I fell hard for the Harry Potter section of Universal, for the incredible attention to detail, and because the park has a technology that will let you perform “spells.” You stand by a brass plaque, use your wand to perform the gesture engraved on the plaque (such as a figure 8 or a letter W), say the engraved incantation, and magically something will animate: a fountain will shoot water, or a stuffed owl will flap its wings.
I assumed Gary would want magic wand technology as much as he wants new muggle technology (that is: immediately and for the highest price) and I was right. I could tell because he began telling the saleswizard how much I would want it.
So, $53 dollars later, I had a wand that I could hold while I stood in line and watched children use their wands to perform the same spells I would fail at minutes later. Eventually, though, when you get it, it’s quite an irrational sense of power. There’s a reason witches are known for cackling.
The next day, i found a spell spot that wasn’t surrounded by children. There had been a few that were not operational, explained away by the staff as “this area is hexed” or “our house elf is on vacation.” When I couldn’t get it to work, I immediately went into Debug Mode.
I summoned a roving IT Wizard. They help with spells, saying where to point the wand or how large the gesture should be. (Evidently the corresponding incantation is just as effective “if you say it in your head.”)
The IT Wizard asked me to try the spell again, assessed my form, and judged it to be good. He asked to look at my wand.
He played with the tip of the wand, then raised it to his ear and listened to it. Intently. For at least thirty seconds. He then announced, “you wand is in need of repair.”
“Bullshit,” I wanted to say, but he was giving me directions to the wand sales and repair shop.
So I went and stood in line while another saleswizard explained to a ten year old how the wood in his selected wand was more decorative so it would enhance the bond his wand felt for him.
At that point I was feeling my age, finally, but instead of having some adult dignity I just sighed, closed my eyes, and said my wand was evidently broken.
“Oh, I’ll give this to our wand technician in the back and he can fix it right away.”
When he came back — after unboxing a brand new matching wand — I’m not STUPID — I thought, I can play too. So I soberly asked, “So, why did my wand fail? Is it because of my dark heart?”
He almost smiled. “Oh, no, ma’am. You should be all set now.”