That's a stupid wish...

     Many moons ago when spirit wolf first brought us Pokemon cards to sell it was the hottest item we had ever stocked. Literally the phone would ring 100 times a day with requests for them. I know this because we actually counted over the course of several days and did the math. The phone rang so much that I missed getting tickets to the new Cleveland Browns first game ever at the Football Hall of Fame. My ex-wife not being able to get a hold of me just gave them to a coworker thinking I wouldn't want to go. I have never forgiven her...anyhow during this time period we heard the most insane excuses for us to reserve the most sacred of Pokemon cards, the foil Charizard. Because of the demand for this piece of paper it was selling for close to $60 and we couldn't keep them in stock. As a result we would adhere to a strict first come first serve and no reserve policy. To get around that people would make up lies, stories, bribes or offer sexual favors (this actually happened) for us to set a foil Charizard back for them. Now the the setting has been established let me tell you about my friend and coworker Renee.
     Renee is the son of a wealthy Indonesian businessman and was studying in the states with his brother and sister acquiring their MBA's. He was given a sizable allowance to cover food, rent, tuition and other living expenses. He never flaunted it but was very good to the people he cared about. Six very lucky souls were on his written list of the people he didn't hate. Once again, this is true. In his wallet was a folded ratty piece of paper that had been edited many times with six names on it. He was a man of his word. He also once told a person that if he were back in Indonesia with him he would kill him with a claw hammer. The other guy laughed until he realized Renee wasn't lying. Now that you know Renee here's a story about him and Pokemon...
     It's late on a Sunday evening with about 15 minutes left till closing time. Renee and I got all of the chores done and there were no guests in the shop so we were just sitting reading the weeks new comics. The phone rings piercing the calm of a quiet Sunday. Renee reaches over picking up the phone with out looking away from his copy of Thor. This is only Renee speaking in the next run of dialogue and the only half of the conversation I could hear.
"Hello Comic Town, Renee speaking."
"Yes. Yes we have this Charizard."
"$50....no we don't reserve the cards."
"I don't care if some one wished it."
"Make..A...Wish? No, it does not matter."
"Even with a credit card we won't."
"That is a stupid wish. If you can grant wishes why didn't he wish to be cured."
"No, I understand that you are terrible shamans."
At this point I am very frightened as I watch Renee hang up the phone, calmly walk over to the showcase, pull the foil Charizard out, ring himself out with no discount, pay for it then once again far too calmly tear it into tiny pieces and throw them into the trash. He then sits back down and begins reading Thor again as if nothing happened.
"Renee, ummmm, who was that on the phone?"
"Some one wanting to reserve the Charizard."
"I figured out that part but who was it that was asking"
"Some bogus person claiming to be from some Make a Wish Foundation. Why tell a child that is dying from a blood disease that you can grant them a wish and then let him ask for a Pokemon card. So stupid."
"...oh...my...shit..."
Fortunately this was a person trying to scam a Charizard. I assume this based on the fact that we were never put on the news as the store that told the Make a Wish people they were stupid.

"Hello, James Cancer Clinic and comic book retail division."

The phone number to my shop is 614-262-XXXX. The phone number to the Ohio State Universities James Cancer Clinic Hospital is 614-263-XXXX which is neither really here nor there except for the fact that panicked cancer patients will sometimes dial my number by mistake. These calls are usually innocuous with us simply explaining that they have dialed the wrong number and that they just hit that one wrong button. It has happened probably hundreds of times since this store opened with only a couple of truly out standing moments that define the true human condition and leave me desiring to make them pay for becoming angry with me. I don't understand it when a person won't believe that they have dialed the wrong number. Is it really all that possible that the person answering the phone at the hospital that is going to save your life from cancer would really lie to you and say that they are a comic book store? Ignorance is a suit of armor constructed from wet cardboard and here are the tales of it's two greatest champions....

The Indian Woman With The Mammograms
"Hello, Comic Town Morse Road. Ryan speaking, how can I help you?"
"(Incomprehensible gibberish in an Indian accent)"
"I'm sorry ma'am. I didn't catch your question. What was it again that I could help you with?"
"(More gibberish only this time more frenzied and with the word mammogram audible)"
"I'm sorry ma'am but were you looking for the OSU cancer clinic? If so you've dialed the wrong number by accident."
"No, mammogram appointment."
"I'm sorry but were Comic Town. You've dialed the wrong number."
*long ass silence approaching 1 minute in length*
"Ma'am. are you still there?"
"Appointment! Transfer me to appointments."
"I can't transfer you. This is Comic Town. A comic book store not affiliated with OSU. You dialed the wrong number"
"NO! I dialed the numbers on the card YOU put into my mail."
"You dialed the wrong number. This is a comic book store. We can't help you with cancer."
"APPOINTMENT! MAMMOGRAM!!!"
"You dialed the wrong number. We're 262 and you meant to dial 263."
"NO I DIDN'T!!! TRANSFER ME!!!!!"
"I can't do that. Please hang up and try again."
"I will report you!"
*phone hangs up*

The Man With The Poop Test
"Hello, Comic Town Morse Road. This is Ryan, how can I help you?"
*angry sounding old dude who sounds like karma is finally repaying him for his life* "I need to find out what's taking you so long with my test results."
"Test results? Sir, I'm not sure I know what your talking about."
"My test results is what I'm talking about."
"What test results? Are you looking for the cancer clinic?"
"My fecal tests. What did they show?"
"Fecal? What? Who is this?"
"Yeah, the crap I took for you guys. What did the lab guys find in it?"
"Sir, this is not the cancer clinic."
"No...your the receptionist. Just tell me what they told you."
"...I'm not the receptionist. This is not the cancer clinic. You dialed the wrong number."
"If your not the receptionist then transfer me to the person who can do their fucking job there."
*at this moment I ceased having compassion for this guy. I'm not a good person and here is proof*
"Sir, I have to come clean with you. There's been a terrible and quite frankly embarrassing mistake. You fecal sample got lost. I'm really sorry about this. I'll get you put to the very top of the testing schedule so you'll know what the results are by tomorrow morning at the latest. What I need you to do is produce another sizable fecal sample. Make sure you get it into a zip lock bag, preferably the kind that have the yellow and blue make green sealing area. Be careful that the feces grow straight from your rectal opening into the bag thus not contaminating the sample. Write your name with a sharpie marker on the bag and give it to the person at the front desk here. I'll let them know to bring it right to me. Once again, I apologize on the behalf of OSU and it's hospitals."
"I knew you guys fucked up! I appreciate the honesty though. I'll see you in a little bit."
*phone hangs up and the balance is restored*

How is it stupid people know how to make phones work?

THIS IS A REAL PHONE CALL THAT JUST HAPPENED TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
THIS IS NOT SEAWORLD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!THIS IS AS REAL AS IT GETS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
...all names and locations have been changed to protect the innocent.....
     "Hello Comic Town, this is Ryan how can I help you?"
(read with a VERY thick Asian Indian accent) "Hello, where is Morse Road?"
     "We're located on the corner of Maize and Morse."
     "No. Where is Morse Road?"
     "Uhhh (you will notice the Fargo level of  this words usage shortly) It's off of 71?"
     "What is it you do at this Comic Town?"
     "We sell comic books and Magic the Gathering card game."
     "So you do magics?"
     "Uhhh, no we sell comic books."
     "I am being hard to understand you. You have magic there?"
     "Magic the Gathering a collectible card game, yes."
     "Then you can show me this magics?"
     "Give you a demo game? Sure."
     "I am needing to know things. How is it you do magic?"
     "Uhhh, it's a card game."
     "What is it that you would do this?"
     "Uhhh, I'm not following your question."
     "You are at 1249 Morse Road, your name is Ron and you are open late?'
     "Yes, yesish and till 8 PM yes."
     "Late or 8?"
     "8?"
     "I will be there in 15 minutes and then maybe you show and tell me what you do?"
     "I sell comic books (read with fearful whimper)"
I now look confused and try to explain what just took place on the phone. Neither Tim nor our guest at the time could even fathom what I was talking about....15 minutes pass and a short Asian Indian man wearing a plaid button down shirt, dress khakis and mandals enters the store looking nervous and afraid. Tim takes this bullet to the head...
     "Hi, how are you doing? Is there anything special I could help you find tonight?"
     "Do you show things?"
     "Like do conventions?"
     "No, show ME things?"
     "We don't do appraisals."
     "No. Magic. Show me."
     "Like a demo game of Magic?"
     "No! Show me magics."
     "We don't do magic tricks or illusions sir. We carry Magic the card game."
     "NO! Show me magics. Tell me my future with the magic cards."
     "uhhhh...."
Drops mike exits stage left. This really just fucking happened bitches. Why am I not allowed to buy sleeping pills from CVS again?

That's when I knew I was dealing with a lunatic...

     Many years ago during the baby years of the store the area it's in was a vibrant and busy area. Many new guests were constantly walking into the store and numbers of truly spergian, frightening and disturbing were still very low. This gentleman that I'm about to tell you about was in retrospect the first of what I began to call wandering monsters. This is the tale of scary "dutch wear wood teeth" homeless crazy guy....
     It was early Summer on a slow Sunday afternoon , if memory serves, and the previous store owner and myself were just relaxing after a mad rush of guests and propped the front door open to let in some fresh air. My boss said that he was going to run to CVS really fast and I turned to restock some comics. "Man, don't you love nice days like this?" echoed through my ears from a voice I didn't recognize nor even knew was in the store. Panicking because you should never be in a situation where you don't know somebody is in the store with you I look over my shoulder and find crazy homeless guy sitting on a stool behind the counter where we kept the cash register. Our eyes lock and at first I have no clue where this afternoon will lead me.
     Taking a quick scan of the store I come to find that there is no one else there except for me and my new friend behind the cash register. Very confused and even more angry I ask "Is there anything I can help you find today? Also sir, I need to come out from behind the register please."
     "Not looking for anything really. Just resting for a minute. Being homeless really takes a lot of walking you know." He said with a fairly easy and oddly comforting smile. "I made some bad investments and kind of put myself in this situation."
     Strange, a rational homeless person? He has bought a minute of my time. "Well in any case I do need you to come out from behind there."
     "Sorry but this stool is so comfortable. I see there are a lot of collectible item's in here. I used to be a philatelist."
     "What the hell is going on here!" El Jeffe blurts out as he walks back into the store from his trip to CVS. My boss from here on out will be referred to as El Jeffe.
     "Dude, I don't know. He won't leave."
     Homeless guy interjects "A philatelist is a stamp collector. I had a very rare stamp that some one in Holland stole from me. That was my investment and it ruined my marriage. How can that bitch speak with her pussy like that?" ...that's when I knew I was dealing with a lunatic...as he was pointing his dirty homeless finger at El Jeffe.
     "That's El Jeffe, my boss. Not sure what your meaning dude but you really have to leave the store now."
     El Jeffe emphatically adds in "Get off the stool and out of the store right now before we have to call the police."
     As any great orator would do the Spalding Grey of the homeless world regales us with the rest of his story as if nothing is sinking into his brain..."Where I come from pussy don't talk. It bleeds or it breeds but it doesn't fucking talk. Where was I again, OH yeah stamps. So against my ex-wife's better judgment I sold everything extra we had to buy this rare stamp. You know the one with the upside down plane? It was that one and I had found a buyer for it too. Some wood toothed asshole dutch queer in Holland. Did you know all Dutch people wear wooden teeth because of getting hit for not sucking dick right? Man, I hate wooden teeth. So I mailed the stamp this this wood queer Dutch and waited to hear back. I tried a bunch of times to call him and every time it was a "wrong" number. CHRIST! (at which point he stands up and punches the counter so he kind of was doing what we wanted him to do) I just am trying to save up enough money to fly to Dutch land and kill him. I'm going to fuck him in his mouth like you should that talking pussy over there (once again clearly not understanding how to determine the sex of a homo sapian) and choke him to death with my juices! I don't care about the splinters from his queer wooden teeth!"
     After weighing the potential out comes from pointing out the story about Washington's wood teeth I choose the response of pulling a knife out of my pocket. El Jeffe picks up the phone and begins to dial what I assume to be the police's save us please number. Seeing that we have now heard his story and it was time to leave he stands up, straightens his winter parka and walks out the door muttering about talking pussy's and wooden teeth.
     I never saw him after that. My heart tells me he found his way to Holland and got the revenge he so desperately sought. Looking back I believe he was the ancient mariner to my wedding guest. Instead of bringing hope and love he taught me to hate with such irrationality that other would pull out knives. God speed you crazy asshole, god speed.

     In early 1994 I was still low man on the totem pole. That being said there were only two people on the totem but I was still it's power bottom. Therefore I would get stuck dealing with the less then desirable situations. I get asked a lot if I have a Captain Sweatpants because of the hit sitcom Big Bang Theory with people not knowing about my arch nemesis and focus of my purest hatred...sweatpants. Here is the story of my first encounter with this subhuman, degenerate, maladroit, white trash, cheetoh bearded gomorrahite (yes, how he rolls is worse than what they did in Sodom).
     We were back at the old smaller location with myself and about three other people if memory serves. I had my back to the front window with everybody else faces out into the parking lot. Dirty jokes and favorite stories from the newest comics were being shared and much joy was raining down on us like a winter's first snow. All of a sudden they stopped smiling and their faces turned ashen white. They all sprinted to the back of the store behind a make shift dividing wall that had been constructed to create a storage and processing room but ultimately ended up being where all the drinking and truly fun stupidity occurred. Seeing this I turned around to figure out what caused the lemming run to safety. What I first saw was a rusted mini van shaking back and forth trying to steady itself after a giant fat leviathan of a human oozed himself out of it. He stood well over six feet tall with a beard like a hermit manifesto writing serial killer. His 500 plus pound frame draped in a faded torn apart Incredible Hulk t shirt and ill fitting sweat pants. Over the next minute I stood frozen knowing that he was going to come into the store.
     As he entered the door he bellowed out that he needed the new issue of the Hulk. Seizing the chance to make a sale I motioned for him to follow me and said "Sure thing, right over here sir." This was the last time I would call him sir. After a one sided conversation which I cannot recall as we walked to the register I rang him up. Upon telling him how much he owed the store he proceeded to reach into his sweat pants fishing in and around his crotchal region for what I feared his wallet. Something strange and unexpected happened next. A wad of little kid style bills fell on the floor between his legs. I couldn't figure out how that happened but soon would have this question answered. He mumbles some swear words to himself and waddles two steps backwards, turns around bends over at the waist. As he strains against his massive gut the whole in the crotch of his sweat pants that allowed his money to fall to the floor opens wide and the back of his hairy man batter bag flops out saying hi to me. Picture a nut sack framed by dark grey sweat pants material just there and daring you not to stare at it in horror. After a seeming eternity he stands back up, faces me, wheezes, leans against the counter to catch his breath and hands me a wadded up moist $20 bill. In case you were thinking why was the floor wet it wasn't. After presenting me his nuts he hands me a bill soaked with his junk sweat. Completely demoralized I hand him his change and he leaves. Hysterical laughter explodes from behind the wall and I begin to cry on the inside. This is when my hatred for sweatpants was birthed.

Mission Statement

I plan to use this as a means to vent about the strange, disturbing and annoying crap I deal with on a daily basis. It's semi-self inflicted because I chose my career in customer service focusing on comic readers and gamers but god damn it. Some people just should not breed or have been bred. I truly value their economic contributions, I do. So I hope you laugh, cry, empathize or just delete my from your Facebook feed as you read this. So in saying this I now ask you...DO YOU WANNA LEARN HOW TO FIGHT LIKE A JEDI???????