing as it does indeed involve some semblance of creativity. Sometimes. But that doesn’t mean I’m a creative person, at least not in every regard.

This re-re-re-dawned on me not so long ago, as I was playing the beta of LittleBigPlanet 2. See, the first in the series (for those not in with the cool kids and our mad knowledge) was a platform game where you could create your own levels. In its own way it was a minor revelation.

It was also something I barely played, as the main game was a bit pump and I didn’t ever get beyond the novelty factor of it being a game where I would turn it on to play the best creations other people had come up with.

And so the second game has rolled around, at least in beta (demo) form, and with it comes the rather major changes. Mainly that instead of just being able to create your own levels, you can create your own almost anything. It’s a slight step up, you have to admit.

But with that step up comes the step up in realisation that I just don’t have the talent, patience or sheer bloody mindedness required to create things like this. I can’t be bothered to go through the same thing 40 times in a row just to make sure a two-second sequence of a level plays out well. So what the hell is going to make me play through something 400 times to make sure the entire game I’ve made plays out okay?

This all began back on the Amiga, where I tried to muck about with AMOS The Creator for a while. I got something up and running, but I didn’t think it was very good so I gave in and did something else. If I’d have stuck with that from the age of about seven or eight then I probably wouldn’t have much of an issue with making a few levels or interesting types of game on the LBP series. I’d also probably have a very different job right now.

Hey ho. I’m going to try and make something entirely comprised of cocks, just to make myself laugh.

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Clash of the Titans did not involve this place

I think I’ll offer a bit of insight into my life now. Only a bit, mind you. Don’t want any crazies hunting me down like this is the Blizzard forums*. I used to have a job. Hard to believe, I know, but I did. Back in the day this is, when working meant something and we had to really scrape the bottom of the barrel in order just to survive. I mean, I was lucky enough to avoid getting sent down the pit, but this was almost as bad.

For three (and a bit) weeks, I worked in Argos. I told you it was hard to believe and in fact I probably should have instructed you to take a seat before letting this revelation loose. I sincerely hope the shock hasn’t killed any of my reader.

But yes, I worked in the place with the laminated book of dreams((c) Bill Bailey and every other twat in the world that repeats him), and it was… special. Working on the tills, for example, meant I constantly had a dry, scratchy throat as you did nothing but process the cash or card transactions. It was the abattoir where you sent the customer’s wallet to the slaughter**.

But the warehouse – oh! – the warehouse. It was everything you hoped it would be and more: floor to ceiling high with all the goods of the catalogue, arranged in such a haphazard manner that to call it ‘arranged’ would be an affront to anything that’s ever actually been arranged. How you plebs ever got anything you ordered is beyond me. Though that’s mainly because I used to get lost just wandering around, as well as the time I spent 15 minutes at the top of a ladder looking at TVs. Or the time some arsehole ordered the last individual gel pen we had in stock and I had to root through about 2,000 pens just to find it.

I didn’t find it.

But my favourite was the front bit where you handed people their stuff. Ah, technical names. For one, people were always happy with you here as you were giving them what they wanted. And for two, a couple once asked me to show them a mirror they were thinking of buying. I dutifully opened the cardboard it was contained within, not realising til a second or two later that the sliding motion I had used to open one of the flaps had sliced the tips of two of my fingers quite deep. I noticed, the couple didn’t. They said they would like to take the mirror, and I started wrapping it back up – while doing so, I bled quite a bit on the mirror itself. Again, I noticed, the couple didn’t.

You think McDonald’s workers spitting in your burger is bad? I fucking bled on someone’s mirror.

Ah, Argos. You were a strange three (and a bit) weeks of my life. I think my quitting part was the best though, as I just stopped going. They didn’t even ring me to check, they must have just been used to it. Great days***.

*ERROR – contemporary reference already out of date.

**ERROR – shit metaphor.

*** ERROR – shit days.

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