ACTION
BY JOE NOZEMACK

---

Since the age of 15 I've always worked in the comics industry in some way, except for one year. The big bust had started to come (Summer '94) while I was working for the Houston, Texas branch of Capital City Dist. and it looked like I was going to go from working customer service and accounts payable in the nice air conditioned office to counting and packing comics in the hot and humid warehouse. No way man, not for me. So I took a pay cut and got a gig at a local independent record store that a good friend was head buyer for.

The next year of my life was a cross between High Fidelity, a non-touring version of Almost Famous and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas with three times the alcohol and none of the drugs. The store is what's considered a tastemaker store. This means that whatever these guys are selling will become the big hits in the next three to six months. Usually this meant Hootie or Sherly Crow types of acts. The record labels loved us and showered us with free cds, concert tickets and lots of booze. It was one of the craziest years of my life, but it's kinda like one of those places that's fun to visit but you wouldn't wanna live there.

Being out of the comics industry I pretty quickly forgot all the taboos and quirks that go with it. Stuffing things in plastic bags, gold foil covers and all the other obsessive-compulsive bullshit vanished without a thought. Weird to say, but I didn't miss it much.

During this period there were only three comics that got me into a comic shop, Madman, Sandman Mystery Theatre, and The Jam. That's all I read and somehow, I managed to keep up with when they were coming out. So one Wednesday I strolled into the comic store before work to pick up the new Mystery Theatre. As usual the green Dodge Charger with the Green Lantern symbol (shudder) painted on the hood was parked out front and the store was fairly crowded. Even though I never bought anything else, I still scanned the rack to see what was new and flipped through a few books. I grabbed my Matt Wagner fix and strolled up to the counter. After paying for it, I got the usual, "You want a bag for that." It was only a few block to work so I said no and then without a conscious thought I folded the comic in half and shoved it in my back pocket. You would have thought E.F. Hutton had screamed. Every sphincter in that placed slammed shut with a thundering thud. I don't think anyone took a breath for three minutes. Realizing the attention I had acquired, I swaggered out of the place like Tony Manero struttin' to Staying Alive.

This would now become standard operating procedure. If I was at a convention, one of the first things I would do is buy a comic and then cram it in my back pocket. There was nothing wrong with the comic, I could still read it, and it screamed loud and clear that it didn't mean shit to me if it was mint or not. C'mon, how many times have you taken a magazine, flyer or paper and done this? Lots I bet. How often with a precious precious comic book?

Being away from comic collectors, and even readers, for a period made me forget about comics as this sacred item that was to be coveted, protected, bagged, filed and put off-limits to anyone who might breath on it wrong. A comic had become just like an issue of Rolling Stone or a paperback. Something to be consumed and then discarded. If it got beat up while doing this, no biggie.

So, what's this week's action? Go to a busy store or convention, buy a comic, stick it in your back pocket and then strut like the cock of the block. It'll feel liberating, no shit.