I have played way too much Chocobo Dungeon 2 over the past few days. I don’t know how I pick such obscure games to obsess over, but it seems to have a lot to do with roleplaying adorable chickens.
The music runs through my head nonstop, my thinking is reduced to point-a-to-point-b-with-least-energy-drain logic, and everything seems way too routine, like killing monsters over and over for a marginal energy gain. You need a special tag to open the door to my company’s floor of the building. You get the tag from a formidable-looking character on the 22nd floor. It’s dim in here — natural light doesn’t seem to penetrate, even though there’s windows. Once you’re on the floor it’s a featureless maze of cubicles and throughways, some of which are useful to you, some of which contain important items (the printer, the coffeemaker). It’s up to you to make this programmed-looking space work for you. Sadly, unlike in Chocobo Dungeon, you can’t explode the cubicle barriers to get from point A to point B. Someone should talk to the building manager about doing something to make this space more engaging.
Another difference between Chocobo Dungeon and my office building, however, is that all the monsters are on one floor instead of on every floor, and I never go to that floor. Sometimes you see them in the elevators, too. They are recognizeable by their uniform haircuts, high-quality clothing, red-white-and-blue badges, and tendency to talk about who they know from their Ivy League school.
Did I mention our office shares the building with the headquarters of the Republican National Convention? Mmmyeahp. Headquarters, and then downstairs is Madison Square Garden, where the convention itself will be. Penn Station, where a number of New York subway lines, the Long Island Railroad, Metro North, and Amtrak meet, is also downstairs. As I make my way through the crowded station every morning, I am not unaware that, to those bent on lethal jihad, this space might represent a potential level up in the eyes of Allah.
My boss told me when I started that I should plan to not be at work that week. She didn’t tell me that anyone at McGraw-Hill who needed to come into work that week would need to ask their boss for special clearance to do so. In fact, if I remember correctly, you need a special pass just to get into a buffer zone of a few blocks around the convention that week. I don’t think much of anyone plans to come in; this place will be like a ghost ship. From the talk I hear around the office, this is no small inconvenience for the company; September, after all, is when school starts, so August is bound to be a busy month for a textbook company.
I have to be careful not to let myself get caught up in gaming reverie when the elevator doors open on the 18th floor and a stream of Oxford-shirted young dudes come in and start talking about the world as if it holds nothing but summer homes and promotions and Hammacher Schlemmler gadgets for everyone. The action you spend the most time doing in Chocobo Dungeon is kicking. Kicking with sharp– nasty– little– claws. Kweeh!
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