FRANCES WHITING

“A date at Blockbuster … was fun and a little bit charming”

My now husband and I spent much of our courtship in video stores. Most of our Friday nights saw the two of us roaming up and down the aisles of Blockbuster, past the hundreds of titles on the shelves, and performing the mating call of our generation: “Seen it, seen it, seen it.”

It occurs to me now what a cheap date I was back then; I didn’t require a lot of fancy meals or extravagant gestures – give me a bottle of wine, some take away pizza and a copy of The Big Lebowski and I was happy.

Throw in one of those giant packets of Maltesers they sold there, and I was yours. Or at least his.

It also occurs to me that the Blockbuster date was my generation’s equivalent to this one’s “Netflix and chill’’, and I am not sure (because every generation has a propensity to think things were better in their day) but I suspect the Blockbuster version might have been more fun. First of all, it required actually leaving the house, and secondly this generation will never know the thrill, the sheer exhilaration that came with getting your very own membership card, with your name on it.

Conversely, they will never know the terror of going to the counter, having successfully chosen a video out of the thousands on offer, handing over your membership card and silently praying that you didn’t have any overdue fees.

I don’t know where my Blockbuster membership card is these days, probably tucked away in a cardboard box somewhere in storage, but I am fairly sure there is still $876,000 owing on it.

Today’s generation will also never know the sheer hell of the video piracy message that appeared before the film, that felt like it was longer than the film itself and put the fear of god into us all that we were maybe – gasp – in possession of a pirated copy.

There are millions of us still roaming the Earth with one urgent question still burning in our minds.

Have you got what you paid for? There was even – and this seems so ridiculously quaint now – a helpful address at the end of the message if you wished to write in to report a pirated copy.

You know what else seems quaint now? The way they used to hide the Rrated films behind that weird, blue, half curtain, so that you could only see the bottom half of the people behind it. I saw my geography teacher behind that curtain once; he emerged, saw me, and ducked straight back behind it again. But

it was definitely Mr Pelonti – I’d know those beige, polyester pants anywhere.

I may be looking back on the Friday night Blockbuster date through a rosecoloured lens, but it seems to me that it was fun, and a little bit charming and a little bit innocent.

You know what wasn’t fun? When you got your movie, along with your giant chip packet, home and put it on, settled back on the couch to start watching only to discover that the person who rented it before you had not rewound the tape. In the parlance of that day, spewing. Anyway, the reason for this particular rewind down memory lane is that it seems something is afoot – the longdormant website for Blockbuster has recently been reactivated, along with one very cryptic message.

Check it out. Might be time to get out your giant packet of Burger Rings.