I Hate Me, Pt. 233,990
I was pricing used records at work, the kind of mindless task that allows me to eavesdrop on conversations going on around me. There was this couple talking about how much they liked John Mayer:
Guy: You like John Mayer, right?
Girl: Yeah huh, ’bout as much as you do
Guy/Girl (same time) he’s great
Guy: (laughter)… yeah, he is ain’t he
I hate John Mayer, I don’t like his music and he seems like a real douche, as this couple was having their pro-Mayer conversation there was a guy looking at records. Not one of my favorite customers, he comes in about once a year and nitpicks about the price of $2 records. He has the snotty air that most people associate with record collectors and record store clerks. So this guy looks at me during the couples conversation and gives me a conspiratorial eye roll. Now I’m trapped here, I don’t want to agree with the annoying record guy but I certainly don’t want to back the “John Mayer is God” couple either. So I slowly backed through the door into the store room, waited until the coast was reasonably clear, acted like I had a call on my phone and slunk out for a coffee.