Doing Enough

Originally published November 14, 1997, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1252

It’s never enough.

No matter how much one does for the fan base, it is absolutely never enough. Because for every thousand or so fans that you manage to satisfy, there’s going to be a 1001st who is going to decide that you haven’t fulfilled whatever standards he or she has set for you. And, even more dangerously, there’s a 1002nd who is going to take it upon him or herself to try and make your life miserable—just because he can. Just because he thinks that there’s some sort of satisfaction in “standing up” to the pro, or showing the pro that he or she is “no better” than anyone else.

Several cases in point:

A month or so ago, I was supposed to do a live chat on the Marvel board on America Online. And I completely forgot about it. Totally zoned. Got caught up in some fast-breaking events at home and spaced on my commitment. I felt terrible about it, because here the fans had gathered to listen to me (for some bizarre reason) and I hadn’t shown up. I do not like to disappoint fans.

In fact, one of my main reasons on getting on AOL was to make myself that much more accessible. I’ve even made no secret of my “name” on AOL, the consequence being that it seems as if every comic fan in Christendom has put my name on his or her “Buddy list.” Which means that, when I log on, I get pelted by instant messages (IMs). I will respond to these for as long as I can, but sometimes it becomes a real hassle, particularly if I’m trying to compose articles or mail. It’s like trying to write while someone keeps shouting in your ear; impossible to concentrate. And sometimes what I’ll do in those cases is simply shut off all incoming IMs.

Invariably, however, when I do that, every single person who’d been IMing me assumes that it’s personal. That I got sick of talking to him and him alone. Which means that I’ll then wind up with an e-mail box full of letters, with messages ranging from hurt feelings bordering on paranoia (“What did I say?”) to attitude (“Fine, don’t talk to me. See if I care.”) to outright belligerence (“I heard you didn’t care about fans, and now I know that’s true!”)

So—the live chat.

A second chat had been scheduled, and this time I didn’t want to take any chance that I was going to be late for it. Scheduled for “prime time” of 8 p.m. EST, it can sometimes be problematic getting online. So, to play it safe, I started my attempts at 7:45 and got on after five minutes of endeavor. I checked mail, fielded some IMs, and then popped over to the Marvel chat room. There were about thirty people waiting for me, and I was all set to discuss whatever they wanted to discuss.

And suddenly a blank IM (that is, an IM window with no words on it) appeared on the screen, sent by one of the people in the room (whose name I won’t dignify with publicizing here).

And then, just like that, an “Error” message flared into existence. The next thing I knew, I’d been thrown off of AOL.

Now, I didn’t think anything of it in particular. It happens occasionally; sometimes, for no apparent reason, AOL will disconnect you. However, this was particularly bad timing.

“Aw, great,” I said. I then worked on getting back online, and this time it took me ten minutes to do so. It was now 8:10 and I’d accomplished nothing.

I got back online, made my way back to the Marvel chat room. People were immediately happy to see me.

And then another blank IM came from the same fan.

And I was gone again. Catapulted right off AOL.

Ian Fleming wrote, in Goldfinger, that once is happenstance—twice is coincidence—and three times is enemy action. In this instance, however, I didn’t need a third time around. I knew exactly what had happened: This little creep had some kind of program built into his IMs that will disconnect victims from the board.

This time it took me fifteen minutes to log back on, and the moment I was back, the first thing I did was block all incoming IM s, so he couldn’t do it again. Then I re-entered the Marvel chat room, and I have never, never been that angry in “public.” I immediately informed everyone in the room of what this particular fan had done. The reactions ranged from disbelief to outright anger (although there were some who seemed more amused by it). The culprit immediately denied any wrong-doing, but not for a moment did I buy that. If nothing else, ever since I’d blocked out the IMs, I had remained securely in place online.

I informed the moderator, in no uncertain terms, that the chat would not proceed until the culprit had been banished from the chat room. I wanted him out, I wanted him gone. Actions have to have consequences. The little creep had wasted twenty-five minutes of my time, and kept his fellow fans hanging in limbo while I fought to get back on again. After a couple of minutes when I made it clear that I wasn’t going to change my mind on this, the culprit—protesting his innocence—was blocked out of the chat room.

I then stayed online about forty minutes, talking it up with the remaining fans, and trying to answer the barrage of questions as fast as I could.

The next day I logged onto AOL—and immediately I got an IM from the fan, shouting, “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!” Instantly I blocked any further IMs, and literally caught his catapulting IM on screen before it could send the error message into my computer. I then tracked him down to the Marvel chat room—where he was busy boasting to the other fans that he’d thrown me off AOL the previous night. So much for any vague concern I might have that I’d acted in haste.

I subsequently filed an official complaint about him with AOL and I haven’t heard from him since. He might be there under another name, but at least he’s keeping his distance from me.

And then, of course, there are IM “bombs.”

One day I logged on—and suddenly, out of nowhere, the following IM appeared on my screen: “Die!” And it appeared again and again and again, over and over, completely consuming my entire screen. I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t find any way to shut it off. I jumped over to my e-mail to see if getting to another place on AOL would end the messages—and instead, I saw my e-mail box rapidly filling up with messages from the same person, each and every one with the same charming message. I later learned that this particular gift was called an IM bomb.

It appears that, no matter how impressive a creation, there will always be people whose first priority is to try to use it as a means of hurting people.

At this point, it’s frustrating, because I think I’m going to have to start blocking all IMs except from those handful of people that I know personally. Because I’ve heard rumors, for instance, that there’s an IM program that will enable the sender—if replied to directly—to discover what your password is. I don’t know first hand if it’s true or not, but I can’t take the chance. A service I joined for the purpose of talking to the fans, and I’m going to have to pull back from it so that the few idiots out there can’t use it to make my life miserable.

It’s never enough…

Then there was the fan who posted an angry message about George Takei, who had been a guest at a convention called Defcon 4. “I asked him for an autograph, and he was rude to me!” declared the fan.

I was at that convention. George embarked on an autographing session at about 5 p.m. I had a dinner date with him at the hotel restaurant at 8 p.m., because that’s when we’d been told that the autographing would wind up.

As of 8 p.m., the line was still huge. George had been promised that it would be only three hours long. But without hesitation, he declared that no one who was waiting on line was going to be cheated out of an autograph. Nine o’clock came and went; we didn’t get to the restaurant until 10 p.m. Five solid hours of signing, and he spent time talking to each and every fan, making all of them feel individual and special.

But this one fan, for whatever reason, wasn’t satisfied. Perhaps he tried to stop George while he was en route somewhere. Perhaps George had been told to confine autographs to the scheduled signing times. Didn’t matter.

Although it’s worth mentioning that, in the restaurant, word quickly spread among the staff that “Mr. Sulu” was dining there. Now I don’t know about you, but when I go to a restaurant, I usually see one waitress, one water guy or bus boy, and that’s pretty much it. At this restaurant, throughout the evening, somehow every single staffer managed to swing by the table, sometimes for the most hilariously obvious of reasons. My favorite was when we asked the waitress about the desserts, and she said—with sudden inspiration—”You know who likes to talk about desserts? The chef. He’s very proud of them.” And she runs into the kitchen and returns, thirty seconds later, with the chef. Yeah, sure. That happens a lot. Chefs always want to tell the customers first hand about the desserts.

At least, in that restaurant, everyone was happy. For one brief, shining moment—it was enough.

But usually it’s not.

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705. Next week: more “not enoughs.”)