RECORD STORE TALES #1167: Small Talk
My dad used to tell me stories about my grandfather, his dad. “He had the gift of gab,” said my dad. “So do you, too. He could have sold ice to Eskimos.”
He was right. I’m good at small talk. I just hate it, that’s all.
The year was 2004. I was stuck working at the Beat Goes On location that I hated most, the Highland Road store. It was on the wrong side of town, had a lot of crackhead customers, and there was no direct way to get there like the other stores I worked at over the years. It was, by far, the worst store I had managed. Small, out of the way in a little known plaza, and with the corporate office in the back. That meant that Boss Man made it his headquarters, as did the office Bully and her lacky. The only days I enjoyed working there were Fridays. The office bully usually chose Friday afternoons to work with her friend at the Cambridge store. Seniority had its privileges. I tried to hide my improved Friday moods from my co-workers so they wouldn’t figure out how much I hated that bully. It failed. They all noticed I was in a much better mood on Fridays.
I remember one time the Boss Man was observing me at work. He noted that my shoulders were hunched up when dealing with him, but when I was just working with my regular staff, I was more relaxed. He used this as a chance to critique my management style with my subordinates. I don’t think he ever understood that I was tense and hunched up around him because he stressed me the fuck out! He did that to a lot of us. Not all, but he sure could be intimidating just by standing there. When I first started, things were different but as the chain became more successful, he changed. The power structure had also changed. I changed too, but for different reasons. I was becoming worn down by the job. Whatever the cause, I could not be relaxed around him anymore.
You could imagine how thrilled I was when he asked for a ride over to the Fairway Road store on my way home one wintry snow-covered day. I cringed when he asked. The last person in the world I wanted to be stuck in a car with during a snowstorm. Well, second last. The only person who made me more tense was the office bully. I never had to give her a ride in a snowstorm though.
“Yeah, no problem!” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “Just to the store?”
“Just to the store,” he answered. “I have some work to do there, and then I’ll get a ride from there.”
“Great!” I said with more of that fake lustre in my voice. I was an expert at it.
I know it was 2004, because it was before Christmas, and I remember the small talk we engaged in: the Lindsay Lohan feud with Hilary Duff. Lohan’s debut album Speak was featured on our front chart. Hilary Duff was out with her second album, which I actually enjoyed. There was a rocker on there that I liked called “The Getaway”. A rocker? You bet. It was co-written by James Michael of Sixx A.M.
My small talk skills were put to the test as we got in the car. I remember the weather was bad, and he said “Just take it slow, we’re in no rush.”
Well, I was. I wanted to get home, but I drove as carefully as I could. I felt like he was watching every move I made as I drove. Every lane change. He didn’t backseat drive like others sometimes did, but he I felt his eyes on my steering wheel.
I struck up the conversation. “So, did you hear about the feud between Lindsay Lohan and Hilary Duff?” I asked him.
“I’ve heard about it, but I don’t understand it,” he answered. “What’s it all about?”
I explained that it started with Aaron Carter, who Duff dated before he moved on with Lohan, and then back to Duff. That’ll do it. They sniped at each other in the press for a while. I tried to to explain to the boss everything I knew about the feud, which was just what I had read on the internet. The boss listened politely, and commented that it all sounded manufactured to sell CDs.
We finally arrived. I helped him unload his crap from my car and wished him a good night. I went home to decompress and try to forget how depressed I actually was.
But I could small talk. I could do it with just about anybody, given the need. My dad was right. It’s a gift!





