Dear Gamestation Oxford,


I have a question. I'll get to that question in a while, but first I want to explain that this particular query comes mostly out of curiosity, but also, I must admit, partially as a result of the experience I had in your store today.

Okay, so my fiance and I are pretty faithful regulars of your Westgate location (read: your only location). You guys tend to be where we go first both for specific games and just to browse. We like you. That's what makes this all so tragic.

As you most certainly are aware, Gamestation has recently been purchased by Game--who aren't bad, mind, but I dunno. We just like Gamestation. Maybe it's the colour scheme. I think blue, light blue, and neon blue is a good palette for stores. Like an electric ocean (but like, without the instant death).

Anywho, as I'm sure you're also aware, these now artificially constructed rivals are a shoe store away from being tight neighbors in an indoor shopping centre.

Now, this just may be coincidence, but I have to say that since the announcement in June I have noticed a pretty dramatic decline in quality in the Oxford Gamestation: staff that are not neccessarily rude, but not very pleasant and in some cases outright avoidant; music that is turned up so that it is kind of difficult to shop, but hey, why not let the kids have their fun once in a while, right?

Today though, today was special.

I went into the store this afternoon, knowing what I was looking for with the intention of grabbing and buying it. I went to the unused PS2 section, and I don't know how I didn't notice this before, but those games are not organized in any logical way whatsoever, save for the top ten...wait, not even ten, I think it was just eight. It was as hard to tell as that sentence was to read.

Yes. That's right. The section where games are organized with a series of single digit numbers. In ascending order. Was difficult. To follow.

Now, I'm no Oxford grad, but I can generally count myself a pretty mean sum o' ten. In order and everything. But today, you stumped me. So well done with that.

Anyway, nothing alphabetized or organized, and games of different titles are stacked on top of each other with no reasonable way of figuring out where to look for what, and I caught at least 4 titles that had copies strewn in several different places across the wall. I still tried to find what I was looking for, because I'm stubborn, yes, but also because dammit, those shades of blue you have on those walls are just so pleasing, I didn't want to walk out without giving something back. So, goldurn it all, I planted myself there and I announced proudly, to myself, inside of my head, that I was in this for the long-haul.

And then the greasy kid with the awesome studded bracelets behind the counter puts on this hilariously awful metal-core album. Now I want to be clear here: I am not writing this to knock anyone's taste in music, even if their taste is "the Blink182 of metal", but I mention it because it was so loud and so grating that it made it too difficult to continue shopping, or even think.

I said "whoa", not as a comment, but more of a reflex of surprise, as one would do perhaps if they had been praying quietly in church and were interrupted by a slap in the face with a vibrating dildo. The exclamation was at a volume that should have been very audible, but wasn't. That moment haunted me; still haunts me. My voice, once so strong and proud, sucked mercilessly into the gray swirling void of a 24-year-old with a new double bass pedal who despite having long been done with puberty remains afflicted with parents who still just don't understand.

My mind was wiped. From that point I was no longer staying through any force of will, but because my mind was robbed of any ability to send that vital "gtfo" signal to any limb or appendage.

I think he was trying to impress the also-teenaged goth girl. But she looked bored, and trudged out. Which I'm pretty sure didn't help, because then suddenly his pain had meaning--substance, weight. Like a grossly obese labrador. A black labrador. Darkness. And weight. Labradark. I realized I had to leave before he did something drastic, like switch to Evanescence, because hell if I needed to wake up from a sudden blackout covered in someone else's blood; an angry broken shard of God of War clutched in my quivering fist, spattered with gore (now that's fucking metal).

However, I did not want to bolt without registering some measure of disapproval. Nothing dramatic or loud, just some contact to suggest that I wasn't the only person there who thought this situation was ridiculous. I looked towards a different employee. Every one I saw seemed to be pointedly avoiding eye contact with not just me, but customers in general.

It was at this point that, in my mind, Gamestation ceased to be a real store, and became instead that comically overblown and badly acted "DO NOT BE" segment of every entry-level retail training video, ever. The spell was broken.

I left the store. I walked maybe ten steps to Game. I quickly found the game I was looking for. I stood in the queue. It was a decent sized queue, contrary to the one in Gamestation, which did not exist.

The employees at the checkout were reasonably friendly. One of them even smiled, I think.

So, now, finally, here is my question:



You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?



I eagerly await your reply.


Kind Regards,

Amy