Worst. Day. Ever.

This is going to be long and it's going to be painful. Enjoy.
Look, I know the obvious Comic Book Guy references here, but I feel like I am obliged to make this fucking call. First of all....Within an hour of my shift, I'm already cranky, hungry (no breakfast again) and bored with the constant barrage of Nerds wanting shit that hasn't even hit the shelf yet. Yes, I know you are getting impatient, I can hear the panting desperating over the phone. The fact that flabbergasts me is your insistant desire to MAKE ME CARE.
I don't give a fuck, suck up my apathy and make it your own. Build a goddamn sand castle of Dreams Gone Wrong. I don't care. Simple as that.
Then comes in Fedora Wearing Psycho.

"HEY YOU!"
Both me and Zatanna turn, she has the smarts to turn back to the computer when she sees his unkempt greasy green shirt flopping all over his body like a Victorian Gown, the greasy hat stuck to his head like an appendange. Me being the sucker that I am, raise both eyebrows.
Me?
"Yeah, I want to Show You Something"
"Oh yeah? What do you want to show me?" I replied, my voice muffled by repressed sarcasm. (I believe it will be my cause of death in my future old age)
He turns to the display cabinet where he points at the $450, 60's replica of the Batmobile.
"Can I see that please?"
Weeeeell....surely you can see through glass...but I bite my tongue and with a withering look at Zatanna and an angry draw of the key keeping drawer, I sigh and make my way to the front of the store.
I open the case, and as I am taking it out, I notice that the base of the mobile is fucking heavy, and I am going to need both hands. That somehow meant that Fedora had to stick his hands in there to "help" but ended up with a sharp jerk that made the batmobile slam against the glass. Losing a chip of the tail. Well, whatever the hell those car bits are called.
I inwardly sigh, and pick up the piece."It's made of a resin substance, therefore fragile..." I mutter, already picturing Ming torturing me over my clumsiness over the next 6 months.
"WHAT?" He screams. Making me almost lose my grip on the model."So it's not made of metal?" Fedora whines and snarls. Quite a feat.
"No, it's a hard resin/plaster model substance that allows the sculptor to finely sculpt the detail" I slowly say as I turn to put the model car in a safe place.
Fedora Hat begins his endless rant: "If it was made out of metal, like those Matchbox cars, it wouldn't break! And it probably would justify the cost of the model! $450!! How long has that been there?"
"Long time...maybe 4 years" I mutter again, but this time openly staring at his animated crazed look. He grabs his sleeve, pulls it up and exposes his cheap aluminium watch
"If it was made out of this it wouldn't break! WHY DON'T THEY MAKE IT LIKE THIS!?"I sigh openly and from the depths of my soul as I repeat my whole sculptor repertoire in a slim hopeless hope that he would understand. Fuck. I was so wrong.
"$450!!! And it's broken! Can you do me a deal? Can I speak to the manager?"
"Look, because it's damaged, I can see what I can do about the price. Hang on" I am giving you the abridged version because it's too tedious to write the fact that he kept going on about his fucking watch (more than three, four, ten times), and how the model should be made out of aluminium and that Ming was a crook for charging so much for a limited series that NO-ONE ELSE HAS since we only got one and we are the only speciality retailer with it STATE WIDE. And frankly, an aluminium car would be worth $4 bucks and it wouldn't be an exact fine replica, but ah...what the hell do I know, right?
"Can I put a deposit?" Fedora stops, mid dribble. At that point, Ming materialised and I heard his voice lisp "No, no deposits, she won't give you one. I won't allow it. I have had trouble with it in the past. Outright sale, pay it in full."
Fedora points at him "Are you the manager?"
Ming shrinks a little for being forced to deal with customers "Yes?"
"The tail is broken! And the base is dinged up! Can I have a discount?"
"20 percent off" Ming says absentmindedly, already bored with the freak contact.
Fedora's eyes lit up "Oh what's that?"
I reply "It will end up costing you $360"
Fedora licks his lips and plays with his stuck on hat. "I like the sound of that...Can I bring the money later?"
"Suure" I drool, catching Zatanna's eye. "Bring it next week...preferably on Monday...or Tuesday..." I notice her green eyes slit and glare at me as I grin and mouth "When I'm not working"
She slams the comics she was sorting and openly gives me Hate.
Fedora looks at the car, frowning and touching it, muttering something about having to get some money from a deal, how it will take him 3 days, how unfair the world was. How cool Batman was. How much he liked it. How cool Batman was. I nearly fall asleep at his incoherent masturbation over the model.
"Can the boss touch it up? HEY BOSS!" he yells as I nod wearily. Whatever. Ming jerks and looks up from his paper work. "Excuse me?"
"Will you touch it up for me, make it look brand new for $360? I can't have it for less?" He pulls out his wallet full of $50 dollar bills. I am so sick of this guy that I say "Have it for $350"
"She said I could have it for $350 BOSS. I want it! I will be back Boss! Make it brand new!" he says pointing at Ming .
"Sure, come back in half an hour" Ming says as Herr Starr comes walking out to check out the noise, only to stop mid step and turn back to the store room. Tossing one sentence at me as he opens the door: "Get rid of him"
I shrug and watch Fedora leave the store. Ming slides over and says "He won't be back, so put it back on display, I'm off to eat and will come back with the glue soon" He grabs his jacket and heads out. I stare at the door. Not quite sure if Ming was right or not.

As the minutes turn into 15 minutes, I am wrapping some comics for a customer when The Flying Dutchman comes in. The Dutchman deserves no introduction. I fucking hate the guy so bear with me as I take you on a Eurotrip that will make you glad you are not me and if you are Dutch, I assure you I don't judge your nation by this insane creature. I blame Satan himself. Yes, I blame Joss Whedon and possibly the Darkness. Hell, all of Image comics, they are all to blame.
"Oh fair maiden! Lovely you be! Has the new Buffy comic come in?" The Dutchman trills, adjusting his oversized backpack within his large burly frame.
I scan more comics that the next customer starts piling in front of me, and I don't look up. I know who the fuck this was."You got #4 right?" I say in a loud clear voice so he won't lean over and sing to me like he did last time "I can't hear your duuuuuulcet tones my dear!" I shiver.
"Yes! Why YES I did! And I enjoyed it so muchly that I MUST know what happens next!" He sings.
"Next issue, #5, won't be in until August, it's being delayed, you're going to have to wait." I say scanning the last of the comics "That will be $30" I say to the unfortunate soul, who just hands me his credit card while staring at the Dutchman with the look of horror in his eyes. Pfft. Newbie.
"Oh" The Dutchman frowns not caring or aware that it's June. "Then I will come back next week! To check if it came in!" The middle aged dutchman catches my eye and smiles. "Lalala, Joss will write it soon!"
"No he won't, and it won't be in next week, because it's due in August" I say impatiently. At this stage, let me remind you that I have tried to be nice to this guy and have tried (much to the disgust of my co-workers) to treat him like a human being, and you know what I got? I got snorts and giggles and rubbing and touching. Fuck that. No more.
I grab our public listing of New Releases.
"Here is a list of the comics that are coming in week by week, you can read that and see what's coming in, you can even check it out on our website. You don't have to come into the store." I continue in my head "Ever."
The next customer piles some comics in front of me again and I start scanning, glad for the distraction. The previous customer is still clutching his comics and openly staring. His receipts still littering the counter."Oh my dear girl! You assume that I know how to read!" The Dutchman giggles scanning the list. "I buy comics to look at the pretty damsels and gents!" He snorts and stupidly grins, thinking that his joke was going to send me into hysterics. Fine. I'll play ball. "And here I was assuming you were in it for the speech bubbles.." I drool grabbing the cash one of our regulars were offering. We locked eyes and I could see the Pity.
At this point I heard Bullseye's unmistakable snickering. Bastards. The whole lot of you.
The Dutchman frowns and begins to...well...incoherently say something along the lines of
"Joss. Betrayal. Buffy. Should Come. Fairy Dust. Doughnuts. Evil. You are Pure Evil my dear."
only to finish up with "I shall come again. When the next Buffy is in. July shall not see me grace your store. But maybe if Joss changes his mind, I will pop in from time to time."
I force a smile. Fuck off.
"Yeah sure, See you around."

Are you bored yet? I have had 6 gin and tonics, stumbled home from my local drinking establishment to drown more Vodka here. I am having a drunken ball, AND I have 30 minutes till my bedtime...So have a cigarette, some coffee and wonder back ready for The Return of Fedora.
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THE RETURN OF FEDORA

20 minutes turns to 40, and Ming comes back and asks for the Batmobile. "Put it on that desk and I will fix it, even though he won't be back." He stops. "He won't be back right?"I shrug and head to the display cabinet. I pull it out of the case only to turn and see Fedora standing there. In surprise I almost drop it. "$350! Is it fixed yet?" He goes to grab it out of my hand.
"No! More touching up! I have to go and give it to the boss, please wait a moment" I stammer and hurry towards the office cursing and snarling at the small children in my way. Zatanna and Bullseye stare after me. Zatanna recalls how I disappeared into the storeroom, stepping over Usagi who was unpacking the merchandise boxes from the trolley.
"WHERE DID SHE GO? WHERE DID SHE GO WITH MY BATMOBILE?" Was what Fedora screamed when he realised I was gone. "DID SHE GO IN THERE?" Fedora tried to wedge himself between the boxes to push himself inside, Usagi stopped him with a cold stare.
"She's gone out the back, man, she'll be back soon, just wait."
"Can I go in?" Fedora said trying to look inside.
"No" He said, rolling his eyes and heaving out boxes. As I passed Herr in the storeroom, he says "I told Ming he'll be back, and to deal with this Live One quickly. Now he's just out to cause PAIN." He didn't know how right he was. And it wasn't just the fact that Herr could hear him from an easy 10 meters away. At this stage I also didn't realise that Ming already knew he was back and was whipping out his marking up model tools shaking his head
"You've got to be fucking kidding me. I didn't think he'd be back."
Herr frowns at Ming's creepy sudden materialisation "And now he's going to be in there waiting for you, when he would've just paid for the fucking thing and gotten the hell out"
I sigh and loiter in the storeroom, too afraid to look down the corridor to the door or to even go back out there.
"Herr! Get the box! It's up there! April! Go back there and get him to fill in a release form with all damages accounted for!" Ming barks and disappears once again into the office. I step back out and the last thing I hear is Herr saying to Usagi how they are going to need a ladder to reach the dusty 6 year old box. I close the door and meet Zatanna's wide eyes as Fedora is yelling at her in his weird deep gravelly voice:
"Those fucks better not fuck with my Batmobile, it cost me MONEY and if they BREAK IT, I am going to BREAK THEIR FACE.......(heavy breathing) AND THEN I am going to grab their mobile PHONES and STEP ON THEM and and BREAK THEM because it's the same thing and ITS MONEY, this costs me MONEY!" Fedora's hands clenched and unclenched on the counter. He stared at me."WHY IS IT NOT MADE OUT OF METAL!?!??!" He screamed.
"WHERE IS MY BATMOBILE!?"

I hurry back to the storeroom and one the last things I hear is Zatanna's voice wearily saying "Well...I keep my statues up high and out of reach...."

What greeted me in the storeroom shocked me, Herr was doubled over in agonising pain and Usagi was running out the door with the box. "What on earth happened?" I say gingerly.
"I fell off the ladder grabbing that piece of shit box....God dammit..my fucking back." He seethes.
"Does it hurt?" I say in concern and in obvious stupidity.
Herr glares at me. "YES"
"Want some painkillers? You have - " I say only to break off and exclaim "I gotta get the model! And I have to tell Ming you're hurt!"
I run to the office to tell Ming, who thrusts the fixed model at me barking orders that made no sense as he went to check on Herr. I run back only to see Bullseye lifting the model base with Fedora hovering over him "OOOoooh look at that! The base is MESSED UP!" He then grabs the model from me as I approach."But this looks great!" He smiles. His toothy grin assuring me it was a done deal. At this stage Ming steps out, obvious to everyone he was mad and wanted this fucker out of his store. A fucker who lost him $100, injured his employee and was making everyone in the store stop and stare instead of buying comics.
"BOSS!...Make the base look new boss! Using your special batmobile paint!"
"It's a special marker actually" he says dryly grabbing an ordinary marker out of the stationary basket from the counter and grabbing the model "back in 10". He disappears.

If you want more, you're going to have to ask, I have done my part of therapy.
Also I need bliss drunken sleep....blissful....black....nothingness...

Catch Ya Later.

Random Aside....

Now, as much as you all say you don't, everyone loves a celebrity. We all get a little giggly and star struck (well at least "I" do) when we come face to face with someone we know.

I have decided, as we work in the sydney hub and are therefore prone to have the occassional celebrity shopper, to air their dirty "comic book" laundry.

Thus far i have had the pleasure of coming in contact with:

Cooheed and Cambria: Walking Dead, Wolverine and other assorted Marvel crap

Mars Volta: These boys know how to spend some serious dollars. Racking up almost a grand between them on Vertigo, DC, Top shelf and Fantagraphics titles.

Will Anderson: Daredevil trades, Buffy Season 8 singles

Xzibit: Punisher and Spidey singles (complete with cheeky grin and charming personality)

Simon Day (if anone even remembers Ratcat.....COME ON people......): actually, you know what? I don't even care what he reads. My childhood crush has been forever shattered by the day he asked me, in a whiny nasally voice, for a plastic bag some seven years ago.

That guy fom the Hard Ons, you know, the one with the dredds - cool guy, polite, likes Neil Gaiman from what i gather.

Back in the Fox days his would have been a mediocre list at best, but come on, we're scraping the bottom of the barrel here with celebs willing to walk down Pitt st in broad daylight and admit that they, too, love the comic book.

TRANSFORMERS MEETS PORTISHEAD

So we are back. Sorry for the hiatus. It actually was just time to reflect and ponder on what else we could plan for this little bubble of webspace. So uh...hang about. We have IMAGES coming soon...Images! That's pictures! And two new sections. Woo.
So, comment will ya? I know you are reading this - Bullseye's Mum.

This is a little story from last week:

"Who oo am I, what and why" warbled what I thought was the tape recorder. Hang on, that's not right. I frown and turn my head to the offending sound. Last time I heard Portishead they didn't sound like a manatee mating for the first time.

"Cos all I have left is my memories of yesterday
Ohh these sour times"

I strain to see over the display of journals to the display cabinet, and what I saw ...what I saw... ack.. sorry, I get a little choked up when I recollect this memory...mainly because I know you guys won't believe me.

"Cos nobody loves me...Its true
Not like you do.."

It was a grown man, with a dark growth of stubble, and bloodshot eyes. Singing to the new Optimus Prime Wall Statue that had come in that week.

"Only in Dreams..."

The Customer is Always Wrong... Right.

So, as freaky as Friday gets, Mondays are becoming the new Fridays, which used to be Wednesdays, and were Thursdays before that. We're not quite sure what day it was before the invention of time, like, you know, more than 30 years ago.

So, ol' Herr Starr ain't feeling the best today. Bad cold make Starr grumpy sumbitch. So the last thing I needed was an uppity asshole trying to tell me how to do my job.

Imagine if you will... It's raining outside when a grey-suited business-type man prances into the store, huffing and puffing and shaking water freakin' everywhere. Whilst he's dripping everywhere and trying to slick his greasy hair back into place, he stumbles up to the counter, and seeing me on my own, proceeds to ask me (in a gravelly geeky voice) "Excuse me, do you have the 300 Annual?"

I stare at him for a few seconds, giving him the usual half-lidded stare.

"Do you mean", I say, "the 300 hardcover?"

"No, no", he insists, "Frank Miller drew it as an Annual years ago and then released it after that into like, a collected edition" he says, sagely nodding at his idiotic incorrectness.

I sigh, and decide to correct him. I don't know why, and I really should know better, but I do it anyway. It's like sticking your testicles into a Shine-O-Ball-O. You know you shouldn't do it, but the fascination is there. So, I very levelly say "No, it's a hardcover. It's only available in a hardcover format. You can't get it any other way".

Nup. Gray-Suit ain't buying it. "Look," he says, "I've done my research. It was an Annual."

I sigh again. Fine. It's an Annual. It can be the freakin' Shroud of Turin. I just want this to end.

"So, do you have a copy?" he quips, still dripping like a sweaty shark with slowly expanding body odour, not unlike a fetid swamp in the middle of summer... on Mercury.

Now, this is the point where, in the back of my head, i start rubbing my hands. Nothing feels better than correcting an inane, self-important twit who's seen a film and all of a sudden wants everything connected to it - now. Right now.

"I'm sorry mate", I say, with every ounce of false apology I can muster, "we're out of stock".

He stares at me for a full five seconds, before he stammers on. I could've read 'War and Peace' in the interim. "What do you mean you're out of stock? How can you be out of stock of the most popular book in the world?"

I pause. "I'm sorry, we don't stock the Bible".

While he stares at me somewhat dumbfoundedly, I continue. "And about, oh, several thousand other people have come in, purchased the 300 hardcover, and that's why we're out of stock". I didn't bother telling him it's also out of print. He may not know what this incredibly technical term may mean.

"We should have some more by the end of the week," continue. "Maybe."

He finally smiles a little, thinking he's in, and his worries are over. "Okay, can I have a copy set aside for me, and I'll come and pick it up?" Smiling, I say "No, I'm afraid we can't do that. We don't hold books. Just come on past and we'll see what we can do."

At this time, he just sorta half-smiled (slimed) and stammered again. "Uh, okay, yeah, I'll try that. Thanks. Yeah". He turns to leave, and before he hits the door to finally leave the store and possibly my life, he turns around and says "Are you sure you'll have copies this weekend?"

Help me Obi-Jeebus Kenobi. You're my only hope.

Freaky Friday.

What I don't understand is the whole concept of Fridays, being consistently the day where Freaks come out to infest. It seems that something changes in the air and the total freakdom begins to become really evident, and like a tapeworm, it cannot be denied due to it's insufferable irritation. It may seem disgusting to use that analogy but I am disgusted by them, so it all fits.

Some of these sub-species parade outside the store, wanting attention by acting like they are having multiple body spasms. Usually accompanied by malaise babble incoherently themed on the merits of them NOT being nerds because they are not in the shop. I don’t know what dancing like that achieves in regards to their goal, all I know is that they look like they need epileptic prevention medication, a counsellor to help them quit crack and for my wish for air to stop traveling into their lungs to come true.

But what really gets me is that they always come inside anyway.

One of them, was a tall blonde girl with a barely there dress that due to her raising her arms and jerking her shoulders she looked like she was suffering from some sort of dementia. The fact that she was singing loudly and off key, cemented the theory.

"Is it really quiet in here? Cuz I can't hear anything! Put your hands up! Put your hands up!" She says rather loudly while putting one manicured hand up to her headphones.
I quietly wondered if she was retarded.

Her body then began to quirk and convulse, like her skin had become an alien baby that wanted to rupture through the cheap black material she was wearing. Her friends, mortified, told her to stop, while quickly scanning for the "hot" emo "guys" with low hung jeans, who usually hanged around, greasily reading the Johnny the Homicidal comics. Fortunately for them (and us) they were not around, probably at home crying to the latest My Chemical Romance album while spending Mummy's money on Ice. That didn't stop the bitch from singing though.

"Put your hands up if you want her drop dead on the spot" Herr muttered.
Bullseye laughs and puts his hands up like an eager child who knew the right answer.
Laughing at his response I wasn't able to pick up the phone when it rang, not that I needed to, Bullseye is a little Pavlov with the phone, and he answered instead.

"Hello?" Bullseye answers. Apparently silence.
"Yes, can I help you?" He persists.
"Are you the owner of the store?" The lady answers.
"No the owner of the store isn't here, may I ask what's it regarding?"
"It's about your telecommunication needs, and what we can offer you."
"Well I can tell you, straight off the bat, that the owner will not be interested"
"When will he be in?"
"Sometime next week"
"Well I'll call on Monday, when you are not working". She hangs up.

Bullseye dropped the phone back on the receiver.
"Ha! I work on Monday's!" He yells at noone in particular.
"Guess the joke's on her huh?" I reply dryly.

I began to retell the story about when one time this high on drugs or perhaps drunk, or insane. I just can't tell anymore, guy came into the store and preceeded to walk a straight line from the front to the back 0f the store, claiming just how cool Superman was. At the top of his lungs. After that giggle, Karma decided to piss me off. I pick up the phone that time.

"Is my order shipped out yet?" said a nervous voice over the phone line.
"When did you place it?" I absentmindedly replied.
"Wednesday"
"Then it should've shipped today. All the mail was sent out a couple of hours ago."
"So I will be getting it in a few minutes?"
A pause.
"No you have to give it time to get to your house...it will surely get there after the weekend"
"Oh...." the dissapointment in his voice made me so depressed...that I seethe inwardly.

What is wrong with these people? You'd think they truly believed we employ the Flash to do our postal service. Either that or they are fucking morons. After today I am afraid to really ask myself that question, I know I'd be right either way.

Pink Tie Strikes Twice

I haven't finished with the Suited up guy with the pink tie. There is more. I just couldn't write the rest because Ming came into the store all dodgy like, and I needed to secure an hour extra on my work shedule. He tried to set up a fight between me and Herr Starr, claiming it was Herr who decided to close earlier midweek. I lost an hour and I needed to corner him and make sure he didn't cheat me.

Sometimes working at the store is like dealing with the Black market and all the shifty people within. I mean, there are days where I wake up and feel for my kidneys. Just to make sure they are still there. My soul being there is always questioned...you get the drift.

So after the Suit with the pink tie and his friend who had fluffy hair but a greasy smile had stopped talking to me, they really didn't have much of a choice, once someone stares at you with contempt, conversation somewhat dwindles. I slowly walk to the counter.

Rubbing my face in my hands I hear this voice:
"Excuse me, do you have any of those violent sexual comics?"
He is not talking to me, right? I look around, hoping one of my co-workers will pick up the slack. Everyone grins and they don't say a word.
Bastards.

"No sir, we are a family store" I drool out.
"What are they called when they come from Japan?" Pink Tie asks.
"Hentai?"I say in a low voice. And when I was about to open my mouth to tell him that he has to go somewhere else, preferably under a rock as it is dropped from a very high place to oblitirate his pathetic existance, I stupidly make eye contact.

"HENTAI! THAT'S IT!" He yells out.
The 17 odd people in the store turn to look.
"Where can you get it? Can you get it in?" He says in a hushed voice, raised eyebrow leaning towards me.
"No...we are a family store...." I take a deep sigh, my face so red you could probably throw me in front of a bull and it would have been a sweet death at that moment.
"Know where I can get it?" He grins at me.

Oh ew. Ew.

Fucking ew.

Unfathomable

Sometimes you do get the stupid questions. Sometimes you are prepared and you deal with it. No biggie.
But the other day I was organising the Dark Horse Japanese manga section when this man in a business suit stops me.
"Excuse me, can you recommend a title for me?" He says adjusting his pink silk tie.
"Sure, what genre are you looking for?" I stop and give him my best fake smile. Well at least he doesn't smell like a compost heap, I inwardly sigh.
"Anything from Ancient Modern Japan?"
I open my mouth to rudely say "What?" but luckly I manage to stop myself.
"Well...I am unsure what you mean..." I rectify and say out loud.
He rubs his hands heavily on his chin and mouth while scanning the manga titles.
"Anything that has blood and violence, really heavy stuff set in Modern Japan, but I heard that the Samurai stories are the best in that genre right?"
I frown. Were you dropped as a child?
"What about.." I grab a random title from behind me, and quickly glance at the title. "Old Boy? It it set in modern Japan, a story about betrayal and revenge and it's so violent it comes sealed." I smile my best "You are a complete asswipe get the fuck away from me" smile. Surely that will be all.
"Oh...these look pretty good. I'll grab the first two volumes."
"Awesome" I sigh, then quickly give him another smile.
"So...do you have any more of these stories?" he says conversationally.
"You mean Manga?" I say, ready with a copy of Crying Freeman in my hand.
"Well...anymore of these comic stories? with pictures?" he replies.
"You mean, comics?"
"Yeah, comics."
I stare at him, openly and with utter disbelief.

I never saw it coming.