Paper and Smells
As Covid-19 has closed many small businesses in the state and across the country, a local Bellingham comic book store takes the pandemic a day at a time.
Story by Ian Haupt
He kneels on the floor scanning printed-out labels taped to slim brown paper bags, covered in black-inked newspaper-esque graphics, that hold books of all different sizes laying in uneven piles on the floor. The sleeves of his dark blue, unembroidered western-style shirt rolled up to the elbow while his open fists press into his faded blue jeans, his mutton chops hidden behind a black face mask with small white polka dots. A friend and employee said on first meetings he thought of him as a hipster, for lack of a better term, but maybe it was the cowboy hat he used to wear. It’s about 3:31 in the afternoon on a Friday, and his name is Django.
Django, still on the floor sorting through the uneven piles of books, sighs over the “vaguely country music,” as his co-owner put it.
“There’s gotta be a more efficient way to do this!”
He throws his arms up, like a sidelined football coach whose team just lost 10 yards to a penalty, and looks around the store. It’s long and narrow with bookshelves nudged into others to maximize space. There’s a couple of pinball machines in the very back. Comic books, organized by series and publisher, sit angled on the shelves so the covers and graphics are easily seen by anyone grazing the store — a tip Django, as a customer, told his now co-owner, then store manager.
Across from these bookshelves is the checkout counter that Django kneels in front of. Once he has all the books in order, he puts them into a large cardboard box. He has about three to four hours of deliveries to make, all in northern Whatcom County. Today is one of their “slow days.”
“It’s weird seeing where all your friends live,” he says.
The front door opens and a tall, skinny man, with a Seattle Seahawks beanie, black and grey flannel and checkered cargo shorts on, walks up the couple stairs that lead into the store. He has a package in his hand and says, in an always welcoming tone, “So, you know how our goal each day is to make each other laugh.”
“Yeah…” Django replies, questioning. He sees the package in his co-owner’s hand and realizes what’s up. “Oh, so you saw the inside of my car.” And “Djeff” leans in on him for the state of his car, which must at the very least be messy.
These two are the owners of The Comics Place, a comic book shop in downtown Bellingham. Usually, their “friends” come to them, but with the spread of the COVID-19 pandemic, the storefront on Holly Street has been closed since before Washington state’s stay-at-home order in March. With about 20% of small businesses across the nation fully closed, Django and “Djeff” say they’ve gotten lucky. Lucky to have the skills to adapt.
Within two days of closing the store, Django and a buddy set up a new website with online purchasing capabilities for loyal customers to keep their collections growing and their imaginary worlds materialized.
Many of their customers have subscriptions to comic series that have new issues released every month. New comics come out on Wednesdays, which used to be the day when Jeff and Django would often see the diehard subscribers, aka. their friends, sometimes even outside the store in the morning, waiting for someone with a key to let them get their hands and nose on the “paper and smells” of the newest edition.
But now, Jeff and Django offer free no-contact deliveries of the newest editions and special orders within Bellingham city limits. They will also make deliveries to Ferndale, Lynden, Birch Bay and Blaine free for purchases over $100 or for an $8 fee.
“I think it means that we’ll be open three years from now, rather than that fact being a question mark,” Django says.
The store itself has survived four generations of owners since its opening in 1982. It was once passed on for the heavy fee of a dollar.
“It did come with all the store’s debt, though,” Django says. “I think we could sell it for upwards of three now.”
“And the relief of probably a lot of debt,” Jeff says. “Which is to say it’s a very successful business.”
The two joke, but it’s clear they’ve evolved the business.
Their weekly podcast, “Perfectly Acceptable Podcast,” where the two discuss the newest issues, often with another store employee, is about to hit 200 episodes. With an oddly simple, repetitive guitar riff that’s annoyingly soothing leading into Jeff’s dependable intro and friendly voice, the pod welcomes the listener into the after-hours of a comic book shop. Granted the opportunity each week of getting all the new comic releases every Tuesday, Jeff and Django read these new issues before they are sent out to customers on Wednesday, and rate and explore each other’s opinions of them on the pod.
“It’s Jeff’s baby,” says Roman, who has been an on-and-off employee at The Comics Place since 1993, originally hired Jeff when he was a student at Western, and often acts as the third mic. “We don’t really script it or have any idea really other than we’re going to talk about this week’s books. And it blows me away we have fans and everything.”
“Sometimes you’re in a comic store and you’re selling comics and having jokes with people, and then sometimes you’re cleaning shit off the bathroom walls, and sometimes you’re filling out government paperwork.”
They don’t read every new release. They read what they can, or are excited about, and try to have a fun discussion about them.
“What’s particularly fun is when one person very much subjectively likes something, and the other person subjectively does not like something,” Jeff says. “There is a writer named Brian Bendis that I love a lot, and Roman is not fond of more passionately than he is not fond of most anything. You know, it’s always interesting, we’re never going to find resolution there because we’re both being kind of irrational. But it’s fun to explore that space.”
One of the comics Django talks about not being fond of is the Green Lantern.
“I just don’t like cosmic things very much,” Django says.
“Nice career choice,” Jeff interrupts.
“It starts at a severe disadvantage for me. I have a hard time relating to it,” Django says. “I like to be able to understand the powers and see a foe get punched in a way that I could punch them. And, when it’s like a cosmic cloud of space dust versus a big translucent green dump truck the guy willed to existence…”
“Django made us stock shirts that said, ‘If they don’t punch, I don’t read.’ And he didn’t sell a single one of them,” Jeff says.
He later retracted his statement from the record that Django made those shirts. But the podcast feels like a taste of what it was like to hang in the store with these guys. They say their delivery system will keep them alive through the pandemic but that the face-to-face time with customers is why they have the store.
“This is not the business model that we chose. And, I would say, it’s not one we really like a whole lot,” Django says. “But we could do it. We could do this for a long time, and it would be fine. But the thing that we love is actually hanging out with the people that come into the store.”
And their customers feel similarly that it’s great having comic books show up at their doorstep but it’s nothing like going into the store to pick up some new comics and talk about what you’ve just read, says Nathan Butcher, a frequent customer to The Comics Place.
“You definitely get to be around other nerds,” he says about going into the shop. “Picture when you’re sitting around with your friends when the new Avengers movie just came out. That’s a lot of what it’s like to go into the comic book shop.”
Roman says the community they have created at the shop is what they truly hold pride in. It’s what has kept him there for 27 years. And it’s what he hopes to see again soon.
They can make it through the pandemic, but, as with most small businesses, they see it will be a while until things return to normal. Through the quarantine, Jeff and Django have tried to make the most out of the current situation by starting a weekly book club for their friends to chat with them about new issue releases and discuss finished series volumes. They say it’s been a way to keep them connected and motivated because right now they are stuck doing a lot of the dirty work and reeking almost none of the benefits.
“Sometimes you’re in a comic store and you’re selling comics and having jokes with people, and then sometimes you’re cleaning shit off the bathroom walls, and sometimes you’re filling out government paperwork,” Django says. “And only one of those things is really … fun.”
“And only one of them is actually selling comics,” Jeff says.
With the packages all sorted in their delivery boxes, Jeff and Django close up the lonely inside of the storefront.
“Remember we’re podcasting tonight,” Jeff says. “What time [do] you think you’ll be done? Does 8:30 sound good?”
“Right. Yeah, I can do 8:30,” Django replies.
Jeff, carrying a box under his arm, and Django, nursing a larger box, lock up the door and walk out onto the sidewalk of a busy Holly Street. The two pause for a second outside, Jeff reminds Django again. They part, Jeff strolls to his Prius parked in front of the store and Django walks down the block and around the corner to his car.
Jeff heads north on Holly Street to where it turns into Eldridge Avenue. Then he bags a right into the Columbia neighborhood. A block down he stops on the side of the road, quickly gets out of his car, which has the hazard lights on. With the white cord of Apple earphones connected to the bottom, he takes a peek at his phone, keeping it in his hand as he heads for a blue greying house on the corner.
“This guy’s really cool,” Jeff says pointing with the hand his phone is in toward the house. “He’s in charge of all the traffic lights in Bellingham.”
Jeff bends over, leaning the sleek brown bag containing three books against the door. He gives it two quick knocks and turns to head for his Prius.