retail

#329: Selling My CDs (RSTs Mk II: Getting More Tale)

RECORD STORE TALES Mk II: Getting More Tale

#329: Selling My CDs

We all end up with CDs that we no longer want or need.  I very rarely sell my CDs anymore. I’d rather donate them to a new home, where I know they will be loved and appreciated.  The money part is less important to me.  The last time I decided to sell off some CDs, I decided to try Sunrise at Fairview Mall (now closed). I’d never tried selling there before, but I had bought plenty.  Their pricing was more than fair, but the guy was very slow.  He didn’t seem as knowledgeable as the people I was used to dealing with. For example, I sold him my original, non-remastered CD copy of Twisted Sister’s Stay Hungry. He asked me, “What is wrong with this CD?” It seemed he didn’t know what remastered vs. non-remastered was, only that the bar code he had punched in came up as something “discontinued”.  So I had to explain the remastered vs. original thing to him. He ended up giving me $5 for the CD which was good, and I took store credit (which was a little bit more).

Still, it took him a lot of time. I only had a handful to sell that day (10 CDs if I remember) and it took the guy more than half an hour to look at them.  It wasn’t a bad experience; I ended up with enough store credit to buy a some things.   The money was good, about the same as I would have got at my old workplace.  It was a comparable total, and I was happy with it, but the wait was a little excessive.   I used the store credit to buy my friend Peter the new Metallica live set for his birthday.

I have also sold my discs (CD and DVD) at garage sales, an experience so memorable that I’ve written a future Getting More Tale about that story.  Stay tuned!  I’m saving that one.  Let’s just say that serious garage sale people are an entire species to themselves; the cheapest people you will ever meet in your life.

I don’t need to do any more major purges of my music collection, currently.  Any time I need to weed things out (usually an old version of a CD that I have upgraded) I can always find them a new home.  You might say, “Sure, but money is better.”  Maybe, but my friends return the favor in spades, so I can’t complain.  I’m often the recipient of used CDs and movies that are sent to me in repayment for the discs I gifted earlier.  Nobody ever asks for repayment, we just seem to have created circles of friends who share the wealth.  In fact I’ve acquired some really great collectible stuff just due to the charity of friends.  Thanks!

What do you do with your old CDs?  Sell ’em, trade ’em, gift ’em?  I’m curious so let me know in the comments!

Part 320: End of the Line #3: The Last Day

STOPARRET

Emotional material ahead. If you have been upset by past Record Store Tales, do not read on. 
I’m not fucking kidding.

 

FARE WELL LEBRAIN 0

RECORD STORE TALES Part 320: End of the Line #3 The Last Day

The last two weeks at work after giving my notice were difficult, but now I had light at the end of the tunnel. My boss took me aside and asked me not to buy a hundred CDs with the last of my discount.

One thought that had occurred to me after giving notice was this.  If I had gone to my doctor on December 19 for some Prozac or something, instead of writing my letter of resignation, he immediately would have written me a note for at least two weeks sick leave, right in the middle of the Christmas rush, absolutely screwing them over.  Without question.  That’s how much I had cracked.  I chose not to do that.  Instead I chose to leave on an upstanding note, head held high.  I stated in my letter that I understood that this was the busy season, and I had no desire to cause scheduling problems for them.  I offered to stay until the end of the month of January 2006.  This would allow them plenty of time to find a new manager.

One thing that disappointed me was way that the store handled my departure.  They waited until my last day to announce that I was leaving.  This hurt my feelings. In my experience, when somebody like me leaves, an email will go out a week or two ahead of time. “So-and-so has decided to move on to new opportunities. His-or-her last day will be Friday the 13th,” or whatever. I didn’t get that. I speculate there was a certain amount of shell-shock. When your longest serving employee moves on to greener pastures, it’s hard to spin that positive, I guess? I really don’t know the reason behind it, all I know is that it stung.

Christmas had come and gone. I have almost no memories of that Christmas at all. All I really remember was that I went to Brampton on Christmas Day to meet Jen’s extended family. I met her Uncle Peter, Nana and Granddad for the first time. And I couldn’t stay long, since I had to open the store for our big annual Boxing Day sale the next day.  I have no memories of Boxing Day, New Year’s, or any of the other days from that period. I really only remember my last day.

Thankfully my journal has some details of my last two weeks, but they are few and far between:

Date: 2005/12/27 10:09 am

I have been at this store every second that it has been open since 1:30 pm on December 23.  That is an utterly depressing thought. How many more days of this?  I do not yet know.

Date: 2005/12/28 8:13 pm (I had been told what my final scheduled work day would be)

January 4, 2006, I will be a free man again.  The emotions I am feeling run the entire spectrum.  But on January 5, there’s a good chance I may just sleep the entire day, just because I can.  For the first time in 12 years I will have no reason to think about that store.  That is a very liberating thought.

Date: 2006/01/04 08:00 am

My last day.

I was hoping to just go home quietly today, but I hear there’s something planned.  I know my boss is buying me lunch, I don’t know what else is going on.  I hate being the center of attention at work.  At a party, sure, I’ll gladly take center stage and ham it up.  At work I’d rather just fade into the background.

Meh, I shouldn’t be complaining.  It IS my last day.  Hard to believe.  Well, I’d better be getting ready.

Date: 2006/01/04 10:49 am

The goodbye phonecalls and emails have started pouring in, they made the official announcement of my last day this morning.  It’s overwhelming.  So many people I may never see again!  The emotions I am feeling, they are overwhelming.  No matter how bad it got here, I had so many friends.  I lost sight of that fact.  I sure will miss so many people.

They bought me one of those giant “farewell” cards and had loads of people sign it.  I still have that.  It was a kind gesture.

I still miss a lot of people, but life does go on.  I had never done anything like this before; leaving a place I had worked for so long.  It was like losing a part of myself.  But, that part had become dark and cancerous.  So, my health gradually returned.  I slowly became myself again, a long journey in itself.

To be continued…

RST

Jen and two great co-workers arranged a surprise party for me a couple weeks after.   I have some pics from it.  I also have no idea who that guy is in the picture with me.

Part 320: End of the Line #2: The Last Straw

STOPARRET

Emotional material ahead. If you have been upset by past Record Store Tales, do not read on. 

 

RECORD STORE TALES Part 320: End of the Line #2 The Last Straw

Date: 2005/12/20 08:32 am

Well, I guess it’s time for some major news.  I quit my job yesterday.  I feel that I have been pushed one step beyond what I am willing to accept.  I wrote my letter of resignation yesterday.  My last day has yet to be decided but come January I will be free as a bird to de-stress and spend every day finding that new job that I know is coming.

RST

I have never disclosed my exact reason for leaving the store.  I spent almost 12 years there, but the last several of them were not pleasant.  There were personality clashes and other issues that I will not get into to protect the guilty.  Suffice to say that if I wanted to, I could have written another 320 Record Store Tales about all the shenanigans behind the scenes.

One of the biggest signs of a problem was the fact that I was losing my love of music.  That is not something I thought would happen, but it set in slowly like a cancer.

I had been looking for other work for a little while but only half-heartedly.  I had discovered that, even though I had 12 years’ experience with 10 of them as a manager, retail experience was not valued in many of the jobs I was looking at.

Events became unbearable on December  18, 2005.  It was exactly a week before Christmas and our stores were busy.  I managed to get myself a couple days off for that entire month, the 18th being the last of them (besides the 25th itself).  I spent the morning with Jen and my parents, having breakfast at a local place that they enjoy.  We had a great breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast and beans.  It was a chance for my parents to get to know Jen a little better, who they only met two months previous.

As soon as I got home from breakfast, I found two messages on my answering machine from the store.  Somehow, I had a gut feeling that would be the case.  They had only been open for two hours.  Apparently there was some sort of power surge and our computer was on the fritz.  They couldn’t ring in sales, so all transactions were being done on paper.  In addition, somehow, the computer’s monitor was now displaying sideways!  They had turned the screen on its side just to read it.  The messages on the phone asked if I could run down to Office Depot and buy some receipt books for them to record manual sales on, and check in on the store.  They had already called in some extra help for the shift.  When I got the messages, I called and said I was on my way.

The store was busy when I got there but not overwhelmingly so.  I stayed an hour to help, and then went home.  All was well and there was nothing else I could do that day.  The computers were even working again.  Jen was with me the whole day and will stand by all of this.

The following morning, Monday the 19th, did not go at all like I had expected.

I went into work an hour before we opened, as I always did.  The monitor had righted itself, and all was more or less back to normal.  All was well with the world again.

Except for one person.

This one person was not happy.  At all.  Apparently, when the store’s staff couldn’t get hold of me (remember I was at a breakfast with my parents) they called someone higher up.  And that person proceeded to tear me a new asshole for it.  This person was not interested, at all, in the fact that I did come into the store on my day off and help.  I did everything requested of me.  This was not good enough.

“You have to leave your cell phone on, all the time, from now on,” the person demanded.

My personal cell phone.  I had owned my cell for about 6 years.  I selected it and paid for everything myself, for my own personal use.  Work never had anything to do with my personal cell phone.  It was mine, and I rarely used it.

So, I did what I had always rehearsed in my mind, should a demand I deemed unreasonable ever come up.  I nodded, paused, and the words came out of me automatically:

“Then I’m going to have to give you my notice.”

There was a very brief silence.

“Then you’ll have to write a letter of resignation.” Into the office.  Door closed.

That was it.  I had done it.  Finally, I had done it.

In my letter of resignation, I stated simply that I no longer wanted to deal with the stress of a job that had almost become 7 days a week, 365 days a year.  I signed the letter, perhaps the most important letter I ever wrote in my life.

It was the scariest thing I had done yet.

To be continued…

Part 320: End of the Line #1: The First Interview

RST

RECORD STORE TALES Part 320:
End of the Line #1: The First Interview

Every journey starts with a first step.

By 2005 it was obvious that my career at the Record Store did not have a future. Franchises were struggling, and I found myself on the outside of the clique of people who ran the show. I had sunk into a deep depression, which was exacerbated daily by the store. I was working as hard as I ever had, returning home exhausted each night, but the writing was on the wall.  It had been for years. I put together a resume and began applying for jobs.

Assembling that first resume was interesting. I hadn’t had to look for a job in over a decade.  Retail experience was one thing, but I was beaten down so much that I struggled to play up my skills. I couldn’t see my strengths. As I worked on it and sought advice from people I trusted within the organization, I realized my experience was anything but limited to a cash register. I had been responsible for training dozens of employees, and even some franchise owners too.  I had been responsible for bank deposits, and sometimes I was carrying thousands of dollars in cash on my person. I had also spent a couple years running our website. I had travelled all over southern Ontario helping to deal with staffing issues. There was so much responsibility, and I had received so little credit for it, that I was selling myself short. Once I got some help and got that resume into shape, I started applying for jobs.  One franchise owner wrote me a glowing letter of recommendation that I still treasure.  It gave my spirit a huge boost.

Not having done a job interview in a decade, I was applying to anything, just to get my interview chops back. I had applied to sales and management-type jobs, but was shot down each time for “only having retail experience”. Even though I had managed a staff many times, it didn’t seem to matter. I worried that spending 10 years in one job wasn’t necessarily a good thing, like I thought it was.

I got a call back from a local chicken restaurant. They were hiring for an assistant manager position, so I gave it a shot. The interview with the manager was set for a Sunday; an odd day for sure but at least I had it off. I put on a pair of dress pants for the first time in a long time; I remember they were uncomfortably tight. I squeezed in and headed off to the interview.  As far as a first interview in years goes, I did pretty well. As this blog attests to, if there’s one thing I like talking about, it’s music. If there’s two, it’s music and myself.  I’m good at conversing, in other words.  (I get this from my Grandfather who had “the gift of gab”.) However I had no food service experience and I really wasn’t all that interested. I was more curious what was out there.

Of course I did not get the job, but that interview experience taught me two things. One, doing an interview is like riding a bike. Once you learn how, you never forget; you might be rusty but it’s easy to climb back on. The second thing I learned was to always make sure I have a pair of dress pants that fit!

PANTS

My second interview went much better.  I had applied for a position at Manulife and I nailed it.  Even though I had given what I still think was the best interview of my life, I did not get the job, and my mood sank further.  These journal entries have all the details:

Date: 2005/12/15 11:37 am

Man, that interview went so well. I was told that I was the best candidate they interviewed, but that there was also an internal candidate who was a favourite.

45 minutes after the interview concluded, I got an email saying the other candidate got the job.

Date: 2005/12/15 19:22 pm

Yeah, I guess I can admit I’m just really bummed right now. I definitely gave the best interview of my life today. And she said so many great things about me:

“You have such great personality, I would hate to see that stifled in you.”

“You are by far the best candidate I have talked to.”

We bonded over Pink Floyd, Helix, the St. Jacobs Market, Walkerton…it was a damn fun interview.

Ahh well. One thing for sure, I had a taste while I toured their building of what a REAL job is. They even had a Tim Horton’s on site! There’s a professionalism that my current job couldn’t even dream of having. It was fantastic. I have a very clear vision of what I want now, and I WILL get it.

Regardless of my bravado, this rejection hit me extremely hard.

To be continued.

Part 317: Rival

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RECORD STORE TALES Part 317:  Rival

There were very few people that I had standing orders to kick out if they ever came into the store. Sure, there were some. The Barefoot DJ was to be kicked out if he ever came in without shoes on his feet. The Creepy Twins, a couple of racist identical twin brothers, were to be kicked out if seen. The one that I remember most clearly was the owner of a rival CD chain. He was notable for his coiffed blonde mane. He looked like he was a member of Def Leppard, and still does to this day.  The fear was he would steal ideas for his own store.

That CD chain owner, who I shall dub Mutt Lange, had a longstanding rivalry with my boss, the owner of our stores. Mutt seemed like a total douche.  Just a pompous ass.  When we first started out, we based our pricing scheme on Mutt’s own catalog. He published an annual catalog, which we bought several copies of each year. When we first started creating our own price database, we used Mutt’s as the starting point. That really would have chapped Mutt’s ass if he had known.  I was even sent into Mutt’s locations to buy the newest catalog.  They needed to send someone that wasn’t recognizable.

I recall not really being into Mutt’s stores. I don’t remember ever buying anything there besides the catalogs. T-Rev found some old Saga CDs there, but it wasn’t really my kind of place. A lot of cheap mainstream “Super Saver” CDs, but not a lot of the stuff I was looking for. The catalog was useful, because it not only indicated retail prices, but would tell us if an album was still in print (or not).

My boss also checked out Mutt’s website regularly. I learned a valuable lesson there.

“Look at this,” my boss said while loading up Mutt’s site. “This hasn’t changed in three years. His site is exactly the same. He hasn’t added anything, he hasn’t changed format, or changed the look at all. It looks like a place that isn’t even in business anymore.”  That was a good point, so when we started up our own site, he made sure we gave it a good solid revamp semi-regularly. They’d change the graphics, the layout, and the way the search engines worked. That was probably the best lesson that I learned about e-commerce. Keep changing things up. People have short attention spans, but if it looks like your store is defunct, they’ll probably assume it is.

Back to Mutt himself – I recall seeing that blonde mane walk through my doors one summer day. It was actually T-Rev’s doors; I was filling in for him while he was helping to build a new store. And yeah, I had to kick him out!  Not a fun experience I wanted to repeat!

Part 294: Doubling Up

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RECORD STORE TALES Part 294:  Doubling Up

Readers new and old,

In addition to sharing stories that I hope make you laugh, I also like to share my knowledge from over a decade of Record Store experience.  As a manager, I knew customer service was king.  It was easy for some stores to beat us on pricing.  It was also a given that one or two stores had better stock.  Because of location and client base, some stores simply got in cooler used music.  These are things you have limited control over.  What you can control is your own customer service.

Rule #1: Ask everybody* (in a non-intrusive, non-annoying way) if they need help finding anything.

The reason for this is really simple.  People are shy.  They’re less likely to ask you for help than they are to leave if they can’t find what they are looking for.  If you don’t scare the customer off by being overbearing, you have at bare minimum indicated that you are available for questions if they have any at any time.  This invitation can make the difference between a sale and a not-sale.

I have had experiences when I approached people, and it immediately made a difference.  I walked up to a guy and asked if he needed help, and he simply responded, “No, thank you.”  Then, 30 seconds later, he had a question for me about a CD.  A lot of people say “no” immediately as a knee-jerk reaction.  Their shields are up and they don’t want to be “sold” anything.  But now that they think about it, they can ask you that question about the CD in their hands.

Rule #2: Don’t double up!!

I was out shopping today.  I went to two stores: Reebok, and ECS Coffee.  I went to both stores having a good idea of what I was looking for.  Customer service was pleasant at ECS, not pushy, but a little much for my taste.  What I always tried to avoid doing was “doubling up” on a customer.  That means, if Suzy asks the customer if they need help, then James should not ask the same customer 5 minutes later.  I ran into this at ECS, but they were very pleasant and it was easy to forgive.

Reebok were more aggressive, and I was actually tripled up there, not including the greeter who informed us of their 40% off sale.  Sales people were everywhere.  At the record store, I really tried to avoid this.  Usually we’d have two staff members on duty, so you could easily double up on customers.  What I tried to do was co-ordinate it a little better.  I’d communicate who I had spoken to.  “The guy in the blue there? I’ve already asked him for help, but his buddy in the red I have not.”  If I saw a staff member making their way to a customer I’d already asked, I’d try to get their attention before they asked again.  I think it worked out pretty well.  We reduced the doubling up factor pretty successfully.

Try these tips out in your own stores.  Let me know how it works out for you!

 

* We were allowed to make exceptions in cases such as The Lady in Red.  

Part 291: The Old Geezer Who Called the Cops For a Refund

 

REFUNDS

 

“Don’t make me tap the sign again.”

 

RECORD STORE TALES Part 291:
The Old Geezer Who Called the Cops For a Refund

Let’s say you went into a store, and bought a movie.  Then a few days later, you decided you didn’t like the movie and wanted to return it.  What kind of questions would cross your mind?

Here are some thoughts I would have.

  1. Do I still have the receipt?
  2. Does it state the store’s return policy?
  3. Does my purchase qualify for a return?

Those are all great, relevant questions.  Unfortunately for one old geezer, he didn’t proceed past question 1.

I was working one night, and I wasn’t even working in my own store.  I was running our website at that point, and I was holed up in the back room of another store working away.  Filling orders, responding to emails, all that stuff.  I had worked a long long day, a “split shift”.  My morning was spent in my own store working the opening shift.  Then I was off from 2-5, and finished the day working on the website.  So I was back there, doing my own thing, not having to spend time interacting with customers except by email.

Then, one of the in-store staff came into the back room, looking for help.

“Mike, we’re having a problem with a customer.  He wants to return a movie, and he wants a refund.  Can you come out here?”

I was the most senior person on premises, so I stepped out to help.  Our return policy was stated clearly on store signage, and on the receipt:  “EXCHANGE ONLY WITHIN 7 DAYS.”  We informally stretched that to 14 days to avoid hassles, but refunds were not usually permitted.

I saw the old guy, and asked if I could help.

“Yeah, all I want is my money back.  I don’t want this movie.”

I used my “understanding” voice.  “I’m sorry to hear that.  Would you like to do an exchange?  You can pick out anything in the store and we can put this towards it as credit?”

“I don’t want to pick anything else.  You don’t have anything I want.  I want my money back.”

“I’m really sorry,” I said, “We don’t offer refunds on used movies.  The policy is on the sign there, and on the receipt.  But you don’t have to exchange it for a movie, you can use it towards anything in store.  Or I could order something in from another store.  Or I can issue you a credit note, and you can take that with you and use it any time you like?”

“I don’t want a credit.  I want my damn money back!”

I wasn’t going to budge just because he was insistent; I had been given shit for budging on the refund policy before by my boss. I preferred getting yelled at by customers than by him.

“I’m sorry but I can’t do that.  I can however offer you any of the other options I mentioned.”

“Where’s the boss?  I want to talk to him,” the old man spat out.

“He’s not here,” I answered.  “He made those policies so we wouldn’t have to constantly call him asking about refunds.”

“Well then I’m calling the police.  I want my money back and I’m getting it back!”

I stood there for a moment, shocked that anybody would think this was a police matter.  “You can do that if you like,” I answered simply.

“Can I use your phone?”

Seriously?  OK then.  I handed him the phone.  He fumbled with it for a few moments.

“Can you call the police for me?” he said after a moment.

This time I laughed.  “No, it’s not me who even wants to call the police!  You can call them, I don’t want anything to do with that.”

Left without options, the old man dialed and called the police himself.  Shockingly he said to them, “Can you send a couple officers here?  I don’t want this to get violent.”

Violent?!  Oh my God!  A couple officers?  What a great use of our police resources!

The fuzz showed up about half an hour later.  One officer.  It was a pretty quick, cut-and-dried visit.  He asked the old guy what the issue was; the old guy complained again that he wanted his money back and we wouldn’t give it to him.  Then he asked me for my side of the story.  I explained that we do not offer refunds, that the policy was clearly stated everywhere, and the old man had many options for returning the movie that did not involve a refund.

The officer spelled this out to the old man. In a few minutes, he had already picked a replacement movie and agreed to the exchange.   I stood there thinking, “He needed a police officer for this to happen?”  We exchanged the movie, and I thanked him for his business.  He then walked over to the cop and put his arm on his shoulder.  “I’d like to talk to you outside, about this matter,” he said to the cop, and they went outside together.

I don’t know what additional issues he needed to discuss with the law, but I never saw the old man again.

Bottom line:

If you can’t get what you want at a store, please please please don’t get the police involved.  It’s such a waste of resources.

 

 

Part 48: Thick Skin

RECORD STORE TALES Part 48:  Thick Skin

When I was at the store, I grew a very thick skin.  Unfortunately record store customers can be dicks, a considerable percentage in fact, especially when you throw in the “buy and sell” factor.  Then you get people looking for money for every reason you can imagine.  I’ve had people throw things at me.  I’ve had people call me an asshole.  I’ve had people call me gay (not that there is anything wrong with that!), question my eyesight, and question my hearing.

One guy was pissed off that his CD was too scratched for me to buy.  So instead of keeping a CD that he claimed played perfectly fine, he chose to shatter it in his hands, sending little plastic shrapnel shards at my face.

Once I had a pencil thrown at my head.  I can’t even remember the context anymore, but I do remember that Kam was having issues with a customer.  I assume it was over the selling of used CDs to the store, it always was.  Kam seemed to be struggling a bit, so I stepped over to help.  Again I don’t remember the details of what happened, but he zeroed in on me, and didn’t cool down.  I was probably backing Kam up in whatever he was saying.  This guy was pissed.  He didn’t give a shit about Kam, he asked for my name.  I remember thinking, “My name?  What the hell did I do to him?”   He then threw the pencil at my head, and walked out.

I said to Kam, “I don’t make enough money to put up with people throwing shit at my head.”

But, like I said, you grow a thick skin.  You go home and on to the next day.  The only thing left is a good Record Store Tale.

Summer 2000

Part 35: Credit Due

RECORD STORE TALES Part 35: Credit Due 

In the late fall of 1995, my enthusiasm for the store had never been greater.  I had already created and posted our very first online ads, on my own time.  The first one was in November of 1994.  I posted it on every C-Net BBS (Bulletin Board System) in the area code.  I drew a full colour (but very blocky!) version of our logo, using the most state of the art BBS software of the time.  It took hours.  In the ad, I hyped that we would be carrying the new Vitalogy album by Pearl Jam the following week, on vinyl!  Limited quantities!

I did this on my own time, because I loved the store.

But back to 1995.  I thought that we had already done an excellent job of giving the store some rocking personality and quality stock.  I had never been more psyched.  I used to go to Future Shop, again on my own time, just to check their prices and stock versus ours.

I decided I wanted to get writing.  I’ve always loved writing and I thought the store could be the vehicle.  I came up with the idea of doing the monthly newsletter.  I even put together a primitive prototype.  It was printed on tractor feed printer paper by a dot matrix printer, stapled in the top left.  It was all I had, but the point was to do a proof-of-concept.  I was demonstrating that we could come up with our own content, from reviews to charts, and do it our way with humour. Not like all the lame corporate type newsletters that other stores had.

The idea was met with dead glances as I passed around my prototypes.  It was shot down for being “too expensive”.

In 1997, the newsletter idea was revived.  It was like mine, but folded instead of stapled, and in two colours at first (red and black).  The kid that printed it couldn’t spell worth shit, but he made it look acceptable for the period.  I received no credit or recognition for what was my idea, nor did I have any creative control at all. I felt like my idea had been taken away from me. But, I went along with it, I happily contributed.  It was better than nothing.

Finally, I was the guy who ran our website, solo, for the first year or two of its operation.  I conceived all the initial procures, I filled the orders, kept the books, filed the emails, and I corresponded with the customers.  I did it all, myself.  I even wrote the FAQ page, and in fact some of my original words are still there online today.  I answered every customer email and question, myself, positive or negative.  For a little while I had my own office with a computer and phone to work out of, although it was about the size of a toilet. It was still a very rewarding experience.

The website was taken away from me because I was told that my time was “more valuable to us in the store.” Fuck! I didn’t spend all those years working at this place to just end up in a store, I wanted to be in an office, doing stuff! That was what I had been promised! I was turning 30, and I didn’t want to be working in a store anymore in my 30’s, but again, I went along with it, because it was better than nothing.

Some of the other people from the organization say that I didn’t stand up for myself enough, that I should have called bullshit on a lot of stuff.  They were obviously right, but I was always sort of a peacemaker.  Never wanted to raise a stink.  So I didn’t.  I kept the peace and kept my tongue.

But what the hell? I’m proud of what I accomplished there, out of sheer passion to be involved and creative, and it’s time I said so.

 

The fallout was immediate.  Continued in Part 35.5:  Spoogecakes.

Part 7: A Shitty Story

DISCLAIMER:  THIS CHAPTER BEST READ ON AN EMPTY STOMACH.

 

RECORD STORE TALES Part 7: A Shitty Story

August 1995.  Beautiful warm summer day.  The sun was up early and so was I.  It was Sunday, the best day to work the store.  Sunday was just a four hour shift and in the summer, very slow.  It was your basic fun day to be at work, cleaning away and listening to tunes in air conditioning.

I usually walked to work.  I put on some shorts and a big baggy T-shirt and headed out on foot.  The best way cut across this school and park with two baseball diamonds.  While walking I couldn’t help but think of how great life was.  The sun was out, it was summer, I only had to work four hours.  My family was at the cottage that weekend so I had the place to myself when I got home too.

Right in between the first baseball field and the second, I felt my stomach gurgle a little bit.  I’d had the farts a bit that morning but that was nothing unusual.  I continued along my walk.  It sure was a quiet day in town that morning.  I loved the way the sun was shining through the leaves.

As the gurgles continued, I entered the mall.  I strode down the empty hallway to the big glass window of our store and opened the door.

Just when I had closed the door, locked it behind me and was in an enclosed space, I let off another stinker.  It was rotten, like a rotten egg had just been dropped behind me.  It was powerful and sour.  They kept coming too, in little squirts here and there.  I started to feel crampy.

I picked out my music for the day (Joe Satriani), opened the door letting out the smell, and waited for customers.  I was really starting to feel rotten.

I worked the first two hours just farting up a storm.  Unsurprisingly, I didn’t have many customers that day.  They could probably smell me down the hall.  I don’t know what I ate, but I know what my sausage farts smell like, and this was worse.  I wasn’t feeling too mobile anymore, so I pulled up the chair.  Suddenly I really had to shit.  I was still farting too.

2 o’clock rolled around.  I made it halfway through the day.  The rest should be no problem.  Halfway there.  Point of no return!  Hah.  Whatever.  Piece of cake.  Only a few people came in.  The cleaning could wait.  I’d just tell the truth.  I really wasn’t feeling well.  Besides I could really just catch up the next day anyway.

I farted again.  It felt good.  I felt a tremendous amount of relief.

Then, the horror struck.  The feeling that something wasn’t right.  The smell.  I looked down, to see a tiny trickle of liquid shit rolling down my leg….

There was someone in the store!  Holy shit, I couldn’t leave!  Oh fuck.  Oh fuckity-fuck-fuck!

Although I was in complete denial of it at the time, there was no way that guy didn’t smell me.  There was just no fucking way.  It was unavoidable.  It was a wall of stench just hanging there, stale, in the air.  It was incredible.  Still, the man had etiquette.  As he paid for his cassette, he politely asked me, “Are you feeling OK?  You’re turning green.”  I told him I had thrown up earlier.  He wished me well and left.

Completely and totally freaking out, I waddled over to the door and locked the store.  We didn’t have a washroom.  I had no choice, I had to make it to the mall washroom and fast.  I prayed to God that it would be empty.  I improvised a “back in 5 minutes” sign.  I tried to waddle anonymously down the hall.  I hung a right.  Down another hall.  Why the hell were the washrooms so far away?

I entered.  It was empty.  I entered a stall.  Bracing myself for whatever lay ahead, I took a deep breath and prepared to look down below.

It was bad.  A deep puddle of rich brown liquid shit lay in my undies.  Luckily, it had acted as a bowl, to catch most of it.  A few streams went down my legs, but none reached my socks.  Small victory.  I’d take that.

I had no choice, there was only one thing to do.  I removed my shorts, and then carefull removed the underwear while maintaining the bowl shape.  The flushed them down the toilet.  I prayed that it would not plug.  It did not.

Grasping a generous amount of toilet paper, I cleaned myself up the best I could.  The washroom still empty, I wet some paper towels as well.  My shorts had been stained through.  I cleaned them as best I could but they were definitely tainted.  Luckily, my baggy shirt, when untucked, more than covered the stain.

I sat there on the store chair the next two hours, not moving my ass once.  I phoned up Tom who was in Waterloo.  “I just threw up man,” I lied.  “What should I do?  Should I go home?  I have two more hours to go.”

Tom urged me to go home, but some perverse sense of duty prevented it.  I’d hang in there.  That day, our store earned a record low amount. $99 in sales, for the day.  That record stood the whole time I worked there.  Even on the worst snow days we’ve ever had, my record stood.

I closed up shop.  Spraying our vinyl chair with a healthy dose of Lysol, I wiped it down.  It stank.  I cleaned it again until the smell was gone.  The last of the evidence was wiped clean.  I waddled home, the shit now drying in the crack of my ass.

As I walked, the friction turned to heat, the heat turned to burning, and the burning turned to agony.  I walked through the park, now occupied by many people watching a baseball game.  I strode between the crowd and the diamond, the only pathway.  I walked like I had a pickle up my ass.

I got home, tossed out the shorts, ran a shower and cleaned myself thoroughly with generous amounts of soap.  After my shower, I just ran a cold bath and soaked.  Ahhh.

When you have a day like that, you can handle anything, I guarantee it.  I am not ashamed of my incontinence.  Rather, there is a lesson here.  Shitting your pants is definitely a good reason to close the store early!