Gimme a CD IV
◊ Record-store employees do not spook easily.
Think about what music is popular. Crap music, right? Right. All day long these people sell shitty CDs to customers with little or no taste in music. Every once in a while someone buys something decent, but most of it is awful or intolerable.
The employees build up a tolerance. After a while they stop caring what merchandise hits the counter, unless you're cute and they think they can get into your pants by chatting you up about the music you're buying.
I consider my own taste in music to be "eclectic," meaning I like everything from Brujeria to Bowie to the Ramones to Dusty Springfield to Outkast to Tori Amos to the Monkees.
Only twice in my life have I made record-store employees boggle at my CD selections. It's not something I aim for, but I enjoy it when it happens, like when a butterfly lands on your hand.
It didn't happen today.
You'd think the combination of Lagwagon, Missy Elliott, and Tom Waits would be enough to prompt a response, but no.
Record-store employees are so jaded.
Maybe if I flash my titties the next time I go CD shopping, I'll get a reaction.
Had my first pre-10 a.m. cigarette today. I mean, other than the seventy bazillion I've had when staying up all night. So I guess that would make it my first post-sleep, pre-10 a.m. cigarette. Which doesn't sound cool at all, now that I think about it.