Nope, no similarities between the microtransactions of today and the arcade machine feedings of yesterday. Nope, nuh uh.

Back then, and probably still today, people would feed the arcade machines their hard-earned quarters of dollars for hours on end. Or, if the arcade in question felt extra saucy dickish, they’d lavish you with tokens. Ahh, tokens, the middleman of my youth. They’re like quarters, they even posses the same value as quarters, but that equivalent is limited at best.

Once you exit the confines of the arcade, your precious tokens lose all value. They begin to smoulder in your pocket. Upon extracting them from said pocket, the smoking coins lose shape and form a small, copper-colored hillock, not unlike a pitcher’s mound. A breeze picks up, taking the fading memory of your quarters with it. A single tear runs down your face.