Yo Joe

Long before Pokemon came on to the scene, there was G.I. Joe, and I for one wanted to collect them all. I didn’t sadly, but not for lack of trying. In fact at one point I had a six figure a week habit. It was bad. I was an addict, but I refused to accept that I might have a problem. Just one more couldn’t hurt, right? It wasn’t always so bad. In the beginning I started small. One figure a week was all my paltry allowance would allow for. At first I was OK with this, but it didn’t take long before I started craving more. Unfortunately being that I was only ten money was a bit harder to come by. I thought about running a weekend lemonade stand, but realized those were usually only successful during the summer months and as it was fall I would still be every bit as broke as I was before. Factor in overhead costs and it seemed that it may be more trouble than it was worth. As I was about to give up hope, inspiration hit. What if, instead of buying lunch, I made my own secretly the night before? My parents, still assuming that I was buying hot lunch, would then hand over a dollar twenty five every day unaware that I had things covered. If I could pull this off it would give me more than enough money to buy a second figure at the end of every week. It worked flawlessly. For months I slowly built my army. Joe after Joe lined my drawers. I was in action figure heaven.

Of course most of these I would need to hide from my mother so she wouldn’t catch on to my master plan, but that aside the dream was real. Or it was until I began to realize just how fragile my G.I. Joe action figures really were. Sure they look tough, but as soon as you try to pose one doing a full split whilst also attempting to master the three hundred and sixty degree bazooka shot  they crumble. Legs began to slowly tear away from bodies. Arms, tired from throwing grenades, hung limply. It wasn’t long before my once glorious collection was reduced to rubble. With heavy heart I set up a cardboard box in my bedroom that served as a mass grave. With each new fallen hero I would say a few words before tossing their lifeless plastic bodies into their final resting place. It was sad, but I also knew that by the end of the week they could be replaced.

My best friend sadly was not afforded this same luxury. He came from a much larger family where money was tight so the idea of new toys was something of a foreign concept. To him a new Joe was something to be revered rather than tossed about. He couldn’t quite fathom how I could be so reckless with my toys. Despite being nauseated by my wanton consumerism he still would make the trek with me each week to buy new figures. Eventually, tired of being left out, he asked if he could at least have my scraps. Looking back I wish I would have just used my money to buy each of us a figure, but greed consumed me so instead I let him take home the box of mangled Joe pieces. Aside from making an excellent prop for a Godzilla scene I wasn’t sure what good could come from a box of random action figure parts, but I would learn soon enough. Unbeknownst to me G.I. Joe figures are relatively easy to fix if you know what you are doing. My best friend knew what he was doing so for him a box of random parts meant all new toys. It took me awhile to catch onto what he was up to, but when I did I was utterly stunned.

“How?” I asked him stymied

Hesitant to tell me fearing I may renege on our previous arrangement, my friend kept mum. I begged and pleaded until he finally gave in. As it turns out there is a tiny screw on the back of each Joe. Once removed it is revealed that each figure is being held together by a tiny rubber O-ring. When a figure breaks more often than not you just need to replace the O-ring and you’re back in business. Of course not having any O-rings handy my friend showed me that a tiny rubber band could work just as well. With the O-ring replaced you could reattach the legs close the figure and voila. What once was broken beyond repair was now ready to do battle once more.