I remember trembling as I walked toward the front of the checkout line. I put my purchase on the counter to the disapproving stare of the cashier. Palm sweat slowly dripped into my wallet when I pulled out the requisite $3.70. With the transaction complete, I nervously walked out of the store and toward freedom.
Who knew purchasing a yo-yo could be so hard?
As I found out last week, the purchase was infinitely harder than purchasing any other vice item such as liquor, socks or pornography. Generally when I make those purchases, there's an implicit understanding between me and the clerk about what will occur next. It might not be the most glamorous of events, but it's a natural occurrence and the workers can't raise too many eyebrows because damn it, sometimes socks just get dirty.
Buying a yo-yo is a completely different event though. I initially hit problems when I couldn't find the yo-yo section in the toy store. I didn't want to ask anyone for help, because I don't like people, so I needed to wander the aisles muttering to myself ""Must find yo-yo, get good yo-yo, yes yo-yo, yo yo yo-yo.""
Some worried mothers justifiably covered the ears of their children.
When I finally did find the yo-yo, I encountered what many scholarly types have defined as ""The Inherent Yo-Yo Purchase Problem."" Here's the situation—I'm 22, and by virtue of being 22, I cannot be the prime yo-yoing age of 7. If I try to purchase a yo-yo, it prompts stares, glares and the dialing of 9-1 with a hand perched on the 1 ready to press it down again.
To these clerks, this 22-year-old yo-yo buyer isn't going to merely play with the toy. Oh no, I'm going to do weird things with it like engage in ""Come Come Shibari"" (Japanese yo-yo bondage) or will capitalize on the yo-yo's intense thwacking powers to launch some quasi-terrorist attack.
Even worse, they might just think I'm some kind of loser who can only engage in social interaction by displaying some yo-yo trick. Which is sadly somewhat accurate, but once people have seen my ""Baby in a Cradle"" they just HAVE to converse.
The real reason I wanted the yo-yo was because I remembered having fun with one in elementary school, and I had spent many years lacking one. I went out and purchased it. Nothing weird, nothing that should arouse the suspicions of clerks.
Unfortunately it's points of view like this that led to my arrest, imprisonment, mental mind torture in the form of withheld nachos, a prison tattoo naming me ""Yo Yo Ma"" and my subsequent release.
Thankfully, they let me keep my yo-yo!
After all of this occurred—or got dreamt—I'm still an avid supporter of yo-yo rights. It's not something people should view as bizarre, weird, messed up, non-sensical or all-in-all kinda funny. Adapting the famous National Rifle Association slogan, it could be said that if they outlaw yo-yos, only outlaws will yo. Truer words were never spoken.
Slinkys on the other hand are a whole different story.
