Reel

When we were little, and the weekends still held their meanings, occasionally, and only very occasionally, we'd be allowed to rent a video. Off my sister and I would toddle, past the newsagent of poor choice (a mere two shelves) and onwards to Concard with its three walls of much selection. We'd dither for hours over meaningless choices, Major League or Navy Seals, Men at Work or Young Guns; Charlie Sheen was a big draw. Once we had it home, we'd make homemade popcorn you could stuff beanbags with, draw the curtains, turn off the lights, get a bit scared and open the curtains again. Finally we'd press play, settle down and roll the trailers. Now obviously, to kids, there's not much better than trailers, the promise of all to come without the disappointment of experience, what more do you want? But shortly after, before the main feature began, would be this boring little infomercial, questioning the validity of our recording. Was this video a genuine copy? Did our cassette have the hologram of authenticity? The strange thing was, that no matter how much we wanted to see the main feature, regardless of how long we'd waited for our home video treat, my sister and I would always stop the tape, eject it, and check for the sticker. I don't know why, it just seemed important.