This is a wonderful ultra-modern faerie tale set just south of The Most Isolated Capital In The World.
Three weeks ago, my housemate gave his Xbox 360 to a fella he knew who was going to mod it on tick because my housemate had sent so much business his way during a stint at a well-known video games retailer.
A few days after he was told it would be ready, my housemate called this fella and asked if he could come pick up his Xbox. The good man replied that he had forgotten to bring it in and would tomorrow. This continued for a couple of days.
It was at this time I started predicting that the man was a conman, and made sure to tell as many people as possible, ending my story with “and he’ll never see his Xbox again”. Another few days and the news comes through: the nice man accidentally dropped my housemate’s Xbox and is ordering in a replacement. Housemate waits another few days until he starts calling this business, to no reply.
He went past the store today and saw that it was closed. He talked to the agent managing the store, and it appears there have been numerous people coming looking for their own consoles. A quick display of Google-fu on my behalf yields clues.
The very most recent update: the housemate has just called Con the Conman. Keep in mind I could only hear half of this conversation:
Housemate: Hi, can I speak to John?
Housemate: Oh hi it’s Housemate, I gave you my Xbox.
Housemate: Yeah I heard you’d gotten shut down.
Housemate: I went by the store and saw it was closed down.
Housemate: Mod city?
Housemate: Okay then, sorry.
BUT, the plot continues to thicken, as expert voice experts have matched that of Man on the Phone to Con the Conman. Boycotting plans to go over to Con’s house in person, the housemate is now calling the Gestapo so they can display their professional ineptitude while instead focusing on the omnipresent threat of stoned teenagers.