Toy Cars Should Go "Vroom," Not "Cha-Ching"

So, I've been the manager of the toy department at work for about two months. (This statement, on the surface, suggests a certain degree of inexperience that should not be inferred. I've been in retail for 14 years, three of them at a toy store and eight of them as a department manager.) Anyway, my point is that I supervise and manage about 2400 different products, but there's only one of those products that people seem to really care about. You can probably guess which one I'm referring to.

So, when are you putting out some new Hot Wheels? Do you have any cases of Hot Wheels in the back? How come you haven't ordered any more Hot Wheels lately? The other stores are getting new Hot Wheels; why aren't you? Do you know when you'll be getting more Hot Wheels?

Never before have I seen 40-year-old men get so excited over ninety-nine cent toy cars.

Now, I really don't disparage people for collecting toys. I'm a collector myself, and I plan to be one for the forseeable future (which in itself is kind of a funny phrase—none of us is clairvoyant so the future isn't actually forseeable at all). I have a collection of over 3700 toys and I'm proud of that fact. I've long outgrown the phase where I was uncomfortable taking a Transformers or Star Wars character to the cash register and dreading the usual cashier interrogation. Is this for you? Do you, like, actually take them out of the package and play with them? (Look, honey, I don't ask rude, probing questions about what you do at home with battery-operated toys, so I'd appreciate the same courtesy.) The point is that I'm comfortable with my level of childishness. (I don't even employ the euphemisms normally associated with the hobby, using trade jargon like "collectible" or "action figure." Nope, them's toys. Toys toys toys. The place is called Toys "R" Us, not TRU. It's a place that sells toys, folks.)

Now, I don't necessarily expect every single customer to understand how retail works. The fact of the matter is that most of the inventory replenishment is governed by computers. The store's system tracks the rate of sale and orders new merchandise accordingly. If there are 72 Hot Wheels cars in a shipping case and my store is only selling about 20-30 cars on an average week, then we're not going to be receiving a new case every single week. That's just not the way it works. Yes, I have the authority to create supplemental orders as needed, but let's say that all the pegs on the salesfloor are full and I order a new case anyway. Once it comes in, where am I supposed to put it? The stockroom in the back of the store isn't some magical infinite storage facility maintained by elves and unicrons with shelves that ascend to the heavens. There's a finite limit to how many boxes can fit back there. Besides, you and I both know that the only reason you want first crack at that shipping case is so you can pull out that one specially-painted car that will sell for five or six bucks on eBay and that you have absolutely no interest in the other 71 cars. I'm not an idiot.

What I encounter about half the time is angry collectors who, by the time I am confronted by their unshaven, smelly visage at the crack of 7:23 in the morning, have probably already been to four or five other stores in the immediate area and have still come up empty-handed. I should like to point out that by this point in the day, I still haven't had my Mountain Dew Voltage and was probably sound asleep about half an hour before you showed up. Okay, though, I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Every customer deserves to be treated with courtesy and respect, at least until you give me a reason to the contrary. Really, though, I don't have any control over what the night stockers do. Maybe they dig through the boxes and cherry-pick the Treasure Hunts. Maybe they just do their job and stock the shelves, and the other unshaven smelly guy who showed up at 7:06 beat you to it. I really can't say. When you accuse me of being part of some grand retail conspiracy to prevent you from getting your tiny little 1969 Camaro with rubberized tires, though, that's when I switch off. Really, dude, if it means that much to you, get on eBay and spend the $4.95 like everybody else.

The pendulum seems to swing in both directions. The alternative is people who try to immediately buddy up, frequently referring to me by my first name (it's on my name badge; how clever of you to notice), laying on the phony charm and trying to establish some kind of repertoire. I guess it must be every collector's dream to have an "inside man" in the retail industry who can give him an advantage over other collectors. Here's the thing, though. I really, honestly, emphatically do not want to be your friend. I will smile at you and respond to your questions politely because I am in the customer service industry and I get paid to do this. Don't mistake this for some desire on my part to become your pal. Along the same lines, bank tellers and waitresses and prostitutes will all smile at you and make small talk, but it's all part of the package. You are purchasing a service, nothing more.

Not all collectors are like this, of course. Some of them are genuine and sincere and do not make my life difficult. They don't accuse me of hiding overstock in the back room. They don't "helpfully" stuff half the pegs full of Hot Wheels and leave the other half completely empty, as if to demonstrate to me that I have room for another case of cars and that I should really bring them out right away. (You know what I do as soon as you leave? I put those cars right back where they came from. Systematically rearranging merchandise on the pegs like some kind of die-cast Tetris game doesn't magically make the computer order more stock.) It's a handful of people who really ruin the image of collectors as a whole, and particularly Hot Wheels collectors, who seem to be an entire breed unto themselves. I love my department and I love my job, but I absolutely dread spotting somebody in the Hot Wheels aisle. Almost without exception, he is male, he is alone, he is there very early in the morning, and he's about three or four decades older than Mattel's target audience. Stop fitting the stereotype so precisely, and I'll stop collector-profiling.

I guess what I really want to say here is that I only have eight hours a day to get my job done. At any given time, I've got price changes that need to be labeled and bikes that need to be repaired and out-of-stocks that need to be ordered and a shopping cart full of returns that need to be put back on the shelves. I really don't have the time to debate with you the finer points of Mattel's shipping case ratios or the ethics of scalping. I will help you find what you need, and if we don't have it, then I apologize. That's my job. That's what I get paid to do.

Now, if you'll excuse me, can I please get back to the other 2399 toys that require my attention?