$2.12 and a Friday Night at Blockbuster: Growing Up with Nintendo in the 1990s
Before digital downloads, online gaming, and unlimited subscriptions, sometimes all it took to make a kid’s entire weekend was a grandmother, a trip to the grocery store, and $2.12.
I was born in 1985.
And if you were born anywhere around that time, there’s a good chance you remember a world that doesn’t really exist anymore.
A world where Friday afternoons felt like the beginning of something magical. Where Saturday mornings meant cartoons, your bicycle was your transportation, and the biggest decision you might make all weekend was which Nintendo game you were going to rent.
We didn’t have smartphones. We weren’t scrolling through social media. We couldn’t pull up YouTube to watch someone beat a difficult level, and we certainly couldn’t download a hundred games whenever we wanted.
We had the original Nintendo Entertainment System, eventually the Super Nintendo, a couple of controllers, and an imagination that could turn an ordinary weekend into the greatest adventure of our lives.
And for me, some of those adventures started with just two dollars and twelve cents.
The Friday Night Ritual I’ll Never Forget
Growing up, my grandma had a routine. Every Friday, she would go grocery shopping.
And right next door to that grocery store was one of the greatest places a kid in the 1990s could ever hope to visit.
Blockbuster Video.
Younger generations will probably never understand just how exciting those two words were.
That big blue-and-yellow sign meant something to us. It meant movies, video games, and the possibility of discovering something we’d never played before.
For me, Friday nights weren’t just about going grocery shopping with Grandma.
They were about the Nintendo game waiting for me on the other side of that parking lot.
I remember walking around the grocery store with her, waiting for the moment when she was almost finished shopping.
As a kid, grocery shopping seemed to take forever.
But I had a mission.
Near the end of her shopping trip, I’d run up to her and ask for $2.12.
That’s what I remember needing to rent my game.
Not twenty dollars. Not fifty.
Just two dollars and twelve cents.
And once I had that money, I was off.
I’d walk over to Blockbuster while she finished up, knowing that I had one very important decision to make.
Which game was coming home with me for the weekend?
I can still picture walking through those doors, seeing rows of VHS movies and brightly colored Nintendo game covers.
There was something about that place. The fluorescent lights, the carpet, the movie posters, the shelves packed with possibilities.
And then there was the video game section.
To a kid in the early 1990s, it might as well have been heaven.
Choosing One Game Was Serious Business
Here’s something kids today might not appreciate.
You couldn’t just try another game if you didn’t like the one you picked.
You got your rental, took it home, and that was your entertainment for the weekend.
Sometimes you chose a masterpiece.
Sometimes you chose something that looked absolutely incredible on the box, only to discover it was nearly impossible to play.
And guess what?
You played it anyway.
Because that was your game until it was time to return it.
I remember studying game covers like I was examining some kind of treasure map.
The artwork was everything.
You’d flip the case over, look at the screenshots, read the description, and try to imagine what the actual game would be like.
Was it better than the game you rented last weekend?
Could you play it with two people?
Would your friends think it was awesome?
And perhaps the most devastating thing of all was finding the game you wanted, only to discover somebody else had already rented it.
Man, that was heartbreaking.
But those were the rules.
There were no instant downloads. No endless digital libraries. No watching an hour of gameplay footage before making your decision.
Just your instincts, a game cover, and two dollars and twelve cents.
And somehow, that made choosing the right game feel like winning the lottery.
When the Original Nintendo Was Everything
Before the Super Nintendo changed everything, there was the original NES.
That beautiful gray box with the red Nintendo logo.
I can still remember that rectangular controller. The directional pad, the A and B buttons, and that unmistakable Start button.
Simple.
Perfect.
And somehow capable of keeping us entertained for hours upon hours.
Super Mario Bros. was legendary.
There was nothing like running through World 1-1, jumping on Goombas, grabbing mushrooms, and hearing that unforgettable music.
We knew where the hidden blocks were. We knew which pipes led to secret areas. We learned those games through repetition, determination, and a whole lot of trial and error.
Then came Super Mario Bros. 3.
The raccoon suit. The flying. The world maps. The whistles that let you skip entire worlds.
It felt enormous.
And who could forget Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?
If you grew up during that era, the Ninja Turtles weren’t just cartoon characters.
They were practically part of the family.
Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, and Donatello.
We watched them on television, played with the action figures, and then got to control them on our Nintendo.
Whether it was the original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, TMNT II: The Arcade Game, or TMNT III: The Manhattan Project, those games were something special.
Especially when you had a friend sitting beside you.
There was nothing quite like fighting through waves of Foot Soldiers with your best buddy, yelling at the television as if the Turtles could actually hear you.
And when a game wouldn’t start?
You know exactly what happened next.
Out came the cartridge.
A little blow into the bottom.
Back into the Nintendo.
Push it down.
Hit the power button.
Maybe the screen flickered. Maybe it didn’t work.
Try again.
We all had our techniques.
Looking back, blowing into those cartridges wasn’t exactly the best idea, but it was practically a childhood tradition.
Then Came the Super Nintendo
Just when we thought video games couldn’t possibly get any better, Nintendo introduced the Super Nintendo Entertainment System in 1991.
And man, what an upgrade.
The graphics. The colors. The music. The controller with extra buttons.
It felt like the future had arrived in our living rooms.
Then there was Super Mario World.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget that game.
Mario running around Dinosaur Land, riding Yoshi, finding secret exits, discovering Star Road, and uncovering levels you didn’t even know existed.
That soundtrack is permanently burned into my memory.
You could hear a few seconds of the music today, more than thirty years later, and instantly feel like a kid again.
And then there was one of the greatest games ever made for a childhood sleepover:
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles IV: Turtles in Time.
Good Lord, what a game.
Two players sitting side by side, choosing their favorite Turtles, battling Foot Soldiers, throwing enemies toward the screen, and trying to take down Shredder.
Those were the nights.
Nobody cared about frame rates, online leaderboards, or downloadable content.
Nobody was arguing about graphics settings or how many terabytes of storage their console had.
We were just kids, sitting in front of a television, having the time of our lives.
And honestly?
I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything.
Friday Night Sleepovers Were on Another Level
There was something magical about having a friend from elementary school spend the night on a Friday.
Especially when you had just rented a new game.
All week long, we’d been sitting in classrooms, doing schoolwork, waiting for Friday to finally arrive.
Then the school bell rang.
Freedom.
No school the next morning.
No alarm clock.
Just an entire weekend stretching out in front of us.
By that evening, we’d be sitting on the floor in front of the television, controllers in hand, ready to begin.
Sometimes it was Super Mario World, taking turns playing as Mario and Luigi.
Other times it was Turtles in Time, battling our way through levels together.
We’d laugh, argue about whose turn it was, celebrate when somebody beat a difficult boss, and yell when one of us accidentally got the other killed.
A bowl of chips, something to drink, maybe a pizza if we were lucky.
That was all we needed.
And the funny thing?
We didn’t even realize we were making memories.
We weren’t taking pictures of every moment.
We weren’t recording gameplay to post online.
We weren’t worried about likes, followers, or whether anybody else thought what we were doing was cool.
We were simply living.
Sometimes we’d play until our eyes were practically closing.
Then we’d wake up Saturday morning and immediately turn the Nintendo back on.
Still wearing the same pajamas.
Still determined to beat whatever level had defeated us the night before.
The entire weekend revolved around that little cartridge.
And when Sunday rolled around, you knew your adventure was almost over.
The game had to go back.
Sometimes you’d finally reach a level you’d never seen before, only to realize your time with the game was running out.
You’d promise yourself you’d rent it again.
And maybe next Friday, you would.
We Didn’t Know How Good We Had It
There’s something I’ve realized as I’ve gotten older.
Back then, everything seemed so ordinary.
Going grocery shopping with Grandma.
Walking across the parking lot to Blockbuster.
Getting a Nintendo game for the weekend.
Having your elementary school friends spend the night.
Watching Saturday morning cartoons.
Riding bicycles through the neighborhood until it started getting dark.
We didn’t see those things as extraordinary.
They were just life.
But looking back, those ordinary moments were some of the best moments we ever had.
We lived in a time when you could disappear into a video game for an entire weekend without a phone buzzing every five minutes.
When your friends didn’t need an invitation on social media to come hang out.
They just knocked on your front door.
When you wanted to learn how to beat a difficult level, you talked to the other kids at school.
Maybe somebody had a trick.
Maybe they’d heard about a secret level from their older brother.
Maybe they had the latest issue of Nintendo Power.
And sometimes the information was completely wrong.
But that was part of the fun.
There was mystery in video games back then.
We didn’t know every secret before we started playing.
We discovered things ourselves.
And when you finally figured something out, it felt like you had accomplished something incredible.
You Can Buy the Games Again, but You Can’t Buy Those Friday Nights
Today, we’re fortunate to have ways to play so many of those incredible games again.
You can find an original Nintendo, hook up a Super Nintendo, or revisit the classics on newer systems.
And I love that.
I love hearing those old soundtracks.
I love seeing that familiar Nintendo logo appear on the screen.
I love picking up an original controller and remembering exactly how it felt all those years ago.
But here’s the thing.
As much as I love the games, I’ve come to realize that the games themselves were only part of what made those years so special.
Because when I think about growing up with Nintendo, I don’t just remember Mario jumping over a Goomba.
I remember being a kid.
I remember elementary school.
I remember my friends.
I remember being so excited for Friday that the school day felt like it would never end.
And more than anything, I remember my grandma.
I remember going grocery shopping with her.
I remember waiting until she was almost finished.
I remember running up and asking her for that $2.12.
And I remember walking over to Blockbuster, feeling like the luckiest kid in the world.
She probably thought she was just giving her grandson a couple of dollars to rent a video game.
But what she was really giving me was a memory that would last the rest of my life.
And that’s something money can’t buy.
If I Could Go Back for Just One Friday Night
Sometimes I wish I could go back.
Not forever.
Just for one Friday night in the early 1990s.
I’d be a little kid again.
My grandma would be finishing up her weekly grocery shopping.
I’d run over and ask her for my two dollars and twelve cents.
Then I’d head next door to Blockbuster.
I’d walk through those doors and take my time looking through the Nintendo games.
Maybe I’d pick Super Mario World.
Maybe Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Maybe something I’d never played before.
It honestly wouldn’t matter.
Because I’d know what was waiting for me.
A weekend with no responsibilities.
A friend coming over to spend the night.
A Nintendo hooked up to the television.
And that incredible feeling that the entire world was still ahead of me.
I’d give just about anything to experience that feeling one more time.
But since I can’t, I’ll keep doing the next best thing.
I’ll keep playing those old games.
I’ll keep remembering those Friday nights.
And I’ll keep sharing those memories with the next generation, hoping they’ll understand why a simple gray Nintendo cartridge could mean so much to a kid growing up in the 1990s.
Because one day, we’ll all realize something.
We thought we were just renting video games.
We were actually making some of the best memories of our lives.
And for me, it all started with my grandma, a grocery store, a Blockbuster next door…
And $2.12.
Were you an NES or Super Nintendo kid? Do you remember renting games from Blockbuster on Friday nights? What was the one game you always hoped would be available? Share your memories in the comments. I’d love to hear them.
— Triad Gaming
