Yesterday I rode the bike in a snowstorm for the first time and I will report that, just as you may have expected, it sucked ass. Hard.
Well, let me clarify that. It sucked ass hard in the sense that it was really dangerous and I could have fallen and died at any time. However, it was pretty cool in the sense that everyone I talked to about it thought I was either very brave or very crazy. And being a dude at heart, having people incorrectly assume that I'm brave and crazy makes me very happy.
Quite honestly, a part of me wanted to be able to walk back into work with my arm in a sling and having no skin, smoking a cigarette and talking about how I had to "lay it down".
Today in Rochester we are scheduled for exactly 11 minutes of light before the sun goes down at 1:15 in the afternoon. It's no way to live.
Yesterday I didn't have to work, though, which is a great way to live. Honestly, the Guitar Center is bringing me down as of late, what with the ridiculously long hours, absence of pay, stupid personal politics and bitchy customers. I think I need to figure out a way to not let it affect me, but this week I've wanted to make more than a few people eat their teeth. Oh well, maybe I'll get a big dose of Christmas cheer soon. Ho, ho, not frigging likely.
On a lighter note, your old friend may be making another pilgrimage to the land of wealth and sunshine this year to play the classic rock. Yup, the disgustingly wealthy of West Palm Beach apparently need more Joe Welsh and I am happy to oblige, although taking the time off just might get me fired. I will keep you posted.
Joe Welsh's 117th adventure in a sketchy Rochester neighborhood
scene: Joe Welsh, having a giant pity party for himself over the fact that he sucks at his job and that he has no money, emerges onto the street from a 7-11. He holds a giant Slurpee and is wearing sweats. A scary and economically disadvantaged dude approaches. Joe Welsh lowers his head to give the impression that he doesn't want to be asked for money. The gesture fails.
Dude: Hey, man! Joe Welsh: Hey. Dude: Look, I need you to do me a favor. Joe Welsh (after assessing what response might get him stabbed): I'm not in the favor business anymore. Dude: Oh! So that's how it is?! Joe Welsh: That's how it is, boss. Dude (with begrudging respect): Cool. Joe Welsh: Take care. Dude: You too.
One more week in the books here in Rochester. Here were the highlights:
-I am still riding my bike back and forth to work. A couple days last week were sooooooooooooooooooo cold. How cold? Well, for the fellas, it was so cold that when I got to work and did my usual pre-shift nut scratch my scrotum had shrunken so much I pinched a roll and ended up writhing on the ground for five minutes in agony.
-We got a new store manager from South or North Carolina, I'm not sure which. It was the one who didn't have slaves...whoops! I kid.
-I nick-named the new manager NASCAR. He doesn't like that. But he's 26 and successful and I don't like that, so I think we're even, except that he can fire me. Of course, I'd almost welcome being fired. A classic stalemate.
-People from work have discovered the journal and now know, just like the rest of the world, how lame and nerdy I am. Ah well.
-I had a 67 ounce Slurpee. You know that song by the Cure, "Just like Heaven?" I'm voting for it to be renamed "Just like Slurpee". It was that good.
Sometimes I think I am just not cut out for the life of a commissioned retail salesperson. As many of you know, I am one moody bastard and this makes it hard to feel truly invested in selling bratty kids and smarmy parents the guitar they want for Christmas.
These days I've been using the TB test to determine when I should take a break and leave the floor.
What is the TB test, you ask? Well, it used to be called the cancer test, but then that got complicated by the number of people I knew who have cancer so it got switched to TB. Essentially it works like this - when my day is going badly and I have a really annoying customer to deal with I ask myself "Self, do I wish that this person would contract Tuberculosis?" Usually the answer is no and I realize I'm just a little stressed. But when the answer is yes, or, when the answer is "no, but I wish they would die in a fiery car crash" then I know that maybe it's time to take a Mountain Dew break.
So far so good, although a number of Rochesterians will soon be coughing if my subconscious has its way. Jerks.
Last night I set a personal record for pure laziness.
Those of you who know me know that I love being in bed. i love being in a nice warm bed more than just about anything in the world besides tying one on. Unfortunately the tying one on days are behind me, so that leaves bed.
Anyway, last night I climbed into bed, curled up behind the Ladywife and started to drift away. About five minutes in I realized that I had to pee. Usually in this situation I would get up, pee, and then enjoy my eight hard won hours of rest. Not last night.
I decided to fight the pee and somehow managed to fall asleep. At about 2:30 I woke up and really needed to pee, but it was really cold in my apartment and sooooo warm in bed that I decided to again forego the urinating. Unbelievably, after twenty minutes of feeling vaguely ill, I fell asleep again.
Of course, this led me to have about 700 dreams about peeing, but beggars can't be choosers. At 5:30 I woke up and was literally in a state of piss-induced agony. My insides felt like they were in a full revolt and that I could explode at any second. However, despite all bodily urges I still just stayed in bed. This time I couldn't fall asleep again, but I just lay in the warmth and rode it out. And after all that suffering I still think I made the right decision.
The Guitar Center has been good for me in a lot of ways. I have become more friendly, less shy and perhaps even a little bit nicer (perhaps).
Despite all these positives, there are still days when I get flustered. Take, for example, this past Saturday, when it was apparently the second semi-annual "Bring your annoying asshole side to Guitar Center" day. I wish someone had told me.
Here's a small slice of the assholes I had to deal with.
Me: Good morning. How are you today? Customer (sneering): No! Me: Ok then.
I hope that guy gets tuberculosis.
Me: How are you today man? Customer: Are you talking to me? Me: Um, yeah, how's it going? Customer: Normally you would say "good morning sir!"
That guy apparently doesn't know me at all, because usually when I'm presented with that kind of stupid self-righteous attitude I'd probably reply "Hmm, actually sir, normally I'd say 'would you like a boot in your ass, you old shit?"
Oh well. Later in the day it was brought to my attention that a lot of it was my fault. Apparently I had been wearing the wrong nametag all day.