“Thank you for your patience and understanding.”
After all, everything will taste like ASHES and MISERY in the aftermath of this email.
Why bother with anything?
Refreshment is for people who still have joy in their lives and pockets.
“Thank you for playing,” says the email.
You do not simply “play” Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp.
What a ridiculous way of describing it.
You LIVE Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp.
You set phone alarms for Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp.
You spend real human money in Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp.
You cannot understand it.
You are still playing!
The people you’re in an eternal daily gift-giving ritual struggle with are still playing!
In fact, come to think of it, you’re still PAYING.
Surely that 2.99 you kick in every month is keeping the lights on over at Nintendo?
And what did they do with the other payments?
“In-game events and item distribution will continue until the service ends.
Your roiling emotions are soothed slightly by this recognition of your efforts.
“Yes,” you think.
“I have been most supportive.
You hit a new subheading and your eyes narrow: “Regarding the sale of Leaf Tickets”.
You are very familiar with Leaf Tickets.
hey use any remaining Leaf Tickets before the end of service.”
You are now furious.
Over the years, you have forgotten how many Leaf Tickets are actually tied up in this way.
By this point you’re pretty sure Nintendo are withholding thousands no, MILLIONS of Leaf Tickets from you.
Three months to figure out how to access an Android account and spend a BILLION Leaf Tickets?
You boggle at the sheer impossibility of it all.
The email just keeps going.
“Regarding the end of the Pocket Camp Club monthly subscription plan,” it says.
A new wave of grief hits you.
This is probably nothing to do with a subheading about the end of a monthly subscription plan.
Digital fortune cookies, yes.
“Users with paid subscriptions to any of the plans” AHA, you think.
So they’re admitting there are multiple plans now!
"
you’re free to’t remember if you care about the Journal.
That might be one of the digital sticker-adjacent things which makes you feel exhausted and old.
You have never felt less like a Happy Helper in your entire life.
You begin to plan a digital funeral for the animals who reside at your campsite.
And how you said “Mayor of Animal Crossing” when someone asked about your five-year career plan.
“Regarding the future of Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp,” reads the final subheading.
To you, this feels like rubbing salt into the wound.
Surely the whole point of the email is that there is no future for Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp.
The email is literally titled “Notice of end of service for Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp.”
You almost rage-quit the email in disgust.
Surely there is LinkedIn spam that needs your attention?
W H A T ?
“This version of the game,” WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT???????
WHAT?????
“More information about this version of Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp will be shared in October 2024.”
You are now beside yourself with … grief?
You decide that grappiness is too complicated an emotion and opt for outrage instead.
Why was this whole new version of the game buried at the end of the email?
How can you be expected to read a whole email of dozens of words to get to this point?
You were tricked into grieving!
You’d started to think about maybe making up with Octavian now that he was facing impending doom!
WHENCE AND WHITHER THE SOUL OF A DIGITAL OCTOPUS IN SAVE DATA TRANSFERS, NINTENDO?
“Thank you for your patience and understanding,” concludes the email.
This is the height of presumption.
You have been neither patient nor understanding and you intend to maintain that attitude until at least October 2024.
You exit the email and take your basket of exotic sodas to the convenience store clerk.
Half an hour later, it turns out that you do not like Grape Fanta or Raspberry Ripple Irn-Bru.
You decide not to learn or grow from this experience in any way.
And by “you” I mean “I”.
Idecide not to learn or grow from this experience in any way.
Thank you for your patience and understanding.