Everyone who works at the old Guitar Center is male. Everyone. Of course, since the whole staff is dudes there are certain gross things that are tolerated, things that never would be tolerated with women present.
One such thing is farting. Farting to dudes is high-larious, so much so that it has become an integral part of our funny day. And all the dudes at GC have their own farting style. There's Jimm, who is a leg-lifting squeaker; Joey, a wet flapping arch-backer; Ron, a facemaking boomer and me, the silent and deadly type. My farts are sneak attacks and tend to cover a large amount of area. The nickname I've earned?
Whenever I go to Guitar Center, all the sales guys, stock boys, equipment nerds, managers, etc are male - everyone except the chick at the door. They always have exactly one girl in the whole place, and she's a cute mall-ratty looking 19-year old with 8 piercings on each ear and soft, round breasts. She looks at me as I leave the store as if to say, "Hey stud! You're not planning to shoplift anything are you? Because that would be so totally unrad. Cause, like, law-abiding guys are the hottest, you know what I mean, handsome?"
