raul grau
Dec 16, 2005, 09:30 am
<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
Doomed
"Goddamn it! These numbers are terrible! I don't know if we're going to survive this," said my Boss, looking at the sales spreadsheet on the computer.
"Yeah, I know. I've noticed a distinct drop off in customers," I replied.
"We need something that will make this place unique. Something that no one else has," he mused.
After a moment of thought, I said: "Well, how about we go one better than autographs and sell personal items from famous creators."
"What do you mean?"
"You know, wallets, car keys, genetic material. That kind of thing. Real collectors items."
"Oh yeah. Like a piece of Warren Ellis' beard. I'd buy that."
"And we could rob the graves of dead creators and sell their bones. I think Jack Kirby's skull would go for a fair amount."
"Egads! So would Stan Lee's!"
"He's not dead yet."
"That's right. Not yet."
"Christ, if we're going to start offing people, we should sell their organs too. There's real money in that," I said. "Just think of the specials we could offer. 'Bendis' brain in a jar and his kidney in your back for one low price!'"
By the time we were finished, our business plan resembled that of an organ-trafficking ring that sold comics on the side.
"Hot damn! This is a veritable goldmine we can exploit. I'll call head office and tell them," my Boss said excitedly.
For some reason, head office did not like the idea of funding a grave-robbing/organ harvesting trip for two to the US. My Boss slowly and sadly placed the phone back on the receiver. "We're doomed."
He didn't need to say it, I already knew. I looked around the room, knowing that it would all be gone soon.
I cast my memory back to the day when I was hired. I got a call on a Wednesday morning from my (then future) Boss, asking me to come in and talk about the resume I'd submitted a couple of weeks earlier. "Ye Gods!" I thought, "Could this be my chance to live the dream that so many long for? To become a bona fide 'Comic Book Guy' and reap all of the Benefits and Glory that comes with the position?" Within two minutes of arriving, I was offered the job. This came as something of a shock, as I thought that a person more suited to the gaming side of things would have been chosen over me. Turned out that I was easily the best candidate, due to my expert credentials in Comic Book Geekery, which the Head Honchos had decreed was the primary quality needed. Let no one tell you that a keen knowledge of Useless Crap is useless. I discovered later that the other applicants for the position (who couldn't write a resume to save their lives) also ably assisted me.
I began with the naive hope of influencing the customers into moving away from what I considered the old, worn-out crap that was (and still is) popular, to the new, more interesting titles that I was getting into. I was disillusioned with the quality and direction of mainstream comics in general, and wanted to do something about it, no matter how small. My idea was that if I could turn each person onto one or two new things, they would naturally progress to other new material.
My illusions were shattered within a few hours. The very first standing order customer I talked to was a relatively big spender, who was just beginning to expand his buying habits. Yet the expansion only covered mainstream titles. Anything truly different or innovative was still miles off. It dawned on me that this was probably going to be the trend. I still held on to some optimism. He may have merely been unreceptive, and I would have better opportunities later. But this was wrong. He was, in fact, one of the more receptive customers. Most readers came in with a completely closed mindset - they knew what they liked, and anything else be damned. If they hadn't heard of it, it wasn't worth reading. And almost all of the customers open to trying new things were on the old-school wavelength, so any recommendation outside of this narrow spectrum was instantly rejected. Oh well, it's their loss, not mine, I guess. **** those people.
That dream was long shattered. It didn't matter now. I tried to rack my brain for any other ideas, anything to get us out of this mess. Porno, perhaps? There was certainly a market for it. But, no, that could not work. The contract for the lease strictly forbade the sale of adult material in this area of town. And the thought of having to deal with trenchcoat-wearing types did not appeal at all. One such creep had approached me long before, and asked in a hushed, nervous tone whether we stocked any "R Rated" material. My contempt for him was immediate; he looked like the type who had just been caught jacking off in a seedy little XXX theatre while stroking the spine of a fat young boy. I explained that we did not sell any of that awful, sinful stuff, and that he should instead consult a Bible.
Purveying the shelves, he spied a copy of She-Hulk.
"Do you have any other issues of this?"
"No, only what's on shelf," I replied flatly.
He laughed. "Oh yeah, sure mate."
I glared at him. Where did this mutant get off attempting to talk down to me? He'd just solicited porn, and clearly, he didn't intend to buy She-Hulk for the story.
"That's all we've got," I said icily.
He laughed again. "Yeah, right. Ok."
I was about to leap over the counter and attack him, but I thought better of it. Touching this freak was not a palatable proposition; he looked very greasy, and, besides, he might enjoy being beaten up. In the end, he bought an old back issue with two large-chested women on the cover for $1.
"Have a good time," I told him as he left. I'm sure he did.
<center><hr width=75%></center>
A.W. Pemberton is offering a wide range of Comic-related genetic material. Hair! Bones! Internal Organs! Excrement! New stock arrives weekly. Orders are taken two months in advance. Visit www.comixcorpse.com for more information.
<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.
Doomed
"Goddamn it! These numbers are terrible! I don't know if we're going to survive this," said my Boss, looking at the sales spreadsheet on the computer.
"Yeah, I know. I've noticed a distinct drop off in customers," I replied.
"We need something that will make this place unique. Something that no one else has," he mused.
After a moment of thought, I said: "Well, how about we go one better than autographs and sell personal items from famous creators."
"What do you mean?"
"You know, wallets, car keys, genetic material. That kind of thing. Real collectors items."
"Oh yeah. Like a piece of Warren Ellis' beard. I'd buy that."
"And we could rob the graves of dead creators and sell their bones. I think Jack Kirby's skull would go for a fair amount."
"Egads! So would Stan Lee's!"
"He's not dead yet."
"That's right. Not yet."
"Christ, if we're going to start offing people, we should sell their organs too. There's real money in that," I said. "Just think of the specials we could offer. 'Bendis' brain in a jar and his kidney in your back for one low price!'"
By the time we were finished, our business plan resembled that of an organ-trafficking ring that sold comics on the side.
"Hot damn! This is a veritable goldmine we can exploit. I'll call head office and tell them," my Boss said excitedly.
For some reason, head office did not like the idea of funding a grave-robbing/organ harvesting trip for two to the US. My Boss slowly and sadly placed the phone back on the receiver. "We're doomed."
He didn't need to say it, I already knew. I looked around the room, knowing that it would all be gone soon.
I cast my memory back to the day when I was hired. I got a call on a Wednesday morning from my (then future) Boss, asking me to come in and talk about the resume I'd submitted a couple of weeks earlier. "Ye Gods!" I thought, "Could this be my chance to live the dream that so many long for? To become a bona fide 'Comic Book Guy' and reap all of the Benefits and Glory that comes with the position?" Within two minutes of arriving, I was offered the job. This came as something of a shock, as I thought that a person more suited to the gaming side of things would have been chosen over me. Turned out that I was easily the best candidate, due to my expert credentials in Comic Book Geekery, which the Head Honchos had decreed was the primary quality needed. Let no one tell you that a keen knowledge of Useless Crap is useless. I discovered later that the other applicants for the position (who couldn't write a resume to save their lives) also ably assisted me.
I began with the naive hope of influencing the customers into moving away from what I considered the old, worn-out crap that was (and still is) popular, to the new, more interesting titles that I was getting into. I was disillusioned with the quality and direction of mainstream comics in general, and wanted to do something about it, no matter how small. My idea was that if I could turn each person onto one or two new things, they would naturally progress to other new material.
My illusions were shattered within a few hours. The very first standing order customer I talked to was a relatively big spender, who was just beginning to expand his buying habits. Yet the expansion only covered mainstream titles. Anything truly different or innovative was still miles off. It dawned on me that this was probably going to be the trend. I still held on to some optimism. He may have merely been unreceptive, and I would have better opportunities later. But this was wrong. He was, in fact, one of the more receptive customers. Most readers came in with a completely closed mindset - they knew what they liked, and anything else be damned. If they hadn't heard of it, it wasn't worth reading. And almost all of the customers open to trying new things were on the old-school wavelength, so any recommendation outside of this narrow spectrum was instantly rejected. Oh well, it's their loss, not mine, I guess. **** those people.
That dream was long shattered. It didn't matter now. I tried to rack my brain for any other ideas, anything to get us out of this mess. Porno, perhaps? There was certainly a market for it. But, no, that could not work. The contract for the lease strictly forbade the sale of adult material in this area of town. And the thought of having to deal with trenchcoat-wearing types did not appeal at all. One such creep had approached me long before, and asked in a hushed, nervous tone whether we stocked any "R Rated" material. My contempt for him was immediate; he looked like the type who had just been caught jacking off in a seedy little XXX theatre while stroking the spine of a fat young boy. I explained that we did not sell any of that awful, sinful stuff, and that he should instead consult a Bible.
Purveying the shelves, he spied a copy of She-Hulk.
"Do you have any other issues of this?"
"No, only what's on shelf," I replied flatly.
He laughed. "Oh yeah, sure mate."
I glared at him. Where did this mutant get off attempting to talk down to me? He'd just solicited porn, and clearly, he didn't intend to buy She-Hulk for the story.
"That's all we've got," I said icily.
He laughed again. "Yeah, right. Ok."
I was about to leap over the counter and attack him, but I thought better of it. Touching this freak was not a palatable proposition; he looked very greasy, and, besides, he might enjoy being beaten up. In the end, he bought an old back issue with two large-chested women on the cover for $1.
"Have a good time," I told him as he left. I'm sure he did.
<center><hr width=75%></center>
A.W. Pemberton is offering a wide range of Comic-related genetic material. Hair! Bones! Internal Organs! Excrement! New stock arrives weekly. Orders are taken two months in advance. Visit www.comixcorpse.com for more information.
<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.