I collect comic books. No, not just for the sake of investment. I read them. And enjoy them. Some I read more than once. I'm reasonably normal. I'm happily married. I enjoy my game-store business, write reams as a free-lancer (some of which I get to see published), and get along well with the public. My IQ does, in fact, exceed my age (by a little bit). I pursue many different hobbies, love 'em all, and one happens to be the collecting and reading of comic books. I make no excuses, deliver no justifications. Hell, you watch soap operas; who are you to throw stones? My friends either share this interest or make allowances; I'm smart enough not to mention the subject among strangers. Only once have I felt uncomfortable pursuing my weekly fix of four-color literature. I had dropped into our local comic book shop for a regular visit. As I walked among the shelves, examining new arrivals, I could not help but notice the rather odd individual who had the shop owner pinned behind the counter. This individual was male, about 17 or 18, not terribly well groomed (which is a polite way of saying that he didn't smell too good), and dressed in clothes which looked as if they'd been rejected by the local Salvation Army. He held an open comic book in his hands, and he was reading the contents to the shopkeeper, who patiently endured this situation while wishing she could be anyplace else. Let me make sure you're with me ... the guy was reading her everything ... every word balloon, every descriptive panel, every sound effect. He punctuated this drama with verbal inflections of his own: "Oooo, that's neat!" "Boy, I didn't know they could do that!" The owner, apparently subscribing to the theory that you don't offend any customers, not even the nuts, tried--as politely as possible--to show interest and enthusiasm. But as her gaze caught mine, the edges of her smile frayed just a bit, and I saw murder in her eyes. While this little scenario unfolded, the door opened and two more people entered: a young boy and his mother. He disappeared into the shop's labyrinthian bowels, seeking his desired treasures, and Mom was left to herself. Clearly bored, her gaze began to wander. She noticed the scene at the sales counter, and a grim face of distaste crossed her features. Her eyes roamed again and landed on me. She stared at me for a moment, noted the few comics I held in one hand, and then looked back at the fruitcake. Then back at me. Suddenly I knew what it felt like to be an outcast. The crackling fire of the connecting synapse was unmistakable. The woman shuddered slightly I was one of THEM. And, just as obviously, WE all were escapees from the California State Farm for the Terminally Bewildered. I suspect Mom restricted all future comic book purchases to the local drug store. Who could blame her? I have a large bulletin board, divided into different game categories, on one wall of my shop. Interested gamers can fill out one of the photocopied slips, giving name, phone number, and favorite games, in the hopes of getting a call from one or more like-minded individuals. If other people are around during this process, invariably they'll crowd around to see what this newcomer likes to do. Sometimes the situation works out well; the first-timer meets some pleasant folks who share the same desires. Instant friendship. I love it when things work out that well. Unfortunately, that's all too rare. More often, the regulars attack the startled neophyte like ravenous jackals. Shouted questions fill the air: "WHADDYALIKETOPLAY?" or "IRUNA27THLEVELCHARLATANW HADDYOURUN?" or "WE'RE PUTTINGTOGETHERA36HOURSQU ADLEADERGAMETONIGHTD'YAW ANNAJOINUS?" I look at my new customer, fear in his eyes, and I'm reminded of Donald Sutherland drowning beneath the furious mob in Day of the Locust. I'm never surprised when such victims forsake gaming and switch to collecting goldfish. There's another, even more unfriendly, possibility: the crowd gathers 'round, glances at the new listing on the board, and somebody sneers, "Y'mean you still play that? Hell, we outgrew that years ago!" Humbled and embarrassed, the newcomer flees, never to be seen again. You think I exaggerate? C'mon... you work in a similar setting. You know better. My skin has toughened over the years. I now can ignore the occasional snotty remark from somebody who has taken genuine or unjustified offense over something I've done. Now my hackles only rise when one of my customers is attacked. I remember, all too well, my own childhood. Games weren't "in" then like they are now, and I was considered a twerp for participating in imaginative escapades which would be considered normal today I'll always jump to defend an outcast. I can't agree with that opinion," I'll say to the one who made the remark. "It's nice to see somebody stick with something and learn how to do it well... as opposed to other people, who haven't the intelligence to become good at anything, which explains why they keep switching around." And the kid in question gets my #4 Glare, to remove any doubt as to who I might mean. Sometimes that works. Kids are tough these days, but the group mind is fickle. The smart-mouth's friends, relieved at not being the target, may laugh at their own buddy. We've all got our buttons... those hair-trigger reflexes which, when pushed, generate an immediate reaction. Sensitivity to the underdog is mine. Dedicated war and fantasy gamers can be pretty scary, particularly to mainstream folks. The woman who comes in looking for a Monopoly game is going to feel pretty funny sharing space with three excited college students who are jabbering about their latest Traveller campaign. To a certain degree, this is the nature of the beast. I hate to say this, since I always argue with people who suggest it to me, but some gamers are pretty wigged out. Dealing with that problem requires a career in the Diplomatic Corps. The intrepid shopkeeper (that's me) doesn't want to offend an eager gamer, who's bursting to share the minute details of his last three excursions, by telling him to shut up; on the other hand, it's equally suicidal to ignore the frosty glances of anybody else who might be listening. What to do? When it's one-on-one, I'll listen. That's part of the job. And I mean attentive listening; I'll take part, try to make the guy feel like I'm fascinated. If his story exceeds my tolerance (by several hours, let's say), I'll look at my watch, turn to the phone, apologize, and make that critical call I'd temporarily neglected. While the operator drones on about how it'll be 4:17 and 40 seconds at the tone, I'll be explaining the shortage in my last shipment from ACME and asking for an item-by-itern reconstruction of the invoice. That usually works. I'm very attentive to people when they come into the shop. You can switch off a chatty fanatic by turning immediately to the new customer. Most people stop without an audience, although a select few will babble to themselves. You accomplish two goals: the new customer is pleased by the immediate attention, and you've prevented him or her hearing any portion of the dialogue which stopped when the door was opened. A group is harder to deal with. They'll talk among themselves, even if I don't participate. This is a small store, so even a tiny group is hard to ignore. Again, though, courteous attentiveness to other customers will keep the focus away from what's going on in the corner. I share this building with another business of identical size. A wall divides us. Several enterprises have come and gone during our seven years of success. I've had the chance, during each change-over, to rent the additional space myself I could use the extra room in November and December, but our 400 square feet are suitable for the rest of the year. There's another option: gaming tables could be set up during the other 10 months of the year. It's not a terrible idea, on the surface; it would be nice to provide that service for the regular war and fantasy gamers. But. Surely you've been to at least one convention. You heard the noise from the gaming room while still on the freeway off-ramp, seven miles from the hotel, right? To paraphrase Ron Moody in Oliver, I always think it through again. Game-playing covers a wide spectrum. We run the gamut, from families looking for a quick card game to fill some evening hours, to role-playing die-hards who resemble the character at the beginning of this column. Not too many hobbies or recreations attract such a diverse cross-section of people. As a result, we have to please everybody as much as possible. Sometimes that means keeping the extremes away from each other. In my case, at least, I've decided to run a store... not a game room. Everybody seems pretty satisfied with that. My customers don't very often frighten off my customers, to borrow a phrase. Back to Table of Contents -- Game News #12 To Game News List of Issues To MagWeb Master Magazine List © Copyright 1986 by Dana Lombardy. This article appears in MagWeb (Magazine Web) on the Internet World Wide Web. Other military history articles and gaming articles are available at http://www.magweb.com