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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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