I Think I Can Manage is a weekly column by retailer Steven Bates, who runs Bookery Fantasy, a million dollar retail operation in Fairborn, Ohio.  This week, Bates looks at the unique mix of people that makes up a store's customers.

I've often said that running a comics and gaming store is akin to being a bartender.  Think about it.  You spend most of the day leaning across a counter, listening to the life stories of your regulars, feeding the addictions of your clientele, assisting them in their pursuit of escape from the doldrums of real life.  Chances are you know way-yyy more than you want to about some of them, but for your customers, you're 'Sam the Bartender' and your shop is their Cheers.  I'll bet you even yell out 'Norm!' (or 'Rich!' or 'Bob!' or 'Jerry!') whenever they walk through the door.  We're fortunate to have such a loyal, if often motley, crew of regulars.  Not only do these 'frequent flyers' account for much of our predictable income, they enrich us with their conversation, and fill our work-a-day lives with entertaining, interesting, and, yes, often disturbing, anecdotes.  Cartoonists like John Kovalic and Scott Kurtz have mined this territory quite well, literally drawing inspiration from specialty store denizens.  Mainstream comic strips have even gotten into the act; Tom Batiuk's Funky Winkerbean periodically drops in on the gang at John's comic book shop.  In 1995's Mall Rats, filmmaker Kevin Smith partially focused his lens on the antics of comic book geeks, a subject near and dear to the director, who owns a pair of comic book stores (both called Jay & Silent Bob's Secret Stash).

At Bookery Fantasy, we long ago accepted our 'bartender' status and the responsibilities that go with it.  Listening to customers' personal problems, showing interest in their collections, sharing their daily ups and downs, even consoling them in times of grief, all go with the territory.   And somewhere along the way, these regulars evolve into something else, something more.  They become friends, even family, and suddenly the relationship becomes deeper and, mostly, more rewarding.  You're invited to graduations, weddings, and bar mitzvahs.  You visit the hospital to check up on the new baby, or the ulcerative colitis, or the kidney stones.  You get Christmas cards, presents, and trays of cookies and candy.  And sometimes, you meet someone and fall in love (which is what happened to Kevin and Kara).

Some of these customers border on fictional characters: the guy who limped through the front door proclaiming 'Don't let them tell you a vasectomy doesn't hurt;' the man trying to calm down his bawling wife on the phone on Halloween night by repeating over and over 'I'll get the Hershey bars;' the woman evangelizing her commitment to virginity throughout the place at the top of her lungs; the muscle-bound Air Force sergeant who weekly announced 'It's comic book day, it's comic book day;' and the disabled man who brings me Donald Duck stuff he finds at yard sales.  And these are all ones we like.

Don't get me wrong; it isn't always pretty to get chummy with your customers.  One fella, who thought for certain he was my bestest buddy, joined the same YMCA in an effort to get closer to me.  Now, I'm pretty secure in my masculinity, and relatively comfortable with taking public showers, but when you find yourself cornered by one of your customers and engaged in a comparison/contrast about hirsute chests and backs, well, let's just say things can get more than a little hairy.  I've also heard confessions I'd be afraid to tell a priest, and witnessed familial dysfunction that makes the Texas Chainsaw clan seem positively normal.  I've even taken customers aside and told them to take a bath before coming back -- only not with me, of course.

But for every freak you encounter in this line of work, there are dozens of great people you find yourself genuinely happy and proud to know.  These are people I see more often than my own mother, brothers, aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews.  We share common interests in comics and games, and common ground itself in the Bookery, but the bond that forms is a rare and uncommon thing.  I constantly count my blessings that I've had the good fortune to work in a place where I've been able to make so many good friends.  It is my hope that all of you have shared this or similar experiences.