I hate comic book stores.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I read comics; after all, there are far worse pastimes to indulge in. Somehow, though, when compared to stamp collecting or butterfly pressing, the stigma of juvenilia clings to the business of buying and selling comic books. This mad, bad and (eventually) dangerous fact became all too evident to me on a recent comics-buying jaunt to Melbourne.

I have to admit, I hadn't seen the inside of a comic book store in over a year - eighteen months, at the most. As soon as I visited my first port of call, I remembered why I didn't miss my weekly visit to the 'LCS' (Local Comic Shop). Sometimes, amidst the fond memories and good reading, you forget what you had to put up with.

Trundling up a flight of stairs, I reached the store: two rooms, one for toys, videos and the like - the other for comics. Not surprisingly, the comics were in the smaller of the two rooms. It was cramped, dusty, and poorly laid out. Comics over a year old sat side-by-side with current releases, and there were over-priced sets of recent miniseries (X-MEN FOREVER for $50? Huh?). However, the owner was willing to knock down the price of some books I was interested in - "They're not gonna sell anyway," was his rationale - so that was a point in their favour.

'This was a store for hardcore fans, and I didn't feel like one anymore.' Additionally, he let me flick through the copy of Previews on the counter (full of bombast and hype, just as I remembered it), and informed me that the kids these days are into manga - but he meant the Americanised dilutions of the form, such as BATTLE CHASERS and WARLANDS. I paid for my purchases, thanked him kindly, and went on my way, marvelling at the plenitude of plastic dolls and POKEMON rubbish I had to wade through in order to find something to read.

And things would get worse from that point...

I decided to hit Melbourne's fashion district, as there was a pair of comic stores I used to frequent along that boulevard. The first was up another flight of stairs, but this time it was one long room, airy and well lit. I breathed a sigh of relief and set to, finding a pair of ULTRAFORCE back issues I was after (all right, all right, I know, stop laughing). After more browsing, I headed to the counter, where this exchange occurred:

Counter jockey: "So you a Ultraverse fan?"
Me: "Uh..."
Counter jockey: "You know, they put out some great stuff - PRIME, MANTRA..."
Me: "Uh, I just got these issues because I'm a fan of Warren Ellis' work. That's basically it."
Counter jockey: "Oh. (sniffs haughtily) Well, to each his own."

I got the impression that the guy had been waiting all week to discuss the likes of THE STRANGERS and PROTOTYPE, and was disappointed that I wasn't willing to indulge him. (The other topic du jour? THE DARK KNIGHT STRIKES BACK, which had hit Australian stands that very Friday afternoon.) This was a store for hardcore fans, and I didn't feel like one anymore - which wasn't a bad thing, in retrospect.

Just down the street is one of my old haunts. I used to have a standing order there, and knew the staff by name. It was pretty much as I remember it - especially the glass cabinets of rare toys and KISS merchandise... and the STAR WARS pinball machine - and then I remembered why I stopped going there.

Like meeting an ex-girlfriend, being there was uncomfortable and awkward. What was worse, the owner of the store had turned from being a rather handsome man into a dead ringer for Comic Book Guy from THE SIMPSONS - the beard, the gut, the long greasy hair, all were in evidence. (And believe me, I wish I was making this up.) It was like having stumbled into some wannabe Kevin Smith production; I got out of there as quick as I could, and I was glad to be gone.

Cut to a week later, and despite the disappointment in my initial foray, I decided to try again. Not all stores were like this, right? Hah.

'The owner of the store had turned into Comic Book Guy from THE SIMPSONS.' Off the train, and whoops, the store's moved. They've kindly left their new address in the window though, so after ten minutes walk, I ascertained their new location, a stone's throw from a suburban shopping mall.

And, lo and behold, it's another hole-in-the-wall. Well stocked, granted, but crammed to the gills with junk - one wall and most of the floor space was given over to toys. Back issues were in boxes on the floor, mummified in plastic bags and overpriced, or displayed on the wall like a safari hunter's conquests.

Was I appalled? Yes, but not deterred. I sauntered to the counter and asked about the availability of 2000AD back issues.

"Yeah, they're over there, by the door," was the disinterested reply. Terrific. I would have to position myself in front of the entrance in order to peruse the boxes for what I wanted. Sure enough, I had to move several times as customers came and left. However, there was more ignominy to come. Back to the counter with some of my selections, I once again had to deal with the service mentality these stores seem to breed, like some kind of sub-literate hive mind:

Me: "Can I leave these on the counter while I look around?"
Counter Monkey: "Sure."
Me: "By the way, how much are these?"
(CM asks his boss.)
CM: "Two dollars each."
(I present a damaged copy of THE BEST OF 2000AD MONTHLY to CM; there's a sticker tear on the cover, obvious and distracting.)
Me: "I don't suppose you could knock fifty percent off this one? It's a bit worn."
CM: "Can't do it."
Me: "Why? I mean, look at it."
CM: "Two dollars, or put it back."
Me: "Mate, it's damaged."
CM: "Doesn't matter. It's only a reading copy."
Me: "..."
CM: "Two dollars. That's it."
Me: "Alright..."

It's only a reading copy. That phrase was spat at me like I was some kind of insurrectionist: how dare I bother to read these things, when I can keep them in a display case forever and a day? Why take the time to appreciate them, when I can instead gloat about how much they're worth? God forbid I should want to appreciate the written word and sequential art in tandem.

'It's no wonder the public looks down on people who appreciate comics.' And the hits just kept on coming: their trade paperback section was two cabinets facing each other, with barely enough room for a person to squeeze in, which meant I had to contort my body in order to see what was where. Oh, yes, and they were all in plastic bags (this was a common factor with all the stores I visited, actually); the selection barely ventured beyond spandex fare - no Oni Press, or PlanetLar/AiT, or Slave Labor, for example.

The final insult was having to witness the aforementioned Counter Monkey check the value of various action figures against an American price guide, reading off the numbers like they were scripture. I'd had enough - I paid and left, doing my best to hide my disgust.

Previously on Comic Shop Confidential:

Ben Wooller on the trials of isolation.

Roxane Grant on the customer divide. It's no wonder that the general public looks down its nose at people who appreciate comics if these are the images that stores like the ones I visited present. If anything, they seemed bound and determined to keep new customers away - and provide regular customers with only a bare minimum of service. Explaining the difference between AMAZING SPIDER-MAN and ULTIMATE SPIDER-MAN is one thing - and I witnessed that spectacle firsthand - but allowing customers to browse freely, without feeling like intruders, surely that'd be a better way to conduct business?

Take off the plastic bags, widen the aisles and clean the shelves. Take the time to learn about the art and the industry, make a point of guiding customers toward worthy material, and then, hey, maybe that clinging whiff of childhood might dissipate. (Learning some manners and social skills might also be a good idea.) It's a pipe dream, I know, but it's better than the reality; some of the stores I used to frequent don't even exist anymore. I should've been surprised, but I wasn't.

After all, we've all got to grow up sometime.

Brent Keane is a regular contributor to Ninth Art and PopImage and has also written for Opi8, Sequential Tart and Nerdbait.

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