raul grau
Nov 22, 2005, 07:45 pm
<img src="http://www.comixfan.com/xfan/images/columns/fliacbs.jpg" hspace=10 align=left border=0 alt="Fear and Loathing in a Comic Book Store logo">By A.W. Pemberton
Apocalypse Now (Please!)
Face front, True Believer, the end times are upon us! Or so I am told.
Once, a semi-regular customer (I use the term "customer" loosely, as he never actually bought anything) told me that Marvel superheroes were mentioned in the Bible, in the Book of Revelation specifically. Now, this didn't seem to fit with my understanding of the Good Book, but not being a Christian, I was in no position to argue.
"Really?" I asked.
"Oh yeah, bro. The guy who made them up's name is in there. Whatever his name is."
"Well, it was actually two people who made them up. Is it Stan Lee's name? Or Jack Kirby?"
"Um, I don't really remember. The first one I think. They talk about Spiderman, too. And the X-men. But they don't call them X-men..."
"You mean mutants?"
"Yeah, yeah, mutants. It's freaky, huh? Mutants being real an' all that."
"Real?"
"On TV, man. I think in France or something. People flyin' with powers an' ****."
"When was this?"
"Um, I don't know. My cousin told me."
And so on. There was absolutely no pressure in talking to this guy, as anything I said, however nonsensical, could not be dumber than the stuff coming out of his mouth. He will be President one day, I'm sure of it.
This kind of encounter was not atypical. My Boss had warned me of this from day one, when he first outlined my duties: "Some people walk into this gig thinking it will be all fun and games. Do not fall into that trap. It can get nasty in this place... real nasty. It's driven more than one manager to madness and criminal behaviour. He's in jail now. Just go with it, or you'll do serious damage to your health. Strokes, Brain-bubbles, aneurisms, and the like."
My duties were that of the basic sales assistant, along with a few additional duties specific to the comic business. As mentioned above, there was the draining task of placating the freaks that insisted on having long conversations about pointless topics. I humoured these people as best I could, but I could not stand them for long. I prayed for the phone to ring, or another customer to need service, anything to end the torture. "Familiarising self with stock" (that is, reading comics) was also explicitly stated in my job description. It was tough work, but somebody had to do it.
I also had to do some of the cleaning that my Boss neglected to do. Tidiness was not his bag at all, and I don't blame him for that, as it's not mine either. The job was clearly getting to him, too. He became increasingly agitated around customers, and took to cutting up the counter with a screwdriver. The crazed look in his eyes told me that he was about to snap or die or something. I tried to keep sharp objects away from him as best I could.
I would always arrive before opening to get a bit of a head-start on cleaning; I didn't think it was good for business for customers to be confronted with a floor covered with an apocalyptic level of garbage from the previous day's exploits. The Gamers treated the place more like their own bedrooms than a place of business, littering the store with cards that they'd thrown at each other, half-empty bottles of soft-drink, and food scraps. When the garbage bin filled, it was simply allowed to overflow onto the ground around it. The carpet was stained from various liquids, and patches of it were badly worn and ripped.
This added nicely to the back-alley ambience that the building already had. We never got much walk-in traffic, as it was located in a porn store-like hole in the wall. It was an upstairs lot, so most people didn't even know that it was there (no one ever looks up in their own town, for fear of looking like a tourist). The carpet smelled like it was rotting, which, when combined with the odour of a dozen or so Gamers (many of whom did not know the meaning of the word "deodorant"), produced an obscene stench comparable to a men's locker-room after a football match. Also, there was no insulation, so it was freezing in the winter and a greenhouse in the summer.
I recall cleaning the underside compartment of a long, glass display case, a task that no one had seemingly done for many years. The amount of stuff hidden in that small compartment was truly staggering: dozens of comics, several wads of years old CSN pamphlets, hundreds of cards, rolls of pricing stickers, bottles of cleaning agent, coat hangers, and a strange slime that I had the misfortune of putting my hand in. The pile of garbage that came out of there seemed at least twice as large as the space from which it came. It was highly disturbing.
Behind the counter was always a totally disorganised ****storm of an area, the floor always covered in garbage and cardboard boxes, either empty or full. It was almost impossible to walk in that muck at times. Underneath the desk was worse, with papers (often important documents) crammed randomly into various unsuitable spaces. In fact, there was absolutely no filing system whatsoever for anything (except standing orders, which were kind of important). I always had a hell of a time trying to tell whether special orders had arrived or not, as it was impossible to know where they might be. "Call back on Tuesday," I'd tell those asking. "The manager knows where they are..."
When you add all these factors together, it doesn't paint a very nice picture. My understanding of business is that it is best to work in a space that customers want to come back to. Gradually, people just stopped coming, and that was essentially what finished us. Maybe if there had been more of an effort to make the store a better place to visit, instead of one that made people want to run for the hills, perhaps I'd still be working there today. I'll never know.
<center><hr width=75%></center>
A.W. Pemberton insists that the article is over. You can stop reading now.
<center><hr width=75%></center>
The opinions expressed in this column are solely those of the writer, and are not reflective of Comixfan or its other staff in general.
Apocalypse Now (Please!)
Face front, True Believer, the end times are upon us! Or so I am told.
Once, a semi-regular customer (I use the term "customer" loosely, as he never actually bought anything) told me that Marvel superheroes were mentioned in the Bible, in the Book of Revelation specifically. Now, this didn't seem to fit with my understanding of the Good Book, but not being a Christian, I was in no position to argue.
"Really?" I asked.
"Oh yeah, bro. The guy who made them up's name is in there. Whatever his name is."
"Well, it was actually two people who made them up. Is it Stan Lee's name? Or Jack Kirby?"
"Um, I don't really remember. The first one I think. They talk about Spiderman, too. And the X-men. But they don't call them X-men..."
"You mean mutants?"
"Yeah, yeah, mutants. It's freaky, huh? Mutants being real an' all that."
"Real?"
"On TV, man. I think in France or something. People flyin' with powers an' ****."
"When was this?"
"Um, I don't know. My cousin told me."
And so on. There was absolutely no pressure in talking to this guy, as anything I said, however nonsensical, could not be dumber than the stuff coming out of his mouth. He will be President one day, I'm sure of it.
This kind of encounter was not atypical. My Boss had warned me of this from day one, when he first outlined my duties: "Some people walk into this gig thinking it will be all fun and games. Do not fall into that trap. It can get nasty in this place... real nasty. It's driven more than one manager to madness and criminal behaviour. He's in jail now. Just go with it, or you'll do serious damage to your health. Strokes, Brain-bubbles, aneurisms, and the like."
My duties were that of the basic sales assistant, along with a few additional duties specific to the comic business. As mentioned above, there was the draining task of placating the freaks that insisted on having long conversations about pointless topics. I humoured these people as best I could, but I could not stand them for long. I prayed for the phone to ring, or another customer to need service, anything to end the torture. "Familiarising self with stock" (that is, reading comics) was also explicitly stated in my job description. It was tough work, but somebody had to do it.
I also had to do some of the cleaning that my Boss neglected to do. Tidiness was not his bag at all, and I don't blame him for that, as it's not mine either. The job was clearly getting to him, too. He became increasingly agitated around customers, and took to cutting up the counter with a screwdriver. The crazed look in his eyes told me that he was about to snap or die or something. I tried to keep sharp objects away from him as best I could.
I would always arrive before opening to get a bit of a head-start on cleaning; I didn't think it was good for business for customers to be confronted with a floor covered with an apocalyptic level of garbage from the previous day's exploits. The Gamers treated the place more like their own bedrooms than a place of business, littering the store with cards that they'd thrown at each other, half-empty bottles of soft-drink, and food scraps. When the garbage bin filled, it was simply allowed to overflow onto the ground around it. The carpet was stained from various liquids, and patches of it were badly worn and ripped.
This added nicely to the back-alley ambience that the building already had. We never got much walk-in traffic, as it was located in a porn store-like hole in the wall. It was an upstairs lot, so most people didn't even know that it was there (no one ever looks up in their own town, for fear of looking like a tourist). The carpet smelled like it was rotting, which, when combined with the odour of a dozen or so Gamers (many of whom did not know the meaning of the word "deodorant"), produced an obscene stench comparable to a men's locker-room after a football match. Also, there was no insulation, so it was freezing in the winter and a greenhouse in the summer.
I recall cleaning the underside compartment of a long, glass display case, a task that no one had seemingly done for many years. The amount of stuff hidden in that small compartment was truly staggering: dozens of comics, several wads of years old CSN pamphlets, hundreds of cards, rolls of pricing stickers, bottles of cleaning agent, coat hangers, and a strange slime that I had the misfortune of putting my hand in. The pile of garbage that came out of there seemed at least twice as large as the space from which it came. It was highly disturbing.
Behind the counter was always a totally disorganised ****storm of an area, the floor always covered in garbage and cardboard boxes, either empty or full. It was almost impossible to walk in that muck at times. Underneath the desk was worse, with papers (often important documents) crammed randomly into various unsuitable spaces. In fact, there was absolutely no filing system whatsoever for anything (except standing orders, which were kind of important). I always had a hell of a time trying to tell whether special orders had arrived or not, as it was impossible to know where they might be. "Call back on Tuesday," I'd tell those asking. "The manager knows where they are..."
When you add all these factors together, it doesn't paint a very nice picture. My understanding of business is that it is best to work in a space that customers want to come back to. Gradually, people just stopped coming, and that was essentially what finished us. Maybe if there had been more of an effort to make the store a better place to visit, instead of one that made people want to run for the hills, perhaps I'd still be working there today. I'll never know.
<center><hr width=75%></center>
A.W. Pemberton insists that the article is over. You can stop reading now.
<center><hr width=75%></center>
The opinions expressed in this column are solely those of the writer, and are not reflective of Comixfan or its other staff in general.