My band had a show at Maxwells friday night and it was really good. Maxwells is an oasis for bands, they get treated ridiculously well there. Anyhow, while it was a great night, it was miserable outside. It felt like a giant dog was breathing on you and it was a late night for me as I had to be in work at 9am, I don’t snap back like I used to. The day was wretchedly slow and shitty. A Bataan death march towards 6pm and freedom, by late afternoon coffee had lost any of it’s effectiveness. It was about ten to six and this kid came in looking at posters, just some teenage kid but he was wearing an oversized tam o’shanter crocheted with the colors of the Jamaican flag. If you wear dreads, then fucking tam away my friend. This kid had no dreads, it was just part of his “it’s all good, man” look and I hope he was stoned because stupid like this is a goddamned crime. I know I was dead tired and I know I was probably “old man grumpus”, but this goddamned kid got on my last nerve:
Kid- Do you got this Sublime poster?
Me- Yeah, it’s right there in the number 8 slot.
Kid- Number 8?… whaaat?
Me-Yeah, it’s poster number 8, the number on the poster goes with the slot.
Kid- Sublime is number 8?
Me- yeah, it’s right there
Kid- I don’t…uh…Sublime?
Me- Do you see the numbers?
Me- Do you see number 8? that’s the Sublime poster
Kid- I don’t see number 8…I see 15….I see 16…I see 17…
Me- It’s the row above that
Kid- row..above that?
Me- JESUS CHRIST! IT’S RIGHT BY YOUR HAND!
I was a shell of a man when I left work.