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My
real name is not important. However, if you look in
the flag of some of the early issues of Nintendo Power,
you will see it there—under the title of Editor.
Suffice it to say that for a time (late eighties/early
nineties) I was known in the video game industry as
Captain Nintendo. I make no claim to be associated with,
or any claim to any copyrighted or trademarked material
now owned by Nintendo. The point of this story is for
informational and entertainment (if any) purposes. There
is also a slight historic value to this story for those
interested in this subject matter, though I freely admit
that it is from a single perspective with a slight,
admitted bias. Which I’ll be very candid about
as to allow you to make your own judgments. I withhold
my name so that I can’t be accused of personal
gain or glory. I’m not sure there is any to be
gained even if I were to give my name, but I’ll
err on the side of caution
How
I came to Nintendo is not so unusual a story from the
typical hire of the day. Nintendo of America, located
in beautiful, rustic Redmond, Washington (just a stone’s
throw from that Microsoft outfit), was in a growth mode
and hiring “lower tier” employees to man their
gargantuan consumer service contingents.
Even
my unusual background was in itself not uncommon (in
that Nintendo seemed to draw people from a number of
disciplines). I came from a mostly academic background
(having taught junior high, high school, and university
classes) with a BA in Education and Communications with
a double major of education and theatre and a minor
in journalism from Northeastern Oklahoma State University,
known for its extraordinary teachers’ program.
I also all but completed my master’s degree at
a different university, lacking only a single 50-page
term paper and my orals (but that is another story and
not particularly important to this one). I left the
education field to work in the private sector and for
a while, managed a photofinishing retail chain outlet.
What
is more interesting is that I arrived at Nintendo’s
doorstep with considerable more experience and education
than the average prospective hire (and even more than
most of the people with the hiring decision-making authority)
as I was 10 to 15 years their senior. Perhaps the most
interesting aspect to this part of the story is the
timing of my arrival. Nintendo was still in the infancy
of its incredible rise to conquer the video game industry.
Working quickly to respond to the enormous requests
for customer service, the Big Red N scrambled to establish
a CSR (Consumer Service Representative) force rivaled
by very few other companies. I don’t think I’m
giving away any secrets when I reveal that their CSR
force consists primarily of three groups:
1)
a team of true CSRs who handle phone calls to answer
customers questions regarding repair, refunds, technical
setup/installation of their system, and general queries
about the company;
2)
a group of about 30 people called Correspondence CSRs
charged with the daunting task of handling the same
sort of chores the CSRs did, but for customers that
wrote to the company rather than calling. At the time,
the company received on average about 8,000 letters
per week. Naturally, many of these were from youngsters
with praise of their favorite games, tales of their
game playing skills, and suggestions for new games.
Generic responses to these missives don’t work
for someone who has spent time and poured their heart
out on their letter sweating bullets over an idea that
has already been thought of by a couple hundred other
people or would never sell a single cartridge to anyone
else. No. Reponses had to be tailored for each individual
letter (all 8,000 per week). AND they had to be uniform
so that Nintendo could have some sort of quality control
with their correspondence. Consequently, some 450 pat
responses (paragraphs) to the most common questions,
suggestions, and observations were designed (written).
A letter might have an observation about the magazine,
a question about forthcoming games, and a suggestion
for a game about a favorite subject. Carefully selecting
the appropriate well-crafted paragraphs would not only
tailor the response to the customer, but it would allow
Nintendo (to its undying credit) to respond in a timely
fashion, so that the writer wouldn’t have to wait
months for a reply and then, just get a lousy form letter
that would indicate that no one had read their letter.
3)
the third group of CSRs was the legendary Game Counselors.
This is a team of individuals who play games all day.
And get paid for it. Oooh. It has been called the most
coveted job in the world. And it probably is. By nine-year-olds
who don’t have to pay rent and utilities and a
phone bill and buy gasoline for a car that they have
to make payments on. Even by adults, until they find
out that it paid little more than minimum wage. Oh,
Nintendo will claim that they pay a full $3 above minimum,
but what they won’t disclose is that those three
dollars are a “commission” that the employee
must pay to Volt (the temporary agency that Nintendo
insists that each employee sign with in order to work
at Nintendo.) No one at the lower tier is hired unless
they go through Volt. Not only did 40% of your hard-earned
paycheck automatically vanish before you saw it, speculation
and word on the street was that Nintendo had a significant
interest in that particular Volt agency or was receiving
a kickback of some kind. I have no way of knowing the
validity or legality of the relationship between Volt
and Nintendo, so I make no accusations here. I only
report that this is the way people were hired at this
level and that it is a truth that rumors of implied
corruption were rampant at the time. The truth of those
rumors is for the authorities or an investigator to
confirm or lay to rest. I make no claim either way.
Only that the rumors existed and were prevalent.
In
the spring of 1988, I had recently left a company for
which I’d worked for 5 years. The company had consistently
underpaid me and consistently passed me over for promotion
in favor of females (many of whom I’d trained).
Seeing that the person with the decision-making authority
was also female and things weren’t likely to change,
I decided that I should cut my losses and pursue something
with more potential. In my search, I came across the
notice that Nintendo was hiring CSRs. Nintendo hadn’t
been around that long, but it was immediately hot and
quickly iconic. Only the really lucky (affluent) families
had them, but everyone had had an opportunity to play
one and they were wicked cool.
Having
been recently disillusioned by a disloyal company (for
whom I set sales and other records), I, like many others,
thought Nintendo would be a refreshing change, and maybe
even “fun.” I was not a hard-core game addict
like most of the people at the cattle-call hire (largely
made up of young men, 18 to 23 years in age, and not
yet graduated from a college, if they were ever in college,
though, for the most part, a collection of very bright,
focused young people and very easy to be around as they
were almost universally friendly. Later, many of these
chums and myself would form paintball teams and shoot
each other with little pellets of multicolored liquid
with gleeful abandon on the weekends. Good times….good
times.).
I
was hired the same day I applied and it was decided
initially that I would be a Game Counselor since I am
openly friendly, talkative, and had worked some customer
service before. Not knowing much about the company,
this seemed fine to me. I knew that I was frankly overqualified
for the job and the salary was disappointing, but I
imagined that with my education, maturity, and experience,
I would rise more quickly than the great throng of my
peers if I could demonstrate that I could make a significant
contribution. This has always been my approach to any
company I’ve ever worked for. It is the way I was
raised. It is the American business value system. It
has never worked once for me. Nintendo would prove to
be no exception. Although, in a way, it did. Sort of.
But,
you don’t find out these things overnight or all
at once. Or in black and white. It’s hard to be
too suspicious of a company that has you do nothing
but play video games the first week (Our first responsibility:
In the first week, we were to master Super Mario Brothers,
Kid Icarus, Metroid, and The Legend of Zelda—as
questions about these four games comprised most of the
phone calls received by the Game Counselors). You keep
pinching yourself to see if it’s true. I should
have pinched myself harder.
Next
chapter: A Change in Responsibilites.
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