I got an email recently with the subject "Not sure what to make of this" from my friend Crispin. He went on to say that he came across an MP3 from a band called "3.1416 Magnum" and that....well, why don't I let youse read it?
Hey Mark,
How goes it all?
Weird... I came across an mp3 by a band called 3.1416 Magnum. I think they're from western MA. Never heard of them. Anyway, I found an edit of one of their songs. It kinda seems like they're ripping off your song - hard to say...
This is not a bluff
You will be the focus of my violence
You'll agree that retreat makes sense
This is your final warning
This is the calm before the storming
This is the calm before the storming
This is the calm before the storming
Thought you might be interested.
Hope all's well with you and yours,
-Crispin
Why would someone steal those lyrics? Are they that desperate? Perhaps they are from a developing country and don't have access to actual real rock music ...and uh, stuff. I will FIND these people and then contact the appropriate authorities (as soon as I determine who those authorities are. Is there a Shitty Lyric division at the police department?). I immediately did my own google search for these thieving fuckers. I got a bunch of hits that made no sense and one that talked about condom sizes. "Hmm," I thinks to meselfs. "I didn't see anything with music or any ...waitaminnit." And then it dawned on me. I'm a little slow on the uptake y'see.
I went back to Crispin's email and there buried at the bottom was an MP3 file. I grinned and opened it. It was a frickin' brilliant (if I may say so, and I may goddammit) rendition of my teen-age-angst-laden song. I played and replayed it, no kidding, 20 times. This is Crispin Fucking Wood from The BAGS singing lyrics I WROTE and shredding on the song. I was absolutely giddy and I still am. Yes, I had hoped that a number of people would have sent in their own versions of the song but weeks went by and I hadn't seen jack poop. I just assumed that the "challenge" was dead and I had moved on. Then out of the blue I get this and I know it's silly but goddamn I love it. You must check it:
Right? I think it totally catches what I was hoping to ... of fuck it. It ROCKS! Yes, it may be ironic rocking but it still rocks. Either way, Crispin Rules. Believe that.
Showing posts with label angry stupid teenager. Show all posts
Showing posts with label angry stupid teenager. Show all posts
Monday, May 10, 2010
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Inducing of Vibrations
I was a good kid growing up. I didn't cause (much) trouble and I did well in school. I did briefly fall in with the "wrong crowd" in the third grade but as you may have guessed, my career as a juvenile delinquent was short lived. During my spree the crimes included throwing wads of soaked toilet paper at the boys bathroom ceiling (it made an awesome sound and the clumps stayed up there like tiny mashed potato stalactites), writing "Boobs" on the wall in the playground behind the school, and in one case stealing 80 cents when I was in charge of collecting dimes for milk in the lunchroom. I skimmed a little off the top and we split it amongst each others. My share was 30 cents because I had taken the most risk. I didn't want to tell them that I felt awful stealing the money because they were all excited that we could go buy Swedish fish after school. It was then that I decided that I'm not cut out for the criminal life. But how to break my bond with these other shitty little no-good-nicks?
Our school cafeteria was a quite the multi-purpose room. It served as the cafeteria, a gym when it was raining, and it was also where the school plays were held (including the dreaded Christmas Play). During lunchtime, the caf was patrolled by two older women known to me only as The Lunch Ladies. These women were gruff, hardened old battle-axes who had been through epic foodfights and chocolate milk fueled riots. They didn't take shit from anybody. One of them, the shorter, dark haired lady used to have a bunch of spoons (like 3 of them all stacked and tied together) that she would use to bang on the end of a table to get everyone's attention and/or regain order in the cafeteria. God help you if you were sitting anywhere near the end of the table where she chose to bang those spoons. Your head would be ringing the rest of the day.
On this particular day The Lunch Ladies were having a hell of a time controlling the room for whatever reason and that's when my semi-evil little cohorts decided that this would be a perfect opportunity to start a spitball fight. I knew damn well that this was a horrible idea and that further we would surely be caught immediately. The taller Lunch Lady did NOT like spitballs and I seem to remember her screaming at the top of her lungs at a kid who looked like he might possibly think about perhaps making a spitball. The poor fucker didn't know what hit him and that was just a fucking warning shot as far as she was concerned. She had a zero tolerance approach. But I didn't express my concerns or suggest another less risky activity because I'm a follower, people. Oh, and a pussy.
We each had our straws and our lines of spitballs prepared (the spitballs were hidden under the lip of our lunch trays. Clever huh? I'm sure they'll never think to look there) and although I can't remember who shot the first one, I can tell you who shot the one that brought this whole affair to a grinding halt and got us caught. That would be me. I had a nice wad stuffed into the business end of my straw and as I turned to shoot it at the kid sitting next to me, I misfired and shot it too early (wassup ladies? oh crap...I'm never gonna get that right). It was one of those slow-motion moments as the ball went right between two other kids and hit this girl in the back of the head...right in front of the dark-haired lunch lady. Totally busted. In a flash they were both at our table the spoon lady on one end beating the hell out of the spoons and the other one yelling at all of us at the other end. It sucked.
They marched us all down to the principal's office and made us sit there for what seemed like hours. Finally the vice-principal came out and she stood in front of us with her arms folded and her face all scrunched up like she had just free-based a grapefruit. The taller lunch lady was there too and she looked so pleased as if she had just brought in the ring leaders of the MS13. I guess in her little world she had. The vice-principal walked over to us and asked us to tell the truth about what happened. She said that we were going to be punished but if we were honest she'd be more understanding. And so one by one she asked us if we had shot spitballs in the cafeteria. And one by one my stupid friends said "No. I didn't shoot spitballs." Yes, you did jackass. They SAW us do it. They have all the evidence. Lincoln Elementary's version of CSI had gathered up all our spitty wads of straw wrapper and napkin bits and were sending them to the lab for DNA testing as we sit here! Just fess up already so we can go home!
When she came to me it was pretty clear that she was really pissed off now. She had absolutely zero patience left and all she wanted to do is get these kids out of her office so that she could go home and have a glass of wine (or am I projecting a little here?). I looked at her and then over at my friends and when she asked the question "Did you shoot spitballs in the cafeteria?", not only did I confess, but I ratted out everyone else too. I said "Yes, I did. We all did." Oh man, that is not going to go well for me is it? I mean, it's not like we had sworn an oath of omertà or anything but it's still not a best practice to squeal. Especially right in front of the people you're squealing on. I remember looking at those guys and thinking, "Whoops". The vice principal smiled at me and then at them and said, "Mark did a good thing here. He told the truth. And for that I have decided that he will not have to be punished further." Oh, great. Thanks lady. Why not just hand them all baseball bats and little knives? She then called all our parents. My popularity rating plunged and my friendship stock was downgraded to junk status. A week later Ricky Crotty beat me up in front of the school and I was officially "jumped out" of our lil' gang.
As I said, my academic career was decent from elementary through I'd say junior year of high school. Ah, that's not really true. I just remembered that I totally bombed out of physics in my junior year and I think that's when my whole attitude towards school went...uh, south. The failing of my physics class was a classic fuck-up on my part. I figured out fairly early into the class that:
The next year I signed up for physics again and it was going to be a clean slate for me. New year, new class, new teacher, and a new attitude. I got my schedule and there it was: Physics, period 6, room blah-blah-blah, Mr. Carlson. Oh fuck you. This has to be a mistake right? That crusty old shitbird retired during the summer didn't he? He's like 80 years old for fuck's sake! But it wasn't wrong. He hadn't retired. And hoo-boy did he remember me. That class was pure torture for me that year. He made damn sure that I was paying attention and would routinely call on me. Fuck dude, I don't know the goddamn answer and you know that. I am a science dumb-dumb ok? My oldest sister got all the math and science smarts for our family, I got zippo on that front. But I hung in there people, I battled with that grey-skinned old fart and I squeaked out at the end of the year with a C+ grade. Ha! Take THAT Carlson. In your FACE! He probably still hasn't retired.
Our school cafeteria was a quite the multi-purpose room. It served as the cafeteria, a gym when it was raining, and it was also where the school plays were held (including the dreaded Christmas Play). During lunchtime, the caf was patrolled by two older women known to me only as The Lunch Ladies. These women were gruff, hardened old battle-axes who had been through epic foodfights and chocolate milk fueled riots. They didn't take shit from anybody. One of them, the shorter, dark haired lady used to have a bunch of spoons (like 3 of them all stacked and tied together) that she would use to bang on the end of a table to get everyone's attention and/or regain order in the cafeteria. God help you if you were sitting anywhere near the end of the table where she chose to bang those spoons. Your head would be ringing the rest of the day.
On this particular day The Lunch Ladies were having a hell of a time controlling the room for whatever reason and that's when my semi-evil little cohorts decided that this would be a perfect opportunity to start a spitball fight. I knew damn well that this was a horrible idea and that further we would surely be caught immediately. The taller Lunch Lady did NOT like spitballs and I seem to remember her screaming at the top of her lungs at a kid who looked like he might possibly think about perhaps making a spitball. The poor fucker didn't know what hit him and that was just a fucking warning shot as far as she was concerned. She had a zero tolerance approach. But I didn't express my concerns or suggest another less risky activity because I'm a follower, people. Oh, and a pussy.
We each had our straws and our lines of spitballs prepared (the spitballs were hidden under the lip of our lunch trays. Clever huh? I'm sure they'll never think to look there) and although I can't remember who shot the first one, I can tell you who shot the one that brought this whole affair to a grinding halt and got us caught. That would be me. I had a nice wad stuffed into the business end of my straw and as I turned to shoot it at the kid sitting next to me, I misfired and shot it too early (wassup ladies? oh crap...I'm never gonna get that right). It was one of those slow-motion moments as the ball went right between two other kids and hit this girl in the back of the head...right in front of the dark-haired lunch lady. Totally busted. In a flash they were both at our table the spoon lady on one end beating the hell out of the spoons and the other one yelling at all of us at the other end. It sucked.
They marched us all down to the principal's office and made us sit there for what seemed like hours. Finally the vice-principal came out and she stood in front of us with her arms folded and her face all scrunched up like she had just free-based a grapefruit. The taller lunch lady was there too and she looked so pleased as if she had just brought in the ring leaders of the MS13. I guess in her little world she had. The vice-principal walked over to us and asked us to tell the truth about what happened. She said that we were going to be punished but if we were honest she'd be more understanding. And so one by one she asked us if we had shot spitballs in the cafeteria. And one by one my stupid friends said "No. I didn't shoot spitballs." Yes, you did jackass. They SAW us do it. They have all the evidence. Lincoln Elementary's version of CSI had gathered up all our spitty wads of straw wrapper and napkin bits and were sending them to the lab for DNA testing as we sit here! Just fess up already so we can go home!
When she came to me it was pretty clear that she was really pissed off now. She had absolutely zero patience left and all she wanted to do is get these kids out of her office so that she could go home and have a glass of wine (or am I projecting a little here?). I looked at her and then over at my friends and when she asked the question "Did you shoot spitballs in the cafeteria?", not only did I confess, but I ratted out everyone else too. I said "Yes, I did. We all did." Oh man, that is not going to go well for me is it? I mean, it's not like we had sworn an oath of omertà or anything but it's still not a best practice to squeal. Especially right in front of the people you're squealing on. I remember looking at those guys and thinking, "Whoops". The vice principal smiled at me and then at them and said, "Mark did a good thing here. He told the truth. And for that I have decided that he will not have to be punished further." Oh, great. Thanks lady. Why not just hand them all baseball bats and little knives? She then called all our parents. My popularity rating plunged and my friendship stock was downgraded to junk status. A week later Ricky Crotty beat me up in front of the school and I was officially "jumped out" of our lil' gang.
As I said, my academic career was decent from elementary through I'd say junior year of high school. Ah, that's not really true. I just remembered that I totally bombed out of physics in my junior year and I think that's when my whole attitude towards school went...uh, south. The failing of my physics class was a classic fuck-up on my part. I figured out fairly early into the class that:
- The teacher, Mr. Carlson, was the dullest teacher I had ever come across
- None of this stuff was going to get through my thick skull
- Mr. Carlson was due to retire that year so I figured if I fail the course, I can just re-take it the next year and surely the teacher will be 10x better
The next year I signed up for physics again and it was going to be a clean slate for me. New year, new class, new teacher, and a new attitude. I got my schedule and there it was: Physics, period 6, room blah-blah-blah, Mr. Carlson. Oh fuck you. This has to be a mistake right? That crusty old shitbird retired during the summer didn't he? He's like 80 years old for fuck's sake! But it wasn't wrong. He hadn't retired. And hoo-boy did he remember me. That class was pure torture for me that year. He made damn sure that I was paying attention and would routinely call on me. Fuck dude, I don't know the goddamn answer and you know that. I am a science dumb-dumb ok? My oldest sister got all the math and science smarts for our family, I got zippo on that front. But I hung in there people, I battled with that grey-skinned old fart and I squeaked out at the end of the year with a C+ grade. Ha! Take THAT Carlson. In your FACE! He probably still hasn't retired.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Do I Really Look Like That?
Back in January I posted this story about a particularly embarrassing episode from my yooth. The overall gist of the story was how I became a giant baby when I got lost at age 15 in one of the safest neighborhoods in the Boston area. Long story short, after I posted the story I asked some friends to submit their interpretation of my breakdown on that faithful afternoon. I got these entries and I think they're all hilarious. Please to be enjoying:
Calm Before the Storming
You will get out of my face now
You will leave, I don't care how
This has been a bad day
Leave, you know the way
You will close the door behind you
You will allow me the peace I'm due
This is not open for debate
Leave now before it's too late
Get out
Get out while I'm calm enough
Leave
Leave while you are able
This is not a bluff
You will be the focus of my violence
You'll agree that retreat makes sense
This is your final warning
This is the calm before the storming
This is the calm before the storming
Wow...Yea, I was serious about that. I meant every line. Holy hell. "Leave while you are able, this is not a bluff". Um, yea it is. You hadn't been in a fight since the 3rd grade and you LOST that one, chubby. Anyway, if you want to record a version of this and send it to me, I'll gladly post it up here. Again, thanks to all my peeps who sent in the entries for this post. You all rock!
by Crispin Wood
by Dave Blanchette (sorry about the watermark thing)
I frickin' love these! Thanks to Linda Bean P., Dave B., Crispin, and Dave L. for doing this for me. Who knows? Maybe this can become a feature here at Flunky Boy? Seriously, I'm thrilled that they all sent me these.
I used to write song lyrics back in high school and I had a little notebook with pages of them (along with all kinds of doodles and sketches). I don't remember what happened to them but I think I threw them all out one day out of embarrassment. I sooooooo wish I hadn't because I'm sure they were all unintentionally hilarious; all full of teen angst and posturing. But during the Great Purge of 2009 I found a sheet of paper with a song written on it. It didn't have a date on it but I think it must have been right around 1985/1986-ish. When I wrote it I probably thought it was the balls but hoo-boy it totally isn't. I'm posting it here in public in the hopes that maybe, just maybe someone will take it and make a recording of the song.
Calm Before the Storming
You will get out of my face now
You will leave, I don't care how
This has been a bad day
Leave, you know the way
You will close the door behind you
You will allow me the peace I'm due
This is not open for debate
Leave now before it's too late
Get out
Get out while I'm calm enough
Leave
Leave while you are able
This is not a bluff
You will be the focus of my violence
You'll agree that retreat makes sense
This is your final warning
This is the calm before the storming
This is the calm before the storming
Wow...Yea, I was serious about that. I meant every line. Holy hell. "Leave while you are able, this is not a bluff". Um, yea it is. You hadn't been in a fight since the 3rd grade and you LOST that one, chubby. Anyway, if you want to record a version of this and send it to me, I'll gladly post it up here. Again, thanks to all my peeps who sent in the entries for this post. You all rock!
Monday, November 16, 2009
Oh Sweet! Is That the New LionMaster UP Challenger?
Hello and welcome to more evidence of my stupidity. Not long after I quit my job at the video store my mom was out pounding the pavement trying to find a job for me. I know how that sounds but it's also the truth. My mom was very dedicated to getting her stupid son a job and she did not discriminate. If there was a salt mine nearby, my mom would have talked the foreman into giving her son whatever crap job was available. Basically she knew I was lazy and she wanted me off her couch. Can't say I blame her.
She came home one afternoon and told me that I was going to be applying for a job at this company that makes toy trains near our apartment. "Oh. Uh, ok Mom, " I responded thinking all the while that who knew there was a company that made toy trains in Malden? Not me that's fer shu-ah. I took the application form that she gave me, filled it out and the next day went to the place to lay on the ol' O'Malley charm. This place was just behind a car dealership in a pretty new and sizable building. It was not only a manufacturing plant but it also had a huge warehouse and a little retail shop at the front. I figured they'd want me to work in the little shop and snarl at their customers (since being forced to interact with the public had been the bulk of my work experience up to this point) but when I met with the guy who owned the place he had other plans for me. "You'll work in the warehouse," he proclaimed and so I did for a whopping $6 an hour.
What I hadn't expected was that he would put me to work immediately. I had come dressed for an interview not understanding that he would want me to start moving boxes around that day. I had on what in my world constituted a nice shirt, decent pants and my one and only pair of dress shoes. He took me to the back of the enormous warehouse and pointed to this bay that had piles of crushed boxes in it. "Clean that out and then come find me. I'll give you something else to do." And then he stormed off. The owner dude was this guy who was an ex-Marine and he would walk around looking like a puffed up bird with his chest pushed way out and his arms splayed out at a comical angle. I think he was trying to create the illusion that his chest was still larger than his enormous beer gut. Yea, that would be a fail.
That first day was a little microcosm of what my employment at this company was going to be like. After cleaning out the bay (which took a lot longer than I had anticipated and I got a bunch of cardboard paper cuts on my delicate lil' hands) I was told to help this guy Karl unload a 50' truck that had just pulled up. Karl was this doofus with a big ol' belly and the shortest legs I have ever seen on an adult (and no, he was not a little person. He was just freakishly dis-proportioned). He fucking LOVED trains. He was already inside the truck when I got there and he was in the process of opening one of the boxes so that he'd be the first one to see the new train engine or some nonsense. He ripped open the top of the box, grabbed one of the trains inside and sniffed it. Go ahead and let that sink in for a sec. He fucking SNIFFED the toy train engine. This is a fetish I did not want to explore any further thank you very much. He let out a huge "Aaaaaaaaah!" and said that he just loved that smell (I did not ask him to elaborate) and we got down to the business of unloading this truck.
Did you know there are several different scales of toy train and each has it's own track made specifically for it? No, of course you didn't know that because you are not a spaz. The front of the truck had a couple pallets of the new, allegedly fantastic smelling train engines and behind those was a number of pallets of train track. That shit is freakin' heavy. We had one of those pallet jacks to haul the stacked pallets out of the truck but of course one of them had shifted and we couldn't get it to budge. We then had to unload that mofo box by box and re-stack it in the warehouse on another pallet. So Karl, some other guy who's name escapes me and myself formed a chain and started shifting the stock out of the truck. Karl (who had a habit of dousing himself in cologne rather than say, bathing) stayed in the truck, I was next in line and then the Other Guy Who's Name Escapes Me was last (inside the warehouse and doing the actual re-stacking bit).
These boxes were I think about 15 pounds apiece and Karl was tossing them from the truck to me and then I would toss them to OGWNEM. We had a nice rhythm going until there was a hang-up at the re-stacking end of things and I had to wait for that guy to get ready again. Of course Karl being a moron did not wait and hucked another box to me just as I was turning to say "HOLD UP KARL!". I got as far as "Hold up Ka–" and then the box of train track nailed me in my left shoulder hard. It spun me around and I almost fell off the loading dock. I dropped the box I was already holding and it just missed my foot by inches. Please keep in mind that not only is this my FIRST DAY but it's not even lunch time yet. I saw red and charged at Karl to beat the living snot out of him. He was saying "Sorry man! I'm sorry! I didn't know! I'm sorry!" over and over and trying to scramble over the boxes to get away from me. Those tiny legs of his weren't much help on that front. I didn't hit him though. I thought about not only losing the job my mom got for me in record time but probably also getting arrested for assault and decided that calling Karl a fucking idiot was a better idea. I still regret that decision. It would have been so much better if I had ended up shoving that new train down his throat (or maybe he'd like that?). And yes, my nice shirt was all jacked up.
I worked there for probably 7 months or so and I even got my friend Shawn a job there in the warehouse with me (sorry about that Shawn). It was a mindless job and that hit to the shoulder hurt for months afterward (no, I never did go get it checked out) and the only joy I had was the weekends when I would go out to UMass Amherst to see my friends, hang out and drink way too much beer (I had already failed out of U/Mass the previous semester...another story for another time perhaps). But on the plus side I discovered an area in the back of the warehouse on the 2nd floor where I could take power naps. The best line still goes to Shawn when we were talking about the fun we were going to have that upcoming weekend because we were going to go to UMass. He said "Oh man, I can't wait to get there. I'm going to drink puddles of beer." He paused a second and said, "Wait, puddles? Puddles are SMALL!" Ah yes. Much simpler times indeed.
And now for some conversation whiplash: Check out this hilarious video.
She came home one afternoon and told me that I was going to be applying for a job at this company that makes toy trains near our apartment. "Oh. Uh, ok Mom, " I responded thinking all the while that who knew there was a company that made toy trains in Malden? Not me that's fer shu-ah. I took the application form that she gave me, filled it out and the next day went to the place to lay on the ol' O'Malley charm. This place was just behind a car dealership in a pretty new and sizable building. It was not only a manufacturing plant but it also had a huge warehouse and a little retail shop at the front. I figured they'd want me to work in the little shop and snarl at their customers (since being forced to interact with the public had been the bulk of my work experience up to this point) but when I met with the guy who owned the place he had other plans for me. "You'll work in the warehouse," he proclaimed and so I did for a whopping $6 an hour.
What I hadn't expected was that he would put me to work immediately. I had come dressed for an interview not understanding that he would want me to start moving boxes around that day. I had on what in my world constituted a nice shirt, decent pants and my one and only pair of dress shoes. He took me to the back of the enormous warehouse and pointed to this bay that had piles of crushed boxes in it. "Clean that out and then come find me. I'll give you something else to do." And then he stormed off. The owner dude was this guy who was an ex-Marine and he would walk around looking like a puffed up bird with his chest pushed way out and his arms splayed out at a comical angle. I think he was trying to create the illusion that his chest was still larger than his enormous beer gut. Yea, that would be a fail.
That first day was a little microcosm of what my employment at this company was going to be like. After cleaning out the bay (which took a lot longer than I had anticipated and I got a bunch of cardboard paper cuts on my delicate lil' hands) I was told to help this guy Karl unload a 50' truck that had just pulled up. Karl was this doofus with a big ol' belly and the shortest legs I have ever seen on an adult (and no, he was not a little person. He was just freakishly dis-proportioned). He fucking LOVED trains. He was already inside the truck when I got there and he was in the process of opening one of the boxes so that he'd be the first one to see the new train engine or some nonsense. He ripped open the top of the box, grabbed one of the trains inside and sniffed it. Go ahead and let that sink in for a sec. He fucking SNIFFED the toy train engine. This is a fetish I did not want to explore any further thank you very much. He let out a huge "Aaaaaaaaah!" and said that he just loved that smell (I did not ask him to elaborate) and we got down to the business of unloading this truck.
Did you know there are several different scales of toy train and each has it's own track made specifically for it? No, of course you didn't know that because you are not a spaz. The front of the truck had a couple pallets of the new, allegedly fantastic smelling train engines and behind those was a number of pallets of train track. That shit is freakin' heavy. We had one of those pallet jacks to haul the stacked pallets out of the truck but of course one of them had shifted and we couldn't get it to budge. We then had to unload that mofo box by box and re-stack it in the warehouse on another pallet. So Karl, some other guy who's name escapes me and myself formed a chain and started shifting the stock out of the truck. Karl (who had a habit of dousing himself in cologne rather than say, bathing) stayed in the truck, I was next in line and then the Other Guy Who's Name Escapes Me was last (inside the warehouse and doing the actual re-stacking bit).
These boxes were I think about 15 pounds apiece and Karl was tossing them from the truck to me and then I would toss them to OGWNEM. We had a nice rhythm going until there was a hang-up at the re-stacking end of things and I had to wait for that guy to get ready again. Of course Karl being a moron did not wait and hucked another box to me just as I was turning to say "HOLD UP KARL!". I got as far as "Hold up Ka–" and then the box of train track nailed me in my left shoulder hard. It spun me around and I almost fell off the loading dock. I dropped the box I was already holding and it just missed my foot by inches. Please keep in mind that not only is this my FIRST DAY but it's not even lunch time yet. I saw red and charged at Karl to beat the living snot out of him. He was saying "Sorry man! I'm sorry! I didn't know! I'm sorry!" over and over and trying to scramble over the boxes to get away from me. Those tiny legs of his weren't much help on that front. I didn't hit him though. I thought about not only losing the job my mom got for me in record time but probably also getting arrested for assault and decided that calling Karl a fucking idiot was a better idea. I still regret that decision. It would have been so much better if I had ended up shoving that new train down his throat (or maybe he'd like that?). And yes, my nice shirt was all jacked up.
I worked there for probably 7 months or so and I even got my friend Shawn a job there in the warehouse with me (sorry about that Shawn). It was a mindless job and that hit to the shoulder hurt for months afterward (no, I never did go get it checked out) and the only joy I had was the weekends when I would go out to UMass Amherst to see my friends, hang out and drink way too much beer (I had already failed out of U/Mass the previous semester...another story for another time perhaps). But on the plus side I discovered an area in the back of the warehouse on the 2nd floor where I could take power naps. The best line still goes to Shawn when we were talking about the fun we were going to have that upcoming weekend because we were going to go to UMass. He said "Oh man, I can't wait to get there. I'm going to drink puddles of beer." He paused a second and said, "Wait, puddles? Puddles are SMALL!" Ah yes. Much simpler times indeed.
And now for some conversation whiplash: Check out this hilarious video.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
More Jobs that do not Appear on the Resume
Time for another dose of Vocational Errors by Your Host Mark. This one took place right around the same time as the Greenpeace incident. Don't hold me to these dates though as I have no concept of time anymore.
I was still living at home and my morning ritual included me grabbing the paper and perusing the Help Wanted section while dropping the kids off at the pool (you're welcome for that image). I came across an ad for "Motivated individuals needed for IMMEDIATE HIRE with HUGE opportunity to SUCCEED!" or something along those lines. It looks like a pyramid scheme or some shit right? Yea, I didn't know what that meant. Motivated? Fuck yea I'm motivated. I don't want to live here with the parents for much longer please. Huge opportunity to succeed? Sign me the frick up Billy. I told my parents about it and how I was going to the office in downtown Malden to meet with the hiring guy. My dad said that it didn't sound like a legitimate business but I said I should at least try it out right? My mom said nothing cuz she just wanted her $200 a month.
So with my dad shaking his head slowly at me I left to go to the interview. I got to the office space which was right on Ferry St. in this rundown building. I walked in and there was about 10 other guys there who were also responding to the ad. The first thing I noticed is that they were all wearing ties and some even had suits on. I had just a button down shirt (probably untucked) and some pants that I'd probably already worn a couple of times. I sat down amongst the other candidates and filled out the application. When my turn came to meet with the hiring guy he mentioned that he liked my relaxed style which I took as a compliment but he most likely was poking fun at me. He explained that the job was a sales position (zero experience there) in the exciting field (read: risky) of direct marketing (read: pyramid). I nodded a lot and agreed to accept the position (I later figured out that ANYONE who walked into that office and didn't immediately turn around and bail got "hired"). He told me to come back the next day for the sales meeting and then I'd meet the guy who'd be training me. "He's a big up and coming guy in this organization!" he boasted. What organization? You have a pool or morons like me who you're going to have sell shit products to less than bright people. Awesome business plan.
I'd like to point out that absolutely no red flags went off for me at all. Zero. I just thought that I need money and this guy says that he can help me get some. He's in an office and wearing a suit so he must know more than I do right? Well yea, but that's all relative. I went home and told my parents that I got hired and that I'd be going to work the next day. No response from them on that subject. Feh, what do they know anyway?
At the sales/team meeting the next day I got my first glimpse at what this guy thought my future would be. Apparently I'd be super excited all the time and say things like "YEA! GO TEAM (insert name of this guy's shitty company here...I can't remember what it was)!" I'm just not the "go team" kinda guy really. I can't muster up that kind of excitement for...well, anything. I would not classify myself as high energy or Type A. Type C perhaps. Type D even. I just want to do whatever I have to do and please leave me alone. So why not realize this and immediately leave the meeting? Well, I do like money. So with the prospect of perhaps earning some I thought that I can maybe fake the excitement part.
The meeting lasted about 45 minutes and then I met up with the guy who was going to be training me on how to go about selling the products. What products, you ask? Oh, a horrible set of 6 steak knives and a 5 piece reversible belt set (it was 3 leather belts of questionable quality which were reversible and 2 different buckles. You totally want a set don't you?). We jumped into his Caprice and made our way to a super market parking lot in Dorchester. When we got there he parked near the entrance and opened up the trunk where he had boxes and boxes of this stuff. We got out and he immediately started trying to sell knives to people who just wanted to go get some groceries. "Hey ma'am?", he called over to some lady who just pulled up. "You should check out this AMAZING DEAL!" He then would point to me as I would do an interpretation of a Price Is Right model while trying to show how fucking fantastic these steak knives were. "Excuse me sir," he would say while annoying some poor guy getting into his shitbox. "Every man needs more than one belt right? Well this is SIX BELTS IN ONE!" Which technically isn't true. It's more like six belts in one set...or 3 belts in one times 2. I guess that's not as zingy though.
Here's the bizarre thing: people would stop and buy this shit. I think the belt set was like $10 and the knives were $15 or something like that. We would hawk this crap all over the city hitting little strip malls in run-down areas because as he so eloquently put it "people around here will buy anything". Nice. So now I have to deal with that rolling around in my head. I'd like to say that it was right then and there that I decided that I didn't want anything to do with this guy and this "business" but I was still blinded by the promise of "big bucks". Plus, he had been saying how he was going to be moving to Florida soon and would need guys like me to help him get his franchise set up down there. Oh you mean like guys who haven't sold ANYTHING ever, who hate people and can't drive? Those kind of guys? Well hell, I'm yer man then.
After several hours of moving from parking lot to parking lot he decided that I was all trained up and could easily set out on my own the next day. What? Seriously? "Oh jeebus, I think I've fucked up again", was the thought going through my head. "How am I going to carry this crap around? On the goddamn T?" I decided that I wasn't going to accept his offer to move to Florida if asked and I certainly wasn't going to return the next day to continue with this career. Plus, I still had to purchase my inventory. Had I mentioned that part yet? Oh yes, you needed to have a certain amount of crap in stock to sell to people who should know better. One thing I was definitely lacking was moneys with which to purchase goods. So this whole scheme was doomed from the start.
We wrapped up the day of sales and headed back to the office in Malden. He was going on and on about how great it's going to be when he gets to Florida and how much I'm going to love it there (apparently I had landed the job after all even though I never actually heard an offer or accepted anything. That's how goddamn charming I am). We were on Rt. 93 north near the Boston Garden when he said "Oh man, I gotta take a leak. Here, grab the steering wheel a sec won't ya?" I'm sorry, what? I do as instructed and grab a hold of the steering wheel as he turned over onto his left side, cracked open the door and pissed out of the opening. All of this while stuck in traffic. Oh COME ON! What the fuck? Even I could see this for the giant red flag that it was.
We got back to the office and I followed him in to talk to the boss guy. He went in to the guy's office and told me to wait out in the main reception area for a sec. I did and in a few he came out and said the boss guy wanted to see me. WHY AM I STILL HERE? I SHOULD JUST FUCKING LEAVE ALREADY! But of course I don't leave and I go in to talk to the boss guy. "Petey (or whatever that guy's name was...I forget) says your a natural at this! As far as I'm concerned you have a job here!" Oh really? You do realize that Petey if a fucking moron right? Do you know he pisses out of his car door while driving on Rt. 93? Do you know he's a huge racist? I do. I know a lot of nuggets about Petey. I don't ever want to see him or you again. Good DAY, sir. That's what I should have said. What I did say was "Oh really? That's nice of you." Whatta pussy.
I did eventually tell the guy that I couldn't really do the job, not because of the fact that it was an unsustainable business model or that his hiring practices left me wondering about his intelligence or even that the idea of hawking knives to people at 8 in the morning isn't a pleasant prospect; oh no, I couldn't do the job because I couldn't AFFORD to buy in. Yep. Moral standards officially lowered, full speed ahead. He said he understood and I left the office to start my walk back to my parent's apartment. And I still didn't have any money to pay my mom the room and board I owed her. Awesome.
I was still living at home and my morning ritual included me grabbing the paper and perusing the Help Wanted section while dropping the kids off at the pool (you're welcome for that image). I came across an ad for "Motivated individuals needed for IMMEDIATE HIRE with HUGE opportunity to SUCCEED!" or something along those lines. It looks like a pyramid scheme or some shit right? Yea, I didn't know what that meant. Motivated? Fuck yea I'm motivated. I don't want to live here with the parents for much longer please. Huge opportunity to succeed? Sign me the frick up Billy. I told my parents about it and how I was going to the office in downtown Malden to meet with the hiring guy. My dad said that it didn't sound like a legitimate business but I said I should at least try it out right? My mom said nothing cuz she just wanted her $200 a month.
So with my dad shaking his head slowly at me I left to go to the interview. I got to the office space which was right on Ferry St. in this rundown building. I walked in and there was about 10 other guys there who were also responding to the ad. The first thing I noticed is that they were all wearing ties and some even had suits on. I had just a button down shirt (probably untucked) and some pants that I'd probably already worn a couple of times. I sat down amongst the other candidates and filled out the application. When my turn came to meet with the hiring guy he mentioned that he liked my relaxed style which I took as a compliment but he most likely was poking fun at me. He explained that the job was a sales position (zero experience there) in the exciting field (read: risky) of direct marketing (read: pyramid). I nodded a lot and agreed to accept the position (I later figured out that ANYONE who walked into that office and didn't immediately turn around and bail got "hired"). He told me to come back the next day for the sales meeting and then I'd meet the guy who'd be training me. "He's a big up and coming guy in this organization!" he boasted. What organization? You have a pool or morons like me who you're going to have sell shit products to less than bright people. Awesome business plan.
I'd like to point out that absolutely no red flags went off for me at all. Zero. I just thought that I need money and this guy says that he can help me get some. He's in an office and wearing a suit so he must know more than I do right? Well yea, but that's all relative. I went home and told my parents that I got hired and that I'd be going to work the next day. No response from them on that subject. Feh, what do they know anyway?
At the sales/team meeting the next day I got my first glimpse at what this guy thought my future would be. Apparently I'd be super excited all the time and say things like "YEA! GO TEAM (insert name of this guy's shitty company here...I can't remember what it was)!" I'm just not the "go team" kinda guy really. I can't muster up that kind of excitement for...well, anything. I would not classify myself as high energy or Type A. Type C perhaps. Type D even. I just want to do whatever I have to do and please leave me alone. So why not realize this and immediately leave the meeting? Well, I do like money. So with the prospect of perhaps earning some I thought that I can maybe fake the excitement part.
The meeting lasted about 45 minutes and then I met up with the guy who was going to be training me on how to go about selling the products. What products, you ask? Oh, a horrible set of 6 steak knives and a 5 piece reversible belt set (it was 3 leather belts of questionable quality which were reversible and 2 different buckles. You totally want a set don't you?). We jumped into his Caprice and made our way to a super market parking lot in Dorchester. When we got there he parked near the entrance and opened up the trunk where he had boxes and boxes of this stuff. We got out and he immediately started trying to sell knives to people who just wanted to go get some groceries. "Hey ma'am?", he called over to some lady who just pulled up. "You should check out this AMAZING DEAL!" He then would point to me as I would do an interpretation of a Price Is Right model while trying to show how fucking fantastic these steak knives were. "Excuse me sir," he would say while annoying some poor guy getting into his shitbox. "Every man needs more than one belt right? Well this is SIX BELTS IN ONE!" Which technically isn't true. It's more like six belts in one set...or 3 belts in one times 2. I guess that's not as zingy though.
Here's the bizarre thing: people would stop and buy this shit. I think the belt set was like $10 and the knives were $15 or something like that. We would hawk this crap all over the city hitting little strip malls in run-down areas because as he so eloquently put it "people around here will buy anything". Nice. So now I have to deal with that rolling around in my head. I'd like to say that it was right then and there that I decided that I didn't want anything to do with this guy and this "business" but I was still blinded by the promise of "big bucks". Plus, he had been saying how he was going to be moving to Florida soon and would need guys like me to help him get his franchise set up down there. Oh you mean like guys who haven't sold ANYTHING ever, who hate people and can't drive? Those kind of guys? Well hell, I'm yer man then.
After several hours of moving from parking lot to parking lot he decided that I was all trained up and could easily set out on my own the next day. What? Seriously? "Oh jeebus, I think I've fucked up again", was the thought going through my head. "How am I going to carry this crap around? On the goddamn T?" I decided that I wasn't going to accept his offer to move to Florida if asked and I certainly wasn't going to return the next day to continue with this career. Plus, I still had to purchase my inventory. Had I mentioned that part yet? Oh yes, you needed to have a certain amount of crap in stock to sell to people who should know better. One thing I was definitely lacking was moneys with which to purchase goods. So this whole scheme was doomed from the start.
We wrapped up the day of sales and headed back to the office in Malden. He was going on and on about how great it's going to be when he gets to Florida and how much I'm going to love it there (apparently I had landed the job after all even though I never actually heard an offer or accepted anything. That's how goddamn charming I am). We were on Rt. 93 north near the Boston Garden when he said "Oh man, I gotta take a leak. Here, grab the steering wheel a sec won't ya?" I'm sorry, what? I do as instructed and grab a hold of the steering wheel as he turned over onto his left side, cracked open the door and pissed out of the opening. All of this while stuck in traffic. Oh COME ON! What the fuck? Even I could see this for the giant red flag that it was.
We got back to the office and I followed him in to talk to the boss guy. He went in to the guy's office and told me to wait out in the main reception area for a sec. I did and in a few he came out and said the boss guy wanted to see me. WHY AM I STILL HERE? I SHOULD JUST FUCKING LEAVE ALREADY! But of course I don't leave and I go in to talk to the boss guy. "Petey (or whatever that guy's name was...I forget) says your a natural at this! As far as I'm concerned you have a job here!" Oh really? You do realize that Petey if a fucking moron right? Do you know he pisses out of his car door while driving on Rt. 93? Do you know he's a huge racist? I do. I know a lot of nuggets about Petey. I don't ever want to see him or you again. Good DAY, sir. That's what I should have said. What I did say was "Oh really? That's nice of you." Whatta pussy.
I did eventually tell the guy that I couldn't really do the job, not because of the fact that it was an unsustainable business model or that his hiring practices left me wondering about his intelligence or even that the idea of hawking knives to people at 8 in the morning isn't a pleasant prospect; oh no, I couldn't do the job because I couldn't AFFORD to buy in. Yep. Moral standards officially lowered, full speed ahead. He said he understood and I left the office to start my walk back to my parent's apartment. And I still didn't have any money to pay my mom the room and board I owed her. Awesome.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Be Kind, Rewind Motherfucker
What's this? Another installment of "Vocational Errors by Your Host Mark"? Sure, why the hell not? I've got quite a few of them.
I'm trying to think of the time line on this and I think it must be the summer of 1988...just after high school graduation and going into the first semester of my tenure at Salem State College (more on that later). There was this video store that my mom would frequent since it was near church and she would talk to the owner all the time (I've just realized that my mom was instrumental in me getting 3 of my jobs. This is not a knock on her at all, she was simply trying to get me to understand that I was expected to actually support my own damn self one day and to stop being such a load. Sorry Mom, I'm a slow learner. I think it shows more of my character, or perhaps lack of character. I needed my mommy to pound the pavement for me and find my sorry ass a job).
One Sunday she came to me and told me that the video store was hiring and all I had to do is tell the guy that I was her son and the job was in the bag. So she drove me back to the video store and waited for me in the car at my request (a 1988 Hyundai Excel...whatta ride. This thing was such a frickin' heap. The interior, which was the same odd maroon color as the rest of the car, actually bleached in the sun and all the door handles, window levers, and vents turned light blue. My mom loved that car). I walked in and talked to the owner guy Tom something-or-other. I told him I was my Mommy's little boy and that he should totally hire me to be mean to his customers. He did.
The way the store worked was that the empty video boxes were out on the floor on their respective genre-themed shelves and all the actual videos themselves were on the shelves behind the counter with these stupidly narrow passages between each one. When it was busy, one person would ring in the customer while the other one went to the back and grabbed the movies. That sounds all efficient and shit but it was just this side of chaos when it got super busy. The main reason was that there was no decent filing system (and having worked at the Malden Public Library during high school I was all about filing systems), and so the person looking for the videos in the back would have a bitch of a time trying to find the goddamn tape. Plus, when the returns would come in they would be stacked in these teetering towers of plastic pandemonium until someone had a chance to put them away. So more often than not the tape you were looking for was actually being crushed at the very bottom of that Jenga pile. Good luck fishing it out (oh god, I just remembered when E.T. finally came out on video. The people were RABID for that tape. They wanted it no matter what the cost. The days leading up to its release were heralded with a flurry of "Is E.T. in yet?" questions. No, you illiterate buffoons. As the sign clearly states it will not be in until tomorrow. Now go away and let me watch The Sunshine Boys for the 100th time).
But, for the most part that job was about boredom. This was kind of the last hurrah of the neighborhood video store as the Blockbusters and Hollywood Videos were muscling in on their territories. One of them opened a few blocks away after I was hired and it siphoned more and more people away as time went on. This would make for loooong stretches of time where absolutely no one would come into the store. Perfect opportunity to reorganize the store and/or develop a better filing system for the tapes right? Yea maybe, but wouldn't you rather just watch Young Frankenstein again? Of course you would.
The videos that we would watch would, of course, depend on who was working that day. There was an older guy (I'm guessing he was in his early 40's) who had worked there from day one who was REALLY into Huey Lewis and The News. He would play their concert video every single time I worked with him. If I didn't hate that band before, I certainly do now. Another woman I worked with loved Van Halen and would play their concert video every single time too. And this wasn't even Diamond Dave era either, it was all Van Hagar. Bloody fucking hell that was torture. The owner dude Tom and I would just put on old comedies (he liked the silent era stuff like Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin and I would put on Mel Brooks or Neil Simon movies). Tom would make me call customers who's videos were overdue though so I didn't like working with him. Nobody else really cared whether you brought "Top Gun" back on time or not.
It was kind of a perfect little job for a while there because it didn't take much if any brain power (right up my alley there!) and since the bulk of the customers had stopped coming in, there were fewer and fewer humans to deal with. The problem being of course that this is not exactly a great business model and so Tom was forced to come to grip with reality and sell the business. I figured he'd have sold it to one of the bigger conglomerates but no. He sold it to this younger go-getter Type-A kinda guy named Marc (which, annoys me by the way. Spell the name with a "k". It looks better. "Marc" makes me read it with a soft "c" sound i.e. "Marce". Just sayin'). Marce (hee!) came in and had all kinds of ideas to improve the business and customer relations and promotions and holy shit dude...you DO know that this is a crappy video store in a shit hole city (no offense Malden but...damn) staffed entirely of people who sooo don't give a shit right? No? Ok.
Right off the bat he banned the practice of munching on the candy that was on display at the counter. Damn. Gone were the employee-picked videos playing on the big ol' console T.V. (this is 1988 remember...no fancy flat panel T.V.'s then). He made us play Disney movies and ONLY Disney movies. He also put a plan into place to eliminate the porn section (this was always a creepy encounter...it was a horrible setup not only for us behind the counter but also for the poor perverts who just wanted a wank. Most video stores have that area in the back of the store where the X-rated stuff is sequestered right? Not this place. The movies were all listed alphabetically in 4 large 3-ring binders that we had behind the counter. So in order to get yerself a porno, you had to have the stones to not only ask one of us for the binder but then to stand there and flip through the binders looking for that special film. Jeebus Christmas. People did it though, we had plenty of regulars too). The pornos were more expensive to rent than a regular movie and Tom had aquired quite a collection of them. I personally think that eliminating this was the nail in the coffin for that store. But Marc wanted what Marc wanted.
Fine. No pornos. No good movies to watch when there's nothing else to do. No snacking behind the counter. Anything else Mr. Nofun? Oh right, he started adding me to the weekend schedule even when I wasn't supposed to be on. The way it worked in the good ol' days with Tom was that you'd work one weekend and then have the next one off, work two weekends and you could have two weekends off. Nice. Marc started putting me on the schedule without first checking with me to see if I was even available (I was available usually but he should have checked dammit). He did it a few times and then I just ended up deciding that I wasn't going to come in even though my name was on the schedule for that Saturday. I'm really mature y'see.
Saturday rolls around and I go about my business (which was probably sleeping until 10 and then watching cartoons while eating cereal...did I mention I was 18?). At about 11 the phone rings and it's Marc asking why I wasn't at work. "Oh, I wasn't scheduled to work because I worked last Saturday remember?", I offered. He countered with "That policy was in effect when Tom owned the business and it is now each employee's responsibility to check the work schedule (posted on the back wall of the shelves that hold video tapes)." Touche sir. Very well put. "So you are scheduled to work today so I expect you here shortly." he summed up. I countered his counter with "Yea, I think I quit. I'm not coming in today." and hung up the phone. He was livid. He called back immediately and chewed me out for about 5 minutes (he would have gone on longer but I hung up again). At the time it felt awesome. Now I just think I was a douche.
I say that it felt awesome at the time but even that feeling was fleeting. After the second phone call my mom asked me what was going on. When I told her I had just quit my job she, how do I say this? She lost her shit. Hoo-boy was she mad at me. With good reason I might add. I stood there in the kitchen and waited for her to finish pointing out how I now had no means of income and that she still wanted her $200 in room and board. Sigh. Stupid teenagers. But hey, at least I didn't have to watch any fucking Disney movies anymore!
I'm trying to think of the time line on this and I think it must be the summer of 1988...just after high school graduation and going into the first semester of my tenure at Salem State College (more on that later). There was this video store that my mom would frequent since it was near church and she would talk to the owner all the time (I've just realized that my mom was instrumental in me getting 3 of my jobs. This is not a knock on her at all, she was simply trying to get me to understand that I was expected to actually support my own damn self one day and to stop being such a load. Sorry Mom, I'm a slow learner. I think it shows more of my character, or perhaps lack of character. I needed my mommy to pound the pavement for me and find my sorry ass a job).
One Sunday she came to me and told me that the video store was hiring and all I had to do is tell the guy that I was her son and the job was in the bag. So she drove me back to the video store and waited for me in the car at my request (a 1988 Hyundai Excel...whatta ride. This thing was such a frickin' heap. The interior, which was the same odd maroon color as the rest of the car, actually bleached in the sun and all the door handles, window levers, and vents turned light blue. My mom loved that car). I walked in and talked to the owner guy Tom something-or-other. I told him I was my Mommy's little boy and that he should totally hire me to be mean to his customers. He did.
The way the store worked was that the empty video boxes were out on the floor on their respective genre-themed shelves and all the actual videos themselves were on the shelves behind the counter with these stupidly narrow passages between each one. When it was busy, one person would ring in the customer while the other one went to the back and grabbed the movies. That sounds all efficient and shit but it was just this side of chaos when it got super busy. The main reason was that there was no decent filing system (and having worked at the Malden Public Library during high school I was all about filing systems), and so the person looking for the videos in the back would have a bitch of a time trying to find the goddamn tape. Plus, when the returns would come in they would be stacked in these teetering towers of plastic pandemonium until someone had a chance to put them away. So more often than not the tape you were looking for was actually being crushed at the very bottom of that Jenga pile. Good luck fishing it out (oh god, I just remembered when E.T. finally came out on video. The people were RABID for that tape. They wanted it no matter what the cost. The days leading up to its release were heralded with a flurry of "Is E.T. in yet?" questions. No, you illiterate buffoons. As the sign clearly states it will not be in until tomorrow. Now go away and let me watch The Sunshine Boys for the 100th time).
But, for the most part that job was about boredom. This was kind of the last hurrah of the neighborhood video store as the Blockbusters and Hollywood Videos were muscling in on their territories. One of them opened a few blocks away after I was hired and it siphoned more and more people away as time went on. This would make for loooong stretches of time where absolutely no one would come into the store. Perfect opportunity to reorganize the store and/or develop a better filing system for the tapes right? Yea maybe, but wouldn't you rather just watch Young Frankenstein again? Of course you would.
The videos that we would watch would, of course, depend on who was working that day. There was an older guy (I'm guessing he was in his early 40's) who had worked there from day one who was REALLY into Huey Lewis and The News. He would play their concert video every single time I worked with him. If I didn't hate that band before, I certainly do now. Another woman I worked with loved Van Halen and would play their concert video every single time too. And this wasn't even Diamond Dave era either, it was all Van Hagar. Bloody fucking hell that was torture. The owner dude Tom and I would just put on old comedies (he liked the silent era stuff like Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin and I would put on Mel Brooks or Neil Simon movies). Tom would make me call customers who's videos were overdue though so I didn't like working with him. Nobody else really cared whether you brought "Top Gun" back on time or not.
It was kind of a perfect little job for a while there because it didn't take much if any brain power (right up my alley there!) and since the bulk of the customers had stopped coming in, there were fewer and fewer humans to deal with. The problem being of course that this is not exactly a great business model and so Tom was forced to come to grip with reality and sell the business. I figured he'd have sold it to one of the bigger conglomerates but no. He sold it to this younger go-getter Type-A kinda guy named Marc (which, annoys me by the way. Spell the name with a "k". It looks better. "Marc" makes me read it with a soft "c" sound i.e. "Marce". Just sayin'). Marce (hee!) came in and had all kinds of ideas to improve the business and customer relations and promotions and holy shit dude...you DO know that this is a crappy video store in a shit hole city (no offense Malden but...damn) staffed entirely of people who sooo don't give a shit right? No? Ok.
Right off the bat he banned the practice of munching on the candy that was on display at the counter. Damn. Gone were the employee-picked videos playing on the big ol' console T.V. (this is 1988 remember...no fancy flat panel T.V.'s then). He made us play Disney movies and ONLY Disney movies. He also put a plan into place to eliminate the porn section (this was always a creepy encounter...it was a horrible setup not only for us behind the counter but also for the poor perverts who just wanted a wank. Most video stores have that area in the back of the store where the X-rated stuff is sequestered right? Not this place. The movies were all listed alphabetically in 4 large 3-ring binders that we had behind the counter. So in order to get yerself a porno, you had to have the stones to not only ask one of us for the binder but then to stand there and flip through the binders looking for that special film. Jeebus Christmas. People did it though, we had plenty of regulars too). The pornos were more expensive to rent than a regular movie and Tom had aquired quite a collection of them. I personally think that eliminating this was the nail in the coffin for that store. But Marc wanted what Marc wanted.
Fine. No pornos. No good movies to watch when there's nothing else to do. No snacking behind the counter. Anything else Mr. Nofun? Oh right, he started adding me to the weekend schedule even when I wasn't supposed to be on. The way it worked in the good ol' days with Tom was that you'd work one weekend and then have the next one off, work two weekends and you could have two weekends off. Nice. Marc started putting me on the schedule without first checking with me to see if I was even available (I was available usually but he should have checked dammit). He did it a few times and then I just ended up deciding that I wasn't going to come in even though my name was on the schedule for that Saturday. I'm really mature y'see.
Saturday rolls around and I go about my business (which was probably sleeping until 10 and then watching cartoons while eating cereal...did I mention I was 18?). At about 11 the phone rings and it's Marc asking why I wasn't at work. "Oh, I wasn't scheduled to work because I worked last Saturday remember?", I offered. He countered with "That policy was in effect when Tom owned the business and it is now each employee's responsibility to check the work schedule (posted on the back wall of the shelves that hold video tapes)." Touche sir. Very well put. "So you are scheduled to work today so I expect you here shortly." he summed up. I countered his counter with "Yea, I think I quit. I'm not coming in today." and hung up the phone. He was livid. He called back immediately and chewed me out for about 5 minutes (he would have gone on longer but I hung up again). At the time it felt awesome. Now I just think I was a douche.
I say that it felt awesome at the time but even that feeling was fleeting. After the second phone call my mom asked me what was going on. When I told her I had just quit my job she, how do I say this? She lost her shit. Hoo-boy was she mad at me. With good reason I might add. I stood there in the kitchen and waited for her to finish pointing out how I now had no means of income and that she still wanted her $200 in room and board. Sigh. Stupid teenagers. But hey, at least I didn't have to watch any fucking Disney movies anymore!
Friday, November 28, 2008
Old Man
My 20th high school reunion is today. Holy piss. This is distressing not in the "where has the time gone" kind of way but more like "there's no fucking way I can really be that old, can I?" Oh hell yes I can. And am.
Until recently I was really only in touch with about 5 people from high school. With the advent of Facebook I've been in contact (sort of) with some more people (come to find out that one of them actually works for the same company I work for. Small world). My high school experience was one of non-participation. I just didn't buy into anything really. Maybe I should have, I dunno. It may have made the time there more interesting certainly. The friends that I hung around with back then also weren't really interested in doing typical high school stuff (well, typical sanctioned high school stuff at any rate), so we just kinda didn't have a real involved connection with the school. It was just a place that we had to go to.
It's only with hindsight that I can see the benefit of having a more involved school experience. High school for me wasn't an awful time but it wasn't particularly pleasant either. It just kind of ... was. I didn't have a choice so I went. It was kind of like having a crappy job. But along the way I met some pretty cool people who made it tolerable. I didn't keep in touch with a lot of those people over the last (jesus christ) 20 years though and seeing some of them might be interesting but I don't want to make those reconnections at an official reunion. Maybe that's due in part to the not having a connection to the school. I don't associate places with time or memories. I'd rather go grab a beer or something. That way we can fully enjoy the uncomfortable silences and awkward lulls in conversation more fully.
I know that some of the people that I've seen on Facebook are going to this reunion tonight and that's great for them. I just can't do it.
Until recently I was really only in touch with about 5 people from high school. With the advent of Facebook I've been in contact (sort of) with some more people (come to find out that one of them actually works for the same company I work for. Small world). My high school experience was one of non-participation. I just didn't buy into anything really. Maybe I should have, I dunno. It may have made the time there more interesting certainly. The friends that I hung around with back then also weren't really interested in doing typical high school stuff (well, typical sanctioned high school stuff at any rate), so we just kinda didn't have a real involved connection with the school. It was just a place that we had to go to.
It's only with hindsight that I can see the benefit of having a more involved school experience. High school for me wasn't an awful time but it wasn't particularly pleasant either. It just kind of ... was. I didn't have a choice so I went. It was kind of like having a crappy job. But along the way I met some pretty cool people who made it tolerable. I didn't keep in touch with a lot of those people over the last (jesus christ) 20 years though and seeing some of them might be interesting but I don't want to make those reconnections at an official reunion. Maybe that's due in part to the not having a connection to the school. I don't associate places with time or memories. I'd rather go grab a beer or something. That way we can fully enjoy the uncomfortable silences and awkward lulls in conversation more fully.
I know that some of the people that I've seen on Facebook are going to this reunion tonight and that's great for them. I just can't do it.
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