Record Store Tales

Part 258: Uncle Meat

Uncle Meat is former co-worker, now friend. He worked at one of the other record store locations for about a year. Back in Part 78, he told his side of the story, but I thought I should return the love.

MEAT

RECORD STORE TALES Part 258:  Uncle Meat

My first encounter with the man known as Uncle Meat (his parents still call him Eric) happened in 1987.  I didn’t meet Meat in 1987; I met Meat officially in the 1990’s when he was hired at one of our stores.  As we chatted about people we both knew, we pieced it together:  Both of us were friends with a talented local singer/songwriter named Rob Szabo.   Way back in the 80’s, Rob was in a band then called Under 550, and they won the Battle of the Bands at Grand River Collegiate Institute in ’87.  I remember they knocked out a version of Rush’s “YYZ”.  They were sent to the next round, to battle it out regionally at the Center In the Square.

They added a lead vocalist for the big competition, and temporarily changed their name to Over 550.  550 lbs was the total combined body weight of the band.  They were just under 550 lbs, until they added the singer.  Get it?  They were up against a neighbor of ours, George, who was playing bass in a band called Zephyr.  Also in the running were such luminaries as Stomach Acid, and F.U.H.Q.

It was when discussing this gig that Uncle Meat and I realized we were both in the same place at the same time — except he was on the stage and I was in the crowd!  I have a distinct memory of watching a very heavy thrash metal band.  They were just too heavy for most in attendance, but they had chops and a good singer.  That singer was Meat.  One thing I’ll never forget about his set is this:  a whole row of long-hairs ran down in front of the stage during the first song, and banged their heads through it all.  When Meat had played his two songs, they went back to their seats.  I’d never seen anything like it before, at that tender age of 15.


Spring 1991 – Uncle Meat singing “Fairies Wear Boots” with Heavy Cutting

Many years later, I worked a shift at the store with Uncle Meat, and that was our first “official” meeting.  I remember that it was a pre-Christmas shift, and I was helping out another store.  It was the two of us and Meat’s arch-nemesis, a girl who did not get along with him at all.  (The story of why was recounted in Top Five Discs That Got Us In Shit.)  It was a fun shift, busy as hell, and I remember stopping at an HMV store on my way home and picking up a Savatage CD (their then-latest, Wake Of Magellan).

Here I am, almost three decades later, remembering that night in ’87 like it was yesterday.  I could tell you details like what jacket I was wearing (a dark blue leather one).  I could tell you who I went with: Bob, Scott, and Todd Meyer.  I couldn’t tell you who won anymore, but I do know this:  It was fate.  It was fate that Meat and I should meet.  When we work together on a project, it’s peanut butter and jam.  Thanks for friendship Uncle Meat, and thanks for contributing so much to mikeladano.com.


Same night, same gig: Szabo on axe shreds some Judas Priest.
Listen to that fucking singer!

Part 257: Sexy Beast

RECORD STORE TALES Part 257:  Sexy Beast
Or: should a cockney accent be mistaken for a foreign language?

This guy, “Big Daddy Dave,” came into the store to return a movie he bought.  That DVD was Sexy Beast, starring Ben Kingsley and Ray Winstone. Great movie, British mobster flick. If you’ve seen it (and I recommend that you do) then you know the accents are quite thick — but also that the movie is still in English.  In fact I recommended the movie to Big Daddy Dave and was surprised to see him return with it in hand.

He walked up to the counter and said, “Yeah, I want a movie that’s in English.” So I explained to him that Sexy Beast was in English. Ray Winstone and Ben Kingsley are, in fact, both English. “That movie was in English? But I couldn’t understand a damned word they said!”

As my mother-in-law says, “You can’t fix stupid”.

BEAST

Part 256: A Case of the Mondays

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RECORD STORE TALES Part 256:  A Case of the Mondays

Towards the end of my record store years, 2005 to the start of 2006, the mere thought of waking up in the morning of a Monday was enough to make me feel physically ill. The feelings of dread usually began settling in on Sunday evening. By Monday morning I was not feeling well at all.  I was used to being beaten down by unpleasant customers, unpredictable superiors,  and long hours with not enough time off. I was sick and tired of being used, but I was also sick.  I began to hate the mere sight of a CD, and certain songs played in store became so annoying that they haunted me at night.  I stopped enjoying music.

I remember waking up one Monday morning and thinking to myself, “I wonder what would happen if I quit my job today.” I had a home and a mortgage, but finding a new job had proved difficult. My skill set was expansive, and my time at the record store had demonstrated my loyalty.  Most jobs I was applying for were not interested in somebody with only retail experience. It didn’t matter that I was a manager, so I went from interview to interview without luck. The steady rejection impacted my emotional state in a negative way.

I called my dad, who I could always count on for good advice.

“Hey dad,” I began. “I have kind of a weird question for you. What would you say if I told you I wanted to go to work and quit my job today?”

“I would say that is not a very good idea,” he responded with seriousness. “You have a mortgage, and I’m sure you know it’s easier to find a new job when you’re already employed. Finding a good job while out of work is easier said than done. I would strongly advise that you don’t quit anything until you have something else to fall back on.”

Not the answer I wanted to hear, but I knew he was right. What I didn’t tell my dad (and what he didn’t know until he started reading these Record Store Tales) is just how miserable I was. I had become a complete basket case.  He tells me now that he regrets the advice that he gave me that Monday morning. If he had known what I was going through he would have given me very different advice.

I thanked him for his words of wisdom and hung up the phone. I got dressed and ready for work. Breakfast was out of the question. My stomach was too wound up to handle eating. At the end of the record store days, I was generally only eating one or two meals a day. I didn’t really put together how that was affecting my mental and physical energy levels.

I used to listen to the same CD in the car on the way to work in the mornings: Dance of Death by Iron Maiden. I’d get in, put on the album, and then try to take as long as possible to get to work. Red lights meant more Maiden. Then as I’d pull into the store, I’d check out the parking lot and see if any of the bosses had arrived yet. You could never guess their temperament any day, so all I could do was pray they all had nice weekends. If they were in a good mood, they’d leave me more or less alone. If not, you could cut the tension with a knife.

I hated the tense Monday mornings.

Once I entered and hung up my coat, I’d do a walk around. I’d check to see how sales were on the weekend, what messes were left for me to clean up, and what problems had come up. I’d also rush to do a quick cleaning. Any glass surfaces with fingerprints had to be wiped clean before any bosses spotted them. They had a habit of bitching about anything they saw before I did. Other store managers didn’t have to deal with the stress of having “head office” in the back of their stores, but I did.

These taut Mondays were often long and enervating. I’d open the store at 10am and wait for the first customer. Usually they were people selling scratched up CDs for cigarette money. The day would drag on, and Mondays meant getting home later than usual, since Monday was also Stock Transfer Day! Even though I was “off” duty, none of us were ever really off duty. The phone, after all, could ring any time.

I suffered in silence. I didn’t want to stress out my parents, so that one phone call to my dad was all they knew. It was a dark time, but it is always darkest before the dawn.  I survived.  I am here with Record Store Tales to prove it.

Part 255: ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas

Here we are on the 24th.  Have you done all your shopping?  Bought all the wine and food?  Then settle in for the last update before Christmas.  I always take a break from posting at this time, so check back in a few days and I’ll have fresh content again for you soon.  Enjoy this Record Store Tale, and best wishes!

RECORD STORE TALES Part 255: ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas

December 24th.  One of our busiest days of the year.  Not the busiest though – that would often fall on the last Saturday before Christmas, on the 23rd, or our annual Boxing Day sale on the 26th.  Nearly two months of buildup and hard work, and it’s all over in what feels like a blink!

The 24th could sometimes be a fun day to work.  Not all customers were your typical cranky shopper, although we certainly saw those too.  Many of our Christmas Eve customers were simply killing time.  Some were spending their Christmas money a little bit early.  Some didn’t care what day it was, particularly those who came in to sell CDs for cash.

Yes, many people did come in to sell even on Christmas Eve.  A few were looking for credit to buy gifts, some were just looking for money to buy a Christmas dime bag.  Either way it was always a busy day, and we were kept moving on our feet.  Many dollars exchanged hands on the 24th.

I recall Christmas music was in such demand that a few years I was left with 4 or 5 Christmas CDs left in stock.  Often these would be the ones that always sat, year after year, unwanted, unsold.  As a person who’s never liked Christmas music, I could never understand the NEED to have it, just to listen to it once a year.  To me, that’s what the radio was for.  But I wasn’t there to try to analyze the wants and desires of the people.  My job was to sell them whatever crap we had left.

The 24th was a messy day.  Usually you could count on snow getting tracked in on the carpets (which were only cleaned a few weeks prior – why??).  Also, most customers could not seem to put discs back where they found them.  This was a combination of poor shelf design, customers who didn’t give a shit, parents that don’t watch their children as they tear the store apart, and people who didn’t know the alphabet.  Discs would be everywhere by the end of it all, scattered hither and yon, with no rhyme or reason as to why they were left there.

I always wore a suit and tie on Christmas Eve.  This was a tradition begun by the boss and owner in the early 1990’s, but I was the only one who carried on this tradition.  The first time we did the suits T-Rev said, “I like it, it makes me feel important!”  People do treat you a little differently when you’re wearing a tie.

After all the rushes of customers died down, we’d start hanging the signs in preparation for the big Boxing Day sale on the 26th.  Buy 3 Get 1 Free!  Or something like that.  Not good with any other special offers though, so people would have something to bitch about.  “Why can’t you stamp my card too?”  Etc. etc.

One year (’96 or ’97) after close at 6 pm, the boss told me to stay late and help him hang these signs.  They were big banners for our Boxing Day sale.  He climbed a ladder to clip these huge hanging signs from the ceiling.  I was there on the floor in my tie trying to hold the sign aloft as he worked.  Then he dropped a clip to the ground and we couldn’t see where it landed.  And apparently we didn’t have any spares.

On hands and knees I searched and searched.  We even got out a flashlight to try to find the damned thing.  No luck!  Meanwhile the clock ticked and ticked.  6:30.  6:45.  7:00.  The parking lot outside was quickly resembling a frozen ghost town, as people raced home to begin their own festivities.

Just as I found the damn clip on the ground, the phone rang.  Normally I wouldn’t answer the phone this late after close on Christmas Eve, but my boss answered, and it was my mom.

“When are you sending my son home to enjoy his Christmas Eve dinner with his family?” she chided.

“Oh I’m sorry Mrs. Ladano!” my boss responded.  “We’re almost done.  You’ll have him soon.”

I think if my mom hadn’t called, we would have been there all night hanging those stupid signs!

At home there was plenty of hot food to enjoy, as I let my body relax after a long day of serious hard work.  Thankfully I did not have to work Boxing Day, probably the longest most tiring day of the whole year.  I therefore had two whole days to relax, watch movies, and spend time with the family.

On that note, I wish all of you a Merry  Christmas.  Whether you celebrate the holiday or not, be safe and warm this season.  And most important I hope you all make it home on time and don’t have to stay late hanging signs!

SANTA

Part 254: You Don’t Need To See My Identification

RECORD STORE TALES Part 254:  You Don’t Need To See My Identification

In Ontario, to sell any used goods to a pawn shop or used CD store like ours, you had to present valid, government issued photo ID. That was the law, even though many of my customers thought I made that up just to be a prick. No; that was indeed the law. I couldn’t buy a used stick of gum from you without a driver’s license, passport, or other form of official photo ID.

One day, I was buying some discs from a man, and we just needed his ID to finalize the deal. Upon asking to see it, this exchange occurred:

Me: I just need a piece of photo ID from you.

Him: I have a membership.

Me: …I’m sorry?

Him: I have a membership here.

Me: I’m not sure what you mean. We don’t have “memberships”.

Him: Whatever it’s called. I’m in your system.

Me: That may be but I still need your ID to prove you are who you say you are.

Him: But I’m a member.

Me: I really don’t know what you mean. I’ve been working here for years and even I’m not a “member”!

Another time, I asked a fellow for identification, and it went down something like this:

IDMe:  I’ll just need a piece of ID and your signature.

Him:  ID?  What for?  They’re not stolen.

Me:  That’s the law in Ontario.  I can’t buy anything used off anybody unless they show me ID.

Him:  Like a license?  Will my driver’s license do?

Me:  Yup, sure will.

Him:  Alright, I’ll drive home and get it, I’ll be back in 10.

So he left, and I’m standing there thinking, “What an idiot. What if a cop pulled him over?” Why wouldn’t you just put your wallet in your pants so you have it with you?

Then there were the paranoid ones.  They were rare but they were out there, occasionally surfacing, to raise funds by selling off CDs or DVDs.

Me:  And I just need a piece of ID.

Him:  Don’t got any.

Me:  None?  Nothing at all?  Driver’s License, Health Card?

Him:  Nope.  I don’t want the government knowing my affairs.

Nor did he want them to know he was selling off his Tammy Wynette albums, I suppose.

Bottom line:  I was surprised how many people in this fine city walk  (and sometimes drive) around without any sort of identification on them.  Just an observation, is all, from the front lines of the record store.

Part 253: Angry Man Go Boom!

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RECORD STORE TALES Part 253:  Angry Man Go Boom!

September 6, 2005.

It was 11 am. Sales were slow so far on this first post-summer morning. I was feeling fantastic after a perfect night’s sleep. I only had one customer in the store. He was a somewhat odd fellow, late 30’s, liked to look stuff up in the computer, write it down, and then not buy it. Different strokes for different folks, I say. All the bosses were in the back office, as is typical. I was listening to Jethro Tull, Elvis Costello, and Max Webster. Nothing later than 1981, of course.

In walks our main character to this story. He’s a tall fellow, very tall, but even now I can’t quite put his face into focus. I can’t even clearly recall if he had a beard or not. I do remember his height, because he towered over me when I stood next to him. In his hands was a copy of Shaggy’s Hot Shot-Remixed album.

To get the proper effect, please read all of his dialogue in a Jamaican accent, a forceful Jamaican accent.  He was holding the Shaggy CD in his hands, and I saw our price tag on it.

“Yo, I bought this one but…it’s not the right one. Can I get somethin’ else?”

“Sure, just take a look around if you want. Do you have the receipt?”

His eyes got wide, he smiled a huge toothy “just ate the cat” smile, and then said, “Ahh man, I think I lost it somewhere.”

The price tag looked quite worn, it could have been purchased some time ago. We had our exchange policy: 7 days (+ an unspoken 7 more days just to avoid hassles). We also needed a receipt for all exchanges except in special cases.  All of this was clearly stated on the store signage as well as the lost receipt.

“Ahh, see, we need to have the receipt for all exchanges. Sorry man…”

“Ahh come on man! You remember me buying this thing don’t you?”

“Actually, no, I don’t, not really, without a receipt…”

“Ahh come on man I just want to switch it!”

Prior to this I was on the sales floor. I walked behind the counter, and said, “Without a receipt, I can’t do that.  The best I could do would be to buy it back from you.” I motioned for him to hand me the CD.

“Huh?” He handed me the CD. I opened the jewel case and examined the condition of the disc.

“I could buy it back from you used.”

Shaggy was quite scratched indeed. I chose not to say anything about it, since he’d claim he bought it like that. They always say that whether they did or didn’t, so my saying anything about it wouldn’t help. However, to buy it back in that condition normally we would give less, to cover the cost of having the CD buffed back to a new finish. I chose not to do that either, since I was being a hard ass on the rules I’d cut him a break on the condition.

“I can give you four dollars for this.”

“What?” Eyes go wide again. “I just want to switch it man, I’m the customer!”

“I know, but as I said, I can’t do that for you. What I can do is give you four dollars for that CD, but that’s the best I can do.”

“You know what, I’m the customer, and [accent gets too thick for me to continue]…”

Then, he took the CD in his hands, jewel case and all, and crushed it.  Pieces went flying everywhere. He stomped to the door, where he stood in the doorway and yelled “I am the customer!”

Out he went.  There was this moment of awkward silence. Then, the man at the lookup computer (who I’d forgotten all about) chimed in.

“So, let me get this straight. You were going to give him $4 for that CD.  Then he crushed it. Now he can’t get anything for it. How did that guy think that was a good idea?”

Took the words out of my mouth.

Part 252: That Smell

RECORD STORE TALES Part 252:  That Smell

Working in a retail environment with the public exposes one to a variety of interesting smells.  90% of customers didn’t have a particular smell to them.  They were pretty inoffensive.  However, about 10% of customers did have distinct odors.  Here are the Top Five things that customers in my store smelled like:

4% – Weed

If I had to break it down, I would say the majority of customers that smelled like marijuana were shopping in the rap section.  The red bleary eyes were also a giveaway, but some of these kids just reeked of pot!  Didn’t matter if it was 10am and they were selling their CDs to buy another dime bag, or if it was 7pm and they were looking for fast food money.  They were omnipresent.

3% – Booze

I’m only hoping that the customers who had booze stench on their breath were not driving.  (At the end, I worked on the “wrong side of town,” many of my customers could not drive anyway.)  Never mind the fact that some people would be coming in piss drunk at noon on a Wednesday.

1% – B.O.

The dreaded body odor stink afflicted men and women alike.  The only thing they had in common: customers with B.O. were always oblivious to it themselves, even though my eyes were watering.  Many times these guys were construction workers on break, but not always!

1% – Really strong perfume or cologne

I had a few customers who were used car salesmen.  Apart from impeccably trimmed moustaches, they often wore too much Drakkar Noir.  There were also plenty of women that smelled so strong you couldn’t breathe.

1% – Bad breath

Halitosis isn’t fun.  Some of the people who knocked me out with their breath looked like their teeth weren’t doing so well either, particularly at the stores located on the wrong side of the tracks!

If you enjoyed this, perhaps you’ll enjoy Record Store Tales Part 57:  Top Five Things A Record Store Smells Like.

THAT SMELL

Part 251: Punched In the Teeth By Love

RECORD STORE TALES Part 251: Punched In the Teeth By Love

Back in December of 1991, an old M.E.A.T Magazine article on Motley Crue revealed a cool little nugget of an exclusive. Motley were promoting their first “greatest hits” CD, Decade of Decadence.  Like any good official compilation album should, it contained three brand new songs.  They were heavier, alluding to an evolution in direction for Motley Crue.  However there was a fourth new song that didn’t make the cut:

PUNCHED

It always disappointed me that since Vince Neil left the Crue in early ’92, that song title never appeared on their next album.  Too bad, I thought.  Something about the title jumped out at me; I was looking forward to hearing the song, but it never came out.  Bummer.  Especially since I did indeed get “punched in the teeth by love” (figuratively) and been knocked out a couple times.  But you could never keep me down for the count, I always bounced back.

Any time I broke up with some girl back then, I’d always tell the guys at the record store the same thing.  “Man, I need to write a song called ‘Punch In the Teeth By Love’!”  I figured, since Motley Crue hadn’t used it, the title was up for grabs!  I threw some words and a rudimentary riff/melody together as a joke but it never went beyond that.  It always generated a few laughs though, and laughing at work is healthy, especially when you’ve been punched in the teeth by love.

Of course later on (1997) Vince Neil did rejoin Motley Crue.  Later still, after Tommy Lee quit the group acrimoniously, they released possibly their worst ever album New Tattoo (2000).  Interestingly, that album’s track #7 was called “Punched In the Teeth By Love”!

I don’t presume this to be the exact song that would have come out in 1991, since Randy Castillo (Tommy Lee’s replacement) is credited as a writer.  Maybe the lyrics are recycled, maybe just the title, whatever:  it doesn’t matter.  Finally “Punched In the Teeth By Love” surfaced and as hoped it was one of the heaviest songs.  The riff was pretty generic, but Mick Mars’ guitar work is impressive.  I’ve always felt Mick has grown as a guitar player tremendously, especially since Dr. Feelgood.  It’s certainly not the greatest song, but it rocks hard enough and has a cool gang vocal chorus, so I’ll give it a B or a B+.

It was considered to be worthy of the concert setlist in 2000 (Samantha Maloney on drums now, filling in for the terminally ill Randy Castillo).  It was played only on that tour though, and it was not included on any Crue compilation since then, including the double Red, White & Crue.  So I’d like to bring your attention back to this track, a pretty good if not great dirty little Motley Crue song:  “Punched In the Teeth By Love”!

Part 0: A Few Words for Days Gone By…

I decided to do something special for Part 250…by not doing Part 250 at all.

This isn’t one of those bullshit prequels, like when George Lucas says, “Oh, Episode I, I had that written for decades,” when it was pretty obvious he was making it up as he went along!  Nope, this isn’t like that.  I started writing the Record Store Tales over 10 years ago, and what you see below is the original first chapter.  It existed solely for the purpose of background and context, but I excised it in favour of starting things faster with the second chapter, “Run To The Hills”.  Since that became Part 1, it makes sense that this earlier introduction should be Part 0.  With hindight, I kind of wished I’d kept it in, so here it is!  And don’t forget to check out my new complete Table of Contents, should you wish to read  more!

KATHRYN GEOFF MIKEYeah…don’t ask. That’s me on the right.

A Few Words for Days Gone By…

What is childhood made of? In my mind, when you’re a kid, life consists of two things:

1. School
2. Summer Holidays

That was the cycle.  To break it down to the core, to an 11 year old life was 10 months of school followed by two months of glorious, warm sunny freedom.  Sure, you’d get to go home at the end of the day, but you were never truly free until the end of June. No more pencils, no more books, all that stuff.  It was way better than Christmas holidays.  The Canadian winters offered such fun treats as shoveling, besides snow pants, parka, boots (laced up too tight), and mittens which prevented you from using your fingers.

Our summers were boisterous. My sister Kathryn and I were like peas in a pod. We would play some kind of game every day, usually under my leadership. I would declare that today, we were going to play Star Wars. Other possible declarations included building fleets of Lego ships and cars, and having a giant war. Or inventing a new ball game.  Once GI Joe came along, we’d dig trenches in the yard, as well as forts and garages of twigs and leaves, and have an entire day (or week) dedicated to Cobra Commander’s new secret weapon. Aside from an occasional rebellion from my sister, our summers were mostly uninterrupted merriment.

STAR WARS

My sister and I both clearly remember one such rebellion, where she wanted to do things her way.  It involved our Star Wars figures.  We were already mid-battle.  I was setting up a perfect counter-offensive. The Millenium Falcon would sneak attack Vader’s base, take out his Tie Fighter early in the melee, while Luke would take out Boba Fett. Leia and Lando had to distract Jabba The Hutt, so that he couldn’t stop Luke when he eventually confronted the Emperor. Game over! The plan was perfect. Now I just needed my sister to coordinate the battle with me, under my command of course.

Much to my disappointment, she had moved around some of the figures and now had them seated.  Luke and Vader were next to each other. “Why are Luke and Vader sitting there? Luke is about to attack and Vader should be getting into his ship.”

My sister continued playing with the figures, and without looking up, replied, “Luke and Vader want to be friends now. They’re having tea.”

It didn’t matter that half the figures were hers, if she didn’t know how to play Star Wars right. So I’d yell a bit, act like a big brother usually does, and eventually she’d go along with the plan, or cry and leave.  The evil Empire would be defeated once and for all, thanks to my brilliant leadership and strategy.  We were definitely pals, growing up.

For years, this was the way of the summer holidays. We’d be doing something awesome at home, or at the cottage, but it would always be something cool. It didn’t matter where we were: games continued wherever we went.  We’d make a game out of anything.   You give us a pile of junk and we’ll make a game out of it.

STYX FRONTAll things do come to an end. The Star Wars trilogy ended in 1983 and something needed to fill the vacuum. While GI Joe and later Transformers would temporarily take its place, I was getting older.  My attention was drifting.  I was looking for something cool, new, and exciting.  Video games didn’t hold my attention and neither did sports.

Starting in 1983, several things happened in a short time frame.  Styx released a single called “Mr. Roboto” that some of my friends at school were obsessed with.   Then I heard a song called “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” by AC/DC, and it was pretty cool too.  Then, a newer band called Quiet Riot came out with an album called Metal Health that would go on to sell three million copies.  This was my first rock cassette purchase when I was in the 6th grade.  Something connected…

AC/DC.  Van Halen.  Ozzy Osbourne.  Black Sabbath.  Def Leppard.  Motley Crue.  Iron Maiden.  Who were these people? I had a lot to find out.

Continued in Record Store Tales Part 1:  Run to the Hills

Part 249: The Shirts

RECORD STORE TALES Part 249:  The Shirts

“Mikey,” said Trevor one afternoon, “I’m talking to you as a friend.  I know you don’t want to stay single forever.  I’m only try to help you out, but…that style you’re rocking just isn’t working man.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.  I thought I was actually dressed pretty cool.

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shorts n’ docs

“Well,” Trevor continued, “You’re wearing Doc Marten boots with shorts and a Deep Purple T-shirt.  It’s like you’re wearing three looks at once.  What you need to do is focus on one look and go with it.”

I was shell-shocked.  My Doc Marten boots were the bomb!  Deep Purple rules!

“But the boots and shorts are kind of grunge, right?  And that’s cool.”  My counterargument was sound.

“Yeah but the Deep Purple shirt isn’t grunge.  You see?  Trust me Mikey.  I’m just trying to look out for you.  I’ll take you shopping, and after that, you re going to get tons of action!”

Tons of action!  Right on.  I’m in, T-Rev, say no more man!

True to his word, that Saturday, T-Rev picked me up and took me to the mall.  And shop we did.  Apparently Hawaiian was in.  I picked up a Hawiian shirt and this cool burgundy velvety shirt.  I also picked up a couple T-shirts to wear underneath, and a beaded necklace which also was apparently in at the time.  That night, Trevor’s lovely then-girlfriend now-wife Michelle threw him a birthday party and I was able to give the burgundy shirt a test-run in a social environment.  While I did not see any “action”, the feedback was positive.  I have to say that I rocked the look really well and received numerous compliments.

Unfortunately, this kicked off a shirt addiction.  Yes, you read that correctly.  I had a flirtation with shirt addiction that lasted a couple years.  Next I bought an expensive black shirt with cool ridges at a place called Caesar’s Closet in Cambridge.  Then another burgundy shirt, even more velvety.  Then a black one with sparkles in it.  (That was my favourite, it later got recycled into my Paul Stanley Halloween costume.)  Two with flames.  One with guitars.  One with dice.  One that was shiny like a foil-wrapped baked potato, and many many more.  My bosses may have thought I’d lost my mind, as I showed up at the record store in more and more outlandish shirts.  I ended up with at least two dozen in my collection.

When I wore the silver baked potato shirt to work one day, one of my bosses was nearly blinded by it.  “Mike!  That’s a shirt for clubbing!”  Well, probably, but working in a record store gave me a certain amount of leeway that other jobs didn’t have.  I guess I wanted to have fun while I was young!

My “shirts phase” lasted a couple years before it finally faded away.  The obsession was excessive though.  One cottage weekend I packed 7 shirts for a 2 day stay.  By the end of it, I had even written a movie outline for a horror comedy film titled “The Shirt”.  The premise:

A cursed Hawaiian shirt finds its way into a clueless vacationer’s luggage.  The shirt kills those who wear it by strangulation; it can also possess the minds of those it has an affinity for.  Putting on the shirt could get you killed, or possessed — or both!  The evil shirt’s only weakness is bleach.

I’m hoping to get James Franco interested in playing the main character, the guy who makes it to the end of the movie.

Surprisingly few photos remain of my expansive shirt collection.  Perhaps that is a good thing.

More SHIRTS at mikeladano.com:
Record Store Tales Part 86: Captain Gold Shirt