A Writer Parts With the Pac-Man Machine as Old as He Is – You Want It?

Occasional TR tipster Chris Ward has had a lifelong obsession with Pac-Man that almost certainly beats yours – he got the yellow guy permanently inked on his skin, he uncovers Pac-pornography, and for most of his life he has owned a Pac-Man machine from Coney Island that’s approximately the same age he is. He’s moved it through multiple states and flights of stairs like you freakin’ well should if you own something this awesome.

Sadly, following a divorce and the death of a beloved pet whose memories are intertwined with those of the machine, he’s moving on, and offering the game for sale, accompanied by an epic story of the memories it holds.

The spring-action click of the power button, the low hum of the CRT monitor, the crackles of warm static … it will make the hair on your knuckles stand up the first time you fire it up. It’s exactly as awesome to own as you always thought it would be. If you’re still reading this, that’s because you never wanted a Harley in your mid-to-late thirties: you wanted an arcade machine. And you wanted The King of classic arcade machines. You wanted a Pac-Man…

My friend Kris has been tricked into assisting with moving this machine twice, including that evening, shortly after arriving in town for a visit. We didn’t think to measure the doorway until we were sweat clear through, stuck at the top of some winding steps, screaming FUCK FUCK FUCK at ourselves and putting our shoulders into it. It was a nightmare. It didn’t work once it was inside. Kris and I looked at schematics that might as well have been ancient tomes, and after hours of tinkering realized it was a very simple fix. We played that game all night and drank all the Killian’s Irish Red for miles.

We laughed our happy asses off the way someone does when they realize they just survived a very serious accident completely unscathed. The machine has worked fine ever since…

If you live in the St. Louis area and have $800, you can give his former prize possession a good home. If you don’t, just read the damn story attached to the ad anyway. It’s like a power pill to your heartstrings.