Of course, when you’re as successful as Salvatore, your life pretty much is a vacation. He’s basking in sunlight, wearing designer shades, with a white T-shirt and blue jeans that probably cost him six hundred bucks all in. Meanwhile, I’m sitting in a dim room wearing a threadbare Seahawks shirt that is a far cry from the color rush neon green it once was—more of a faded yellow these days—plus a pair of blue and gray athletic shorts that seems intent on unraveling one thread at a time.
I sit through a couple of unnecessary drone shots as he talks about how great the people are in wherever the hell he is; definitely not my neighborhood.
“So here’s the news! The official King’s League twitter account has been teasing us all with a series of messages about,” he deepens his voice to sound authoritarian and erudite and supplies air quotes, “‘The inevitability of change.’ And now, we’ve got an idea of what that change is. Viewers have been sending in reports that the treasure drops in all dungeons have changed. Not the basic drops you nab from a say, an Underdark Goblin, but the big stuff, the boss rewards for clearing the dungeon.
“Here’s what we know so far…”
The screen changes to some footage of a character running through the Misty Caverns.
“In the Misty Caverns, you used to get the following for defeating—”
I switch off the stream. While technically news, this isn’t what I was looking for. King’s League is a great game, and changes like this are always met with a level of excitement from players who got tired of the same ol’, same ol’ and anger from players who wonder how they’re going to find the elusive final components to whatever it is they were working on.
But that’s all just the system refreshing itself. It’s not like a new expansion in King’s League proper. Or even one of the connected sequel worlds… people have been hounding the devs for a modern shooter world with zombie spawns ever since their Cyberpunk world went live.
Eager to keep me streaming, the app offers me a smorgasbord of Salvatore’s tutorial videos. Fastest Way to get out of level one. How to make money crafting potions. Ten monsters that aren’t worth your time. Top Five signs you’re the target of Player Killers. Wintersburg: Best Inn for Low Level Adventuring. This list goes on and on and none of it interests me. Which is probably for the best.
These modestly sized muscles aren’t going to micro-tear themselves.
I like the way my local gym is set up. It has mirrors on three walls so no matter which piece of equipment I use, I get to see myself and focus on my technique. It’s both helpful and humiliating. I haven’t been here in a couple of days—too much time spent trying to earn enough money to make rent.
I get a few nods from the regulars and then hop on a machine to do incline presses. Once you’ve lived with and lost man-boobs, you’ll do anything to keep them away. I’m hoping that enough of this will re-wire my body to no longer believe that I should look like Chris Farley. That was me from grade school through middle school. But staying friends with Brian throughout all, and having some of his jock-bro work ethic rub off saved me from being the fattest kid in high school. I managed to get that healthy-fat look going for me.
I finish my first set and stand up. The gym is pretty dead during this hour of the day… just the hard core workout freaks and the people with odd schedules. Or people like me with no job or school or life.
I hear the old man behind the counter talking to someone. “G’mornin’.”
His name is Bob, but everyone just calls him “old man.” He doesn’t seem to mind, and I have no idea who started it. I feel like that sort of thing would piss me off. Like, it’s a little too on-the-nose. I’d hate it if people called me unemployed loser, for example. I only know Bob’s name because of the staff identification badge he occasionally wears, despite being the only guy who works here. The badge says “Bob, Owner,” complete with a photo of him when he wasn’t quite as old. Taken some time in the 1970’s judging by the sideburns he’s sporting.
A woman is speaking quietly to the old man. I’m not eavesdropping or anything—actually, yeah, I am—but I can’t make out what she’s saying. So technically, I’m only attempting to eavesdrop. The thing is, if I can’t hear here from where I’m working out, then the old man can’t either. You gotta yell like Bob is standing across the room to be heard. Most of us just communicate to him with nods and primitive sign language as we wait for him to remember how to use the scanner to read our membership card.
My card is actually a copy of Brian’s. He uses the university gym and gave me his old one when mine was canceled. This happened after the third or fourth time my dues were paid by that exotic currency, insufficient funds. So, while Brian technically derailed my post-high school life, I can’t say he hasn’t done anything for me. Truth is, he’s always tried to be there for me, despite all the screw ups, and I value that. Guess that makes me a sucker.
The woman at the counter: She’s pretty but looks embarrassed to be there. I can watch her discreetly because of the mirror. It’s creepy, but not serial killer creepy. I have standards.
Bob makes her speak up a little so he can hear what she’s saying, then calls it off and figures he knows why she’s there. He hands her a clipboard. She’s signing up. Or she needs to use the bathroom and is going to have to pantomime the potty dance to get the old man to comprehend. No, she’s taking the pen. She’s signing up.
That's good! And not because of any budding romantic interest… I’m well aware of my prospects right now. Hi! I’m Dirk. I’m perpetually late on rent for my shit hole apartment and I’m really good at video games. Depending on your definition of good, I mean. Oh, also, I’m constantly broke. Wanna get Chinese food?
No. My dating life is a joke, and I’m okay with that because that’s pretty much how it’s always been. But… this gym is the closest to my house. I need the old man to stay in business so I don’t have to travel any further or join the kind of place that will actually uncover the little shared membership thing Brian and I have going.
So, you put up with the gym’s shortcomings. The machines were new once. And the building, which I’m pretty sure used to be a strip club given the number of poles seemingly installed at random locations, has floor-to-ceiling windows and a door, tinted dark. It helps keep the heat out in the summer, which almost makes up for the complete lack of air conditioning. Bob also mops with pure bleach at least once per quarter.
And now with this newest member, it can go on sapping the joy from its members with each grunt and drip of sweat pooling on the filth-encrusted floor mats. Which are black, so you barely notice.
My thoughts drift back to King’s League and the rent I’m not paying for while I exercise. I know in the long run the exercise is worth it, and not just because I’m currently making a living in a video game. That really puts a dent in reaching your daily step count. Reality is appearances matter. And even though I never did and never will play football, I loved the analytical side of it. The way some players get amped over a big hit, I get amped over the Bradley-Terry model of win probability. The workouts help me look like I belong in the culture. I get cleared. I get a job. I get a degree and maybe get on at an entry level running stats and analytics for a major sports franchise. I’ll do baseball if I have to. I’m not picky. At the very least I’ll be more likely to find a job that pays more than minimum wage. The workout is an investment, at least that’s what I tell myself.