There were fourteen people that came by today, fourteen discrete instances of Homo sapiens. That was actually not the worst I’ve seen, but only two actually bought anything, and it wasn’t like last week when purchases were averaging $250 or $300; these were strictly in the $20 and under range. Not enough to cover the light bill, not to mention the rent.
I’ve been running my own comic book and gaming store for a year and three months, and it’s days like this that are bringing me closer and closer to looking for someone to sell out to, the whole kit and kaboodle. It’s hard enough to put in your twelve hours, day in and day out, not even counting all the hours doing extra paperwork or inventory, without getting to the end of a day with the realization that you NEED tomorrow to be better, or you might not be able to afford the day after that.
Chris keeps telling me I just need a new name, or a new image, but I’ve seen stores come and go with way cooler names and locations than mine, places that had different games going on six nights a week and twice on Sundays, places that actually had enough customers come through the doors to bother digging out the fire department’s maximum occupancy sign and posting it. It’s a matter of connecting with each of the hopeless cases that shuffle in every day, because you never know which ones are secretly sporting a pile of cash that they don’t have anyone to spend it on and a smoking hole, an unending hunger in the center of their chest for anything that reminds them of the time that they still could control something absolutely, that they really had something figured out.
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