Confessions Of A Lego Addict: A Plastic Hive Of Scum And Villainy

I know I am not breaking any new ground when I say that covid has brought a lot of changes into all of our lives. In my case, I went from working in a building with 200 people, to working alone, in my house under my cat’s judgmental gaze.  I used to be able to stroll into the liquor store without fear, now I stroll in wearing a cloth mask like a damn beer ninja. I used to have faith in the relative intelligence of mankind… now, not so much. 

The bottom line is, we’re all feeling the pinch in one way or another but one of the things we all have in common is limited availability of nearly everything. Having previously worked in big box retail, I remember the mad dash for toilet paper as soon as our doors opened. After the toilet paper craze died down, people shifted to things like bicycles and basketball hoops. We sold out of video game consoles within minutes of receiving them. 

The one shortage I never expected was Lego. Specifically, I had been looking for the Ultimate Collector Series Mos Eisley set. I had wanted it for ages. For a number of reasons, I had put off buying it. With every concert being canceled for summer of 2020, I had a lot of time and a little bit of money on my hands. It was time to buy Mos Eisley. 

I have never had a problem getting big Lego sets before the bat-bug swept the planet but within weeks of the pandemic trapping us in our houses, Lego sold out of everything except that Ninjago nonsense. In my big box prison, I regularly visited the toy aisle only to find empty shelves and disappointed nerds like myself trying to figure out how to survive a lockdown without those sweet sweet studded bricks. It was as depressing as much as it was maddening. We just wanted some toys, goddamn it. 

As time wore on and availability didn’t improve, I started searching for other avenues to get that beautiful hive of scum and villainy. I mean, brick and mortar stores aren’t the only game in town, right? I started looking for the set online; first through traditional sources like Amazon and Lego.com, but I had no luck. So I started getting weird with it. Gamestop had some sets but their themes were pretty limited. eBay had a ton of sets including the one I wanted… if I wanted to pay double or triple the price. As a last-ditch effort, I remembered that Barnes & Noble sold Lego. 

At their height Barnes & Noble were selling books and CDs; a business model that has aged like milk in Death Valley. In an effort to remain relevant, they branched out and dipped their toes in board games, models, and toys. In a sense, the strategy kind-of worked. They might not be the force they once were but they’re still clinging to life. With that in mind, I checked out their website and boy oh boy did I hit the jackpot. Not only did they have Mos Eisley but it was the cheapest I had seen it anywhere. I think I broke the sound barrier with how quickly I pulled my card out of my wallet. 

With sweat beading up on my forehead and my fingers trembling, I entered my information. Look, I know not everyone sweats when they buy Lego sets but I won’t kink shame you if you don’t kink shame me. Anyway, I completed the order with baited breath, waiting for the site to refuse my card, tell me it was out of stock, or some other crazy circumstance that would steal my high and drive me into the waiting arms of Mega Blocks and their desperate attempt to be anything other than something your loser uncle bought for you on Christmas Eve because all the good toys were sold out.

I clicked “done”, took a deep breath, and waited. The seconds felt like hours, mostly because my phone sucked but it was still tense. Eventually, the page loaded and I could finally sigh in relief. I got an order confirmation. All I had to do after that was sit back, relax, and crack a beer. It was just a matter of time before my doorbell would ring and I had something to do besides work and masturbate watch TV.

I’d like to say that I forgot about it but, as I have previously mentioned, I am a Lego addict. I obsessively checked my phone for that shipping confirmation email. When it finally came, I was relieved… until I saw the shipping company. 

“What the actual fuck is Lasership?” I mumbled. Panic set in. “Have I been duped?” 

I began googling with limited results. No one seemed to know what Lasership was. Their website looked like it used to be run by a pest control company. The tracking number they provided looked like someone used a random number generator. When I entered the number on their website, the package showed “picked up by carrier” and it stayed that way for three days. 

I panicked, you guys. This wasn’t some $19.99 starter set. UCS sets START at around $200. Mos Eisley was considerably more than that. I began to doubt that I had ordered from the real Barnes & Noble website even though I knew it was. I worried that they had farmed out their sales like Amazon. I am not going to pretend that I am a reasonable person because that would be crazy.

After a few more days of night sweats and stress eating, there was a knock at my door. As I opened it, a massive cardboard box fell in on me. It was dirty, heavily taped, and wrinkled at almost every corner. I pulled out my pocket knife and dragged it across the taped seams. I fully expected some weird counterfeit abomination from a country with a tenuous grasp on what constitutes copywrite infringement. 

As soon as I pulled out the box, I realized that all my fears were unfounded. What I held in my hands was a genuine Lego product. While the box had seen better days, all the pieces were there. It took me a few days to build that set. It took me a lot less time to regain my trust in Barnes and Noble and to forgive Lasership’s lax tracking practices. 

I know I am not breaking any new ground when I say that life during Covid has sucked for all of us and of course, I am being hyperbolic about its impact on me. I didn’t lose my livelihood, my loved ones, or my own health but I think we can all agree that it’s been a drain on our collective emotional resiliency. We have all had to work hard to find even the slightest ray of light in an otherwise shitty situation. We had to be committed to fun. We had to get creative. We had to take risks. We had to order toys from a book store and rely on as yet unknown shipping companies whose names sound like something out of Futurama. Okay, maybe that last one is just me. 

[This post was originally published at Otherverse Games & Hobbies]