"Hoarder! You're an energy hoarder!"

My fellow Rock Band mates jokingly chided me upon seeing the game-appointed 'energy hoarder' title under my character's name, mocking my failure to launch my guitar into 'overdrive' during an initial play-through of 'Here It Goes Again'. And it's true – I did fail to contribute any of my compiled rock energy to our show. It wasn't because I didn't want to, oh no. It was because I was waiting for the 'perfect moment' to do so. Problem is, I waited too long.

It's a recurring problem with me, this hoarding. Rhythm games, shooters, platformers, role-playing games; if it can be collected, you can bet that I've held onto it far longer than necessary. But I can't help it, that's what I do. I don't hoard much outside of games. Sure, I might cling onto an odd tchotchke for years at a time, but often that's because of the item's aesthetic appeal, and not its use. That's allowed, right? After moving several times in my college years, I quickly realized that it's simply not worth it to drag around boxes full of 'stuff' that I 'may' find a use for some day. Either use it or bin it.

So why can't I learn to do the same with games? Upon reaching the end of Silent Hill: Origins, I had enough televisions, tire irons and filing cabinets to start up my own fusion hardware/office store. These were items I was supposed to use as disposable melee weapons, but instead they gathered dust in my inventory and I'd still persist on adding to the pile. And whenever I manage to finish a standard Japan-based role-playing game, I've amassed enough uber-health potions to heal my team hundreds of times over. This isn't being thrifty or even stingy – it verges on irrational.

"The general public thinks [pathological hoarders] are just slobs or lazy, but actually most of the time it's because... of not wanting to waste things, and so wanting to make the right decision about a thing that it becomes overwhelming and they keep it."
- "Buried Alive", Boston Herald

With games, it's not just having an item that's desirable, but having the right item at the right time and using it. That item was placed there, intentionally, by a designer for use at a specific point in the game. Use an item before or after it's time might render the item useless, painting you into a corner – this lesson was drilled into my head by several Sierra adventure games over twenty years ago. While it's prudent behavior, it is certainly out-of-fashion with today's games, games where ample ammo is scattered across the landscape, where 'unique' items reappear when lost, and characters refuse to allow you to hand off items before they're needed.

But I steadfastly hold onto the ways of the old, like a Depression-era survivor who bitterly remembers times of great scarcity. I know that all it takes is one designer who decides to test the players, allowing me to piss away my forward-progress when I consume an unbeknownst-to-me rare item. Or if I aimlessly test a previously unproven firearm. Or if I combine several worthwhile portions to form a murky liquid no better than spit. I know such in-game tendencies hurt my overall gaming experience but, yet I can't shake the feeling that most game designers are not benevolent, forgiving creators but cackling, sinister ones.

Yes, hoarding these items until they're worthless isn't doing me any favors, but at least it's better than flaunting my inventory. I certainly don't want to wind up with no personal effects to help me out of a tricky situation. At least this way I'm routinely able to complete a game. And at least this compulsion is firmly entrenched in the game, and not outside of it.

Maya: "Seriously, the '61 Cheval Blanc is peaking... it might be too late already. What are you waiting for?"

Miles: "I don't know, special occasion. With the right person."

Maya: "The day you open a '61 Cheval Blanc, that's the special occasion."
- Sideways

Okay, I admit it. I also have a special chocolate bar, a gourmet chocolate bar from Vosges, that's been sitting in my 'fridge for far, far too long and whenever I think of consuming it I murmur: "Not today. Today's not worthy of such a fine chocolate." My treasured Criterion Collection DVD of Jacques Tati's Playtime, the copy I bought and swore I wouldn't watch until I bought an HDTV? It sits unplayed on my shelf, despite the fact that I've had an HDTV for months now. Maybe I do have a slight hoarding streak, in-game and out. Maybe I should make a more concentrated effort to break this streak.

But, what if I really need that Vosges bar for when I encounter the final boss? What then?

Cover photo via Natmandu.