--Repo Man (1984, dir. Alex Cox)
At one time, this land was dotted with video rental stores and, inside each of these stores, were staff-people, famously supercilious individuals known as video store clerks.
What was it like to work in a video store and what did life there consist of? What did these clerks think about during the long days on their aching feet, walking back and forth, the phone ringing constantly, re-shelving movies and staring disapprovingly at customers' rental choices? What did they dream about at night, after the job of collecting late fees and calling customers about overdue VHS tapes had drawn to a close? What were their fears and anxieties, their hopes and aspirations?
Video store life will be a prominent theme of this blog because, well, I work at one... which is somewhat unusual in 2020! My aim is simple: to record as much as possible - of what I have experienced, first-hand or otherwise, of video store life - while there are still impressions, sensations, and experiences to be recorded; in other words, to be part-diarist, part-ethnographer. Because video store work is viewed as menial, it has largely escaped serious study in the past, yet, as an endangered form of emotional labor, is more than worthy of being catalogued and recorded.
I was born in 1978 and grew up in the era of video. However, despite being a movie-lover throughout my teens and twenties, I did not work in a video store until I was 31, when I got a job at Best Video in Hamden, Connecticut. (At this point, in 2010, video stores were closing their doors in large numbers across the country due mainly to the inroads of on-demand video streaming.)
Though largely menial labor, video store jobs have traditionally come with some small prestige and cultural capital attached and I was enthusiastic about the prospect of working with movies. I expected to like the job and I did, eventually, although the transition was rockier than I expected: I was no overnight sensation, that's for sure, no matter what talents and prior experience I brought with me. Video store work is superficially easy, of course, but, like much other emotional labor, is also quirky and complicated: a job which rewards emotional investment but punishes over-investment - a tough line to toe, as I would learn!
I made all sorts of mistakes early on. For example, a quiet, older couple were renting a DVD and I made the mistake of asking them if they planned to watch the movie in widescreen. I was making small talk and was only going to make sure that they understood how to access the widescreen format on the DVD but they stared at me as though I were speaking a foreign language. They clearly had no idea that the DVD had two formats in which to watch the film (widescreen and full screen), and nothing I could say made it any better... in fact, everything I said only made it worse! After trying, and failing, to help them understand how the film's ratio corresponded to their TV screen, I gave up and simply encouraged them to watch the movie in widescreen. So much for my big words - ugh!
Due to this and other false starts, I became too gun-shy to talk to customers, about movies or most anything, and, therefore, rarely remembered people or their names, meaning that there was little continuity to my work interactions. I was too proud to take the first step. Most customers considered me nice but, probably, distant and effete. The few times that I did recommend a movie, I would become enthused... so enthused, in fact, that I sometimes realized too late that I had probably over-sold the film. Also, when customers would return these movies, I would ask them what they thought, sometimes right off the bat. (Why I did this, I don't know: I, myself, hate being asked, as soon as the lights in the movie theater come up, "So, whadja think?!") Sometimes they shared my enthusiasm but other times they did not - I tried to hold myself above such seeming trifles but the disagreements stung precisely because I had brought them upon myself (and unnecessarily).
I was cocky and my hubris ultimately brought me down to earth: I had not yet mastered the art of matching people to movies... and movies to people. You see, between customer and the movie that they desire (whether they know what it is or not) lies a lone person, a medium: the video store clerk. But, as with any person who stands between and makes connections, I found that it can be a treacherous and, at times, lonely position to occupy. (Think of a switchboard operator in the past: connecting caller to caller, listening to conversations but not taking part, and, ultimately, becoming emotionally desensitized to the work.)
Years passed (imagine calendar pages blowing off in the wind!) and I stuck with the job: as time passed Best Video, if it was precious before, became even more invaluable. In time, I became judicious: through the crucible of experience I emerged with a surer sense of what my duties were and a greater understanding of the unwritten contract between video store customer and clerk... something which I now call... the Video Store Clerk Code!
(As I was preparing to write this, one of my sketched-out ideas below sounded familiar: upon investigation, I realized that I was paraphrasing one of the four maxims of philosopher H. Paul Grice's cooperative principle (I took a linguistics class about six years ago). Realizing how appropriate they are, I have decided to incorporate all four of the maxims (quantity, relevance, manner, and quality, respectively), in my own words, into 1, 2, 3, and 4 below. Thanks to Finegan's Language: Its Structure and Use (7th ed.) for my (admittedly) limited understanding!)
(Also: the following list is not meant to be purely proscriptive (i.e. "don't do it that way; do this, instead") or descriptive ("this is what happens in video stores, take it for what it's worth") but a playful mixture of both. I will leave it to the reader to discern which is which....)
(1) The video store clerk will communicate with the customer on the basis that each understands the others' statements provide sufficient information, nothing more or less.
This principle is illustrated by the following hypothetical exchange:
"Gino! How are you feeling?!"
"Oh, I feel fine, thanks for asking."
"Wait, didn't I hear that your house was crushed by Godzilla a few days ago?!"
"True, it was while I was at the grocery store... but you didn't ask about my house."
Both interlocutors interpret this principle differently and their readings are illustrative. Gino's friend interprets Gino's statement as that he feels fine and therefore nothing else significant is going on or has happened (i.e. no destroyed house). Gino, on the other hand, replies with a statement that he feels is sufficient to answer the question given to him. What is important here is that each interpretation/contribution to the speech act (i.e. conversation) relies upon the assumption that the other has an understanding of what information is necessarily sufficient to satisfy and complete the speech act (in other words, don't get hung up on the fact that those understandings don't always sync up!): the act of communication is to perceive and produce what one supposes will satisfy the other(s). Neither interpretation is more or less correct: speech acts are necessarily cooperative so misunderstandings in this contested middle ground are inevitable (and, besides, this is a fairly exaggerated example!). Video store clerks are a famously opinionated and talkative lot so it may seem that a principle hinging upon economy of expression strikes against our inner natures (perhaps so!). Still, the nobler route is the better one. When a customer is renting a movie and they ask what I think of it (a daring thing to do!), should I choose not to enter the fray, I reply either with a statement of utter ambiguity or "We here at Best Video draw no judgments... and, if we do, we will not admit it." (Also see 4a below for a further possibility.) This was the principle that I violated early on by communicating unnecessarily wordy concepts about widescreen vs. full screen or by asking people's opinions of my recommendations without them first volunteering the information. And, because of the latter, here is the following:
(1a) The video store clerk will never ask a customer returning a recommended movie what they thought of it.
In essence, remember that the recommendation has been made is sufficient in itself. One who recommends a film cannot control the viewer's experience of said film: simply leave it be and let nature take its course. I learned the hard way that my enthusiasm for movie X may translate to customer Y but not Z (or vice versa... or neither!). However, if the customer volunteers the opinion - positive or negative - let's discuss! Additionally:
(1b) When the video store clerk is able to make recommendations to the customer, recommend; when not able, improvise.
This is a further elaboration of the principle of economy - what it means is that the clerk who is running out of recommendations need not despair but simply focus on statements which are sufficiently true, as in: "This movie got great reviews," "A few people have told me that this movie is really good," or, even the excessively vague, "This movie has been renting really well." (Also see 4a & 5 below.)
(2) The video store clerk will be relevant in communication with the customer.
What this means, in practice, is: if I have just seen the greatest zombie movie of all time and I walk into work the next day, I do not bother families with young children and conservative older customers by recommending it... because it isn't relevant (no matter how good the film was)! This is seemingly straightforward but sometimes hard to execute in the chaotic, distraction-laden environment of the video store.
(3) The video store clerk will be orderly in communication with the customer.
In practice, this means speaking and acting in such a way that avoids ambiguity and confusion. In essence, there is an order to the way that things are done in a video store: follow any single transaction methodically from beginning to end and avoid shortcuts. Of course, there are also more complicated applications. For example, if a customer is interested in the history of Westerns, don't recommend that they start with Psychological Westerns, Western Noir, Revisionist Westerns, or Spaghetti Westerns; start, instead, at the beginning with The Virginian, Stagecoach, Destry Rides Again, My Darling Clementine, etc. A favorite saying of mine is appropriate here: "do it right, do it once."
(4) The video store clerk will communicate with the customer on the basis that each understands the other to be truthful.
In practice, this usually translates to, simply, "be truthful." So, if a customer asks where a section is, you tell them truthfully, or, if they ask your opinion on a movie, you are similarly truthful. Of course, it works both ways: if I ask a customer what types of movies he or she likes, I assume that they will be truthful because, otherwise, it will make it more difficult for me to be able to do my job which is providing them with recommendations. But, beware: this principle points out that the basis of communication between clerk and customer is based on the understanding that the other is truthful, not that the other is necessarily being truthful. Think about it: no business, no matter what type, could operate effectively without such a foundation. But it also creates unique situations, such as that contained in the following:
(4a) If a customer (one who is not well-known to the clerk) is in the process of renting an awful movie and they ask what the clerk's opinion is of the motion picture in question, the clerk will lie and say that he or she has not seen it.
In such a case, to be truthful may have deleterious effects (the clerk may be irrevocably labeled pretentious or pompous, for example) and an untruth (i.e. a lie) is justifiable; therefore, rely upon the fact that the customer assumes you to be truthful and move on!
(5) The basis of the relationship between video store clerk and customer is the trust that customer will be guided to movie and clerk will be rewarded accordingly for their labor.
On the surface, this principle seems pretty straightforward: it simply codifies the relationship between customer and clerk and what each aims to achieve or gain through it. If the relationship is healthy, customer is happy with movie while clerk is paid; if not, well.... But like other principles on this list, it's a bit deceptive: the key is not the outcomes, intended or otherwise, but that the relationship is based upon trust. In other words, trust explains how the system works (when it works) in a straightforward sense (i.e. customer gets movie, clerk gets paid) but in unorthodox applications, as well: it is trust, for example, which empowers the clerk to rely so heavily, when required, on the assumption that what is said is held to be sufficient (1a & 1b) or the assumption that what is said is held to be truthful (4a). In essence, the video store clerk observes, recognizes, and steps in to act when necessary (like the government exercising extra powers during a state of emergency) and it is trust which enables that to occur. I learned long ago that the customer wants to feel good about their transaction: do what you can to make that happen (within reason, of course!).
(6) The video store clerk will maintain a sense of cool detachment: observe and only act or intervene when required.
(For all you Trekkies, this is a non-involvement clause somewhat akin to the Prime Directive.) In practice, this often translates to giving the customer the benefit of the doubt, which can be difficult, especially when the first person to rent a DVD returns it scratched and claims to not know how it got that way, but... you do what you can! This goes beyond the first principle and extends the economy of expression (say only what is sufficient) to demeanor and bearing: do only what is sufficient. There is a lot of stimulation - visual, aural, and otherwise - at play in a video store and some overreact to this chaos: the clerk must, whenever and wherever possible, remain imperturbable and radiate calm, never fanning the flames of any particular situation.
(7) The video store clerk will not cause harm to movies through either action or inaction: video tapes, discs, and other media will be left in a state at least as good or better than when found.
This is an adaptation, of course, of the "Repo Code" from Repo Man quoted above but goes further to incorporate the ideas of Leave No Trace outdoor conservation ethics. The application is straightforward: leave movies you encounter at least as well as you found them and, if possible, make them better. Of course, as with everything on this list, it's not so simple. At its best, the scope of this principle should be widened to include, not just movies, but potentially anything: whatever you encounter, leave it in the same state or make it better.
(8) When all else fails, the clerk will simply inform the customer that most new releases are terrible.
"Can I interest you in a musical or a horror film? The One-Armed Swordsman or A Touch of Zen? How about something by Wilder or Sturges?... Sirk?... Lang?... Lubitsch?... Hitchcock?!..."
And so, the tribulations of the world's few remaining video store clerks, go on (and on and on and on...). Taken together, the above principles allow the clerk to toe a line between emotion and non-emotion, to cultivate an economy of thought and action which is, potentially, infinitely sustainable.
The next time you walk into a video store (if you have the pleasure of walking into a video store, that is!), observe discretely: where is that oft-maligned individual, the clerk? Is he or she re-shelving a stack of movies? Tracking down an overdue film over the phone? Idly texting or web surfing on their phone? Arguing with friends over the relative merits of Carpenter and Cronenberg? Or just biding time 'til dinner? Remember that, below the surface, there may be more at work: perhaps he or she is even some sort of Don Quixote... daydreaming of the days of chivalry and knights-errant, Bushido and samurai.
The life of a video store clerk is always intense!
