The Mad Quest for Xbox 360

Every year there’s one incessantly promoted, highly desired, frustratingly unattainable Christmas gift. There were the (really ugly) Cabbage Patch dolls, the Power Ranger flip-head action figures, the original Nintendo and the desperately sought Beanie Babies. This year, it was Xbox 360.

I’d heard about it since the summer when my son learned that stores were taking pre-orders. The graphics, he said, were amazingly realistic. And it apparently does all this other stuff I can’t even begin to understand. Although I like to start my gift buying early, I refuse to Christmas shop in weather above 50 degrees. Besides, at $400, this was one pricey machine. Yes, this would require much thought and discussion.

We had an agreement that our son would contribute toward the purchase price, and that this would not only be his Christmas gift, but his February birthday gift as well. Given the price tag, we should have insisted that this would cover his gifts for the next several years, maybe even for life.

My son was on this e-mail notification list where he got critical Xbox 360 information— release dates, numbers of units per store, proportion of core (no frills) vs. premium systems. When he told me about the first release date in late November, I headed to Best Buy. I thought I was so clever, arriving just as the store opened at 9:00 am. The clerk informed me that they were sold out, and that customers had been camped out since 2:00 am. These people are nuts, I thought, never for a moment thinking that I would soon be one of them.

The Xbox talk in our house grew more desperate as the calendar turned to December. By that point, the word was out—Xbox 360 was not to be had. Unsatisfied with that response, my son perused e-Bay, anxiously searching for possibilities. Entrepreneurs (or scalpers, depending on one’s point of view) were selling units for double the original price. Others were offering “bundles” where, for $1,200 you could get an Xbox 360 complete with extra wireless controllers and games. Even my son knew that these “deals” were off-limits.

Through his notification system, my son learned about the final pre-Christmas release date on December 18th. Forty two units would be sold at the Dedham Best Buy, which was to open at 8:00 am. “If we get there early, we might have a shot,” he said. “How early?” I asked, as I looked into his pleading eyes. He hesitated. “Around 5:00 am?” When I didn’t respond, he added, “I feel really bad asking you to do this.” In a weird sort of way, hearing that my son felt bad made me feel better. “It’s good that you feel bad,” I said. I then heard myself say what I thought I would never utter. “OK.”

It was dark and unbearably frigid that Sunday morning. I had an odd sensation that I was getting up to go on a fishing trip, only I don’t fish, and even if I did I wouldn’t be out in 20 degree weather, unless I was ice-fishing, which I also don’t do. We were, though, incredibly prepared. We dressed in layers and wore wool hats and ski mittens. I brought bottled water and even tossed in my Henry James short stories and book light (for reading in line.) As we pulled up to Best Buy, we saw a line winding around the back. We parked and got in line.

It was hard to tell how many people were in front of us. Clearly many of them had been there all night. These were serious Xbox 360 seekers with their folding chairs, blankets, empty pizza boxes and soda cans. The woman in front of us, headset connected to her BlackBerry, was calling every Best Buy and Circuit City in the area for periodic updates—how many units? Which kind? What was the store’s system for distribution?

As we waited my toes went from cold to numb, and the line in front of us grew wider and wider. There was talk about a mad rush when the doors opened, that it could “get ugly.” After several people behind us decided to call it quits, I turned to my son. “This is insane. This is not worth getting trampled, or possibly something worse.” He reluctantly agreed, and so, after an hour of waiting, we left.

When we got home, I fell back asleep. Around 8:00 am, I was awakened by an excited voice coming from the basement. “Mom, Mom, come quick!” In a last desperation check on BestBuy.com, my son had seen a unit that he’d added to his shopping cart. We completed the order with my credit card, and he clicked “buy.” This can’t work, I thought. This was way too easy.

But it did. Three days later, after much excitement tracking the UPS shipment from Minneapolis, to Shrewsbury to Norwood, my son had his Xbox 360. We figured that all the crazies (like we’d been) were waiting in line somewhere during the time he’d nabbed his online. As with many things, it was all about persistence and timing. When he later checked online, they were all gone.

“It’s like we hit the lottery,” my son said. Clearly it was to him, though I think I’d be somewhat more elated if we’d actually hit the lottery. With the Xbox 360 firmly in hand, we reminisced about our experience—driving in the dark, waiting in line, stopping at Dunkin Donuts on the ride home. I laughed at myself for actually thinking I’d read Henry James while standing in the freezing cold.

There is, though, a downside to this story. There’s that saying, ‘be careful what you wish for, you might actually get it.’ I have a feeling that’s what will be going through my mind when my Visa bill arrives later this month.

(This column was originally published on townonline.com January, 2006)