"Atari," the genie said.

The genie was a total piece of shit, and I understood that. Everybody knew that. It was practically taught in kindergarten. I just stood there, looking like a dumbass, waiting for it to have its little moment. Thankfully, it didn't take too long. There was a line behind me, and the genie did have some bare minimum obligations.

With a final, theatrical sigh-and-eye-roll combo, it gave me the secret speech that everybody gets some time after their eighteenth birthday - you know, after waiting in line for months. Oh, there's backlog. It's a good thing we've got some wish mojo, because there's absolutely no way a society without it would be able to survive revolving around this rotten, absurd core.

"It's from an ancient game," it said. "It's the general principle that an alternating-turn stalemate is impermissible." It paused again, hoping I was as dumb as I looked. Disappointed - well, partially, anyway - it continued. "You can't wish for a wish that's already been wished, but okay, so, somebody wishes it, then somebody makes the wish that un-wishes it. Now jump to the top shelf. Somebody obviously did that with this little rule, didn't they? Somebody wished it away, then somebody else wished it back. That's that. It's locked in. It's forever."

"Geez, that second guy sounds like a real asshole," I said.

"Third guy," the genie corrected me agreeably. "But yeah, he was awesome."

"So why even bother telling me that?" I asked. "Surely at least some people would still waste their wishes on it if you didn't give them the speech."

The genie shrugged. "I get bored, man. Sometimes you gotta give a little to get a little. Shit, that's a good deal from where I'm hovering, don't you think?"

It was widely known that the genie was a butthurt piece of shit, specifically.

"So, who'd you piss off to get Atari-ed into this gig?" I asked.

The genie raised an eyebrow. It was an oddly non-cartoonish reaction, given his general appearance. The inky brushstroke of simulated hair mostly stayed where it would've belonged on a mortal face, rather than popping up past the forehead and into the air.

"Some other asshole in some other dimension," he answered flatly. "You wouldn't know her."

"Huh," I said. "You don't usually hear about an ex girlfriend who lives in Sandravika and goes to a different school and has different weeks off for breaks."

"Oh, you're a riot," the genie replied. He was back to the theatrics with his over-animated red mug. He huffed, folded his halfway-corporeal arms, rolled his eyes yet again, and then gave me the dead-fish paper-pusher look.

"Guess I don't get any more hints," I said.

"No," it replied. "You do not."

I took a breath and gathered myself. I entertained one final, momentary fantasy of taking a big risk. I suppose maybe I did take one, in a way? It's still so hard for me to decide, even after all these years.

The genie paused.

"Huh," it said. "Not bad, kid. Not bad."

"Not quite asshole caliber, though?"

It smiled. "No, not quite. But hey - know your strengths. Know your limits."

"So maybe I'll see you around?" I asked.

Its gaze darkened. "Okay, maybe I underestimated you."

I turned and walked away with a spring in my step. Outside the vestibule, the guards let the previous guy go, and I stood in the waiting area. Everybody wanted to know why I looked so happy, but rules were rules. Until I was completely outside, nobody else could engage. The guards were there to make sure nobody somehow managed to kill the goose - you know, the one who hadn't laid an egg worth half a green goose shit in thousands of years - and for literally no other reason. Our society couldn't survive without wish mojo, but it certainly can't survive just on it either.

The next guy shuffled out. I was formally released. He took my place in the waiting area. The next guy - a girl, as if it mattered - walked in to give it her best shot.

It didn't take long for people to figure out my wish. Opinions are divided. Thankfully, only a fraction of a percent of the population is really mad about it. Mostly, my world has come to appreciate me; it helps that they know I'll only be around for another sixty or seventy years. They can't take me for granted like that one immortal guy. I can't even call him an asshole. He's just sad.

There are lot of opportunities for me out here now - lots of free time; lots of potential customers, too - exactly where I know they'll be, now and forever.

Granted, they don't starve. They don't choke. They don't get sore. They don't get overly dirty, and their clothes don't fall apart.

They get bored, though. They get really, really bored. That's an angle, and I've learned how to work it.

You see, I'm the guy who doesn't wait in line.

Why?

Because I just don't feel like it.

Why?

Well, you know why.

Jealous?