Over ten years ago, my high school speech team had a tournament in Flagstaff, Arizona. We had to spend the night in town, and our coach let us spend some time at Bookman's, a local entertainment exchange. There, I found a rack of used comics for $1, and I picked up some Batman issues from the '90s that surely every geek and his mom have by now. Still, I was grateful for the selection -- and come to think of it, that may be one of the first places I realized one could find a comic a day. Anyway, I live near a Bookman's now, and the selection still amazes me. Mostly DC and Marvel issues, the rack boasts mainly discarded Star Trek and X-Men titles, and while my inner compulsive collector wants to thumb through every dusty comic there, I'm also depressed by the sight of it, like it's the graveyard of old fanboys' collections. Were they smart enough to get rid of these comics, most of which are the result of last decade's burst bubble -- or am I still stupid enough to be holding onto them? Heck, if I traded in my collection, I could buy the whole store. I guess I take comfort in those more innocent days, when the value of a comic couldn't be calculated in a price guide, but just in the experience of finding it. Maybe the used rack isn't a morgue -- just an unemployment office. Some collector somewhere is always hiring. Now I know where to go when I have a position open.
1 comment:
Taking that analogy one step further...
If the dollar comics shelf is the unemployment office, then the classics (i.e. Batman, Spidey, Sups, etc.) are out-of-work investment bankers, the recent big series (i.e. 52, Civil War, etc.) are former mortgage brokers, and Youngblood is the proverbial day laborer.
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