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Picture this. It’s Friday night, I’m married, it’s snowing, my son is 3 years old and I’m taking him on his first trip to Blockbuster to pick out a movie. This is a big deal for him — and me because for years I’ve been looking forward to having a son who’s old enough to go on a Blockbuster trip so we can snuggle up and watch a movie. Sure, it’s going to be Winnie the Pooh, but I’m game.
We get there. The little guy runs around, grabs movies off the shelves and I very gently put back the copy of Scarface he wants. We go to get ol’ Pooh Bear, and lo and behold, somebody has rented it. In fact, all of the Winnie the Pooh movies are rented, and Tigger too. SOB.
We find something else and, yes, it was all worth it, because the little guy was happy. Of course, when I return the movie, it’s late because he wanted to watch it 15 times and, of course, I was subjected to the famous Blockbuster late fees.
Fast forward two years later. At this point, the little guy knows exactly what he wants because he is Batman crazy and tonight we are going to watch Batman. We do our Friday night trip to Blockbuster and guess what? You got it, no Batman. The little guy doesn’t understand what’s going on, gets upset, and so does his little sister, because she always has his back. I’m trying to find something they can watch and a 5-minute trip turns into a debate as complex as the debt ceiling fight between Republicans and Democrats. Now, we’re all miserable, and why? Because that was the world