People,

So, good old Pedro alerted me that I royally screwed up and completely neglected to mention that I indeed left the esteemed employ of the Guitar Center.

Here's how it went don.

Basically I was getting up each morning an dreading going to work. I mean, really dreading it. Like, I would rather have Elliot Smith'ed myself on a few days. Why did I dread it? Well, I knew that as soon as I walked through the doors I would be greeted by a whole army of miserable holiday shoppers and their snotty kids; I would be sneeringly asked why I wouldn't lower prices when I was clearly making a fortune myself; I would be bullied by management to try to force people into buying things they didn't want or need; I would have endless arguments with co-workers about who worked with who and what commission percentage they deserved; I would develop horrible sinus headaches from the ventilation and backaches from the constant standing; My feet would crack and swell like some pregnant SRV wannabe and I would get the crotch rot; I would be expected to smile and be nice to everyone, even the most offensive and horrible assholes (yes, that's you Elaina Rowe (her story is coming soon)). Basically, at the end of the end of the day I would want nothing more than to hop off the wagon and/or run away to Ecuador and curl up in a ball until the death squads found me.

And so I decided to leave. That story is on deck for tomorrow.