The emptiness of music

Hello.

Yesterday I had the pleasure of working at Booth and Noble, in the music department. I must say, Wednesday night is not a particularly busy night at Booth and Noble -- perhaps people are staying at home to catch up on their weekly fix of Lost.

Not everyone, however, decided to stay home last night. I am unsure as to what compels these people to come to the store on a daily basis. Perhaps it is loneliness. Or, perhaps it is an innate desire to torture me. Instead of watching Lost, maybe these people watch 24

I say this because, what greeted me on my way into the music department was something so appalling, so disgusting, so generally vile that I hesitate to even talk about it in a blog.

The walk from the main office to the music department is filled with twists and turns. Around each of these corners a person, or persons, could -- and do -- sit. In one corner, for instance, we Grunts can almost always find some teenage ne'er-do-well flipping through the various pages of the near-pornographic manga magazines (seriously, we have real porno in the magazine section, what are they doing looking at pictures of underage Japanese women?).

Yesterday, I walked through that labyrinth and discovered two people wrapped in the throes of passion. I am not kidding.

Well, when I say "passion," I don't mean "love." These were not "lovers," although there was "lovin'" going on. The two people, a young boy with a trial mustache and a teen girl with an illegal belly ring, were wrapped together like slugs mating . They weren't kissing -- that would imply a sense of love. No, the word I would use to describe their action is more...um..."GROPING." As I watched, the thinly mustached boy cupped both the illegally-ringed girl's breasts and gave them a little squeeze. She, in turn, emitted a short squeak. Startled, I jumped back a little bit and they both looked up at me.

There was a moment exchanged between us. The three pairs of eyes locked onto each other and we couldn't help but decide, right then and there, that we would not ever, ever discuss this. They turned back to the book they were looking at and I continued on to the music department.

One of the most interesting things about Booth and Noble's selection of music is the immense variety of CDs we have. Sure, amazon.com has more CDs, but in terms of physical CDs, Booth and Noble keeps a decent selection. One of the ways we manage to do this is to receive massive quantities of a title the first week or so that it is released, and then immediately return to the vendor all but one of them. In effect, we have a surge and then a recession.

And when we have that many CDs at once, we have to do something with them -- they obviously can't all fit into the main section. Thus, we have "promo" areas: these are probably the areas that you go to first. The walls that highlight a few CDs in a large waste of space: these are the promo areas. We dump scores of CDs there, which rest there for a few weeks until they are ready to be returned.

This changes on a weekly basis.

Yesterday, a gentleman who smelt of talcum powder came into the music department and wanted a CD that had been on one of these promos...four months ago.

He said, "It was by an artist who's first name was George."

I replied, "Do you know his last name?"

"No I don't. But the CD was on one of these walls. And it was white."

"Um...Do you remember what genre of music it was? Rock? Jazz? Rap? New Age?"

"No, I don't remember."

"So, we're looking for George's white CD from four months ago? If I help you look for this, will you help me look for my lunch, which I left back in the sexuality section with a thin mustache?"

Later, the man decided to purchase, instead of the mystery CD, a copy of the sixth season of Murder She Wrote. As he was writing a check, I informed him of Booth and Noble's check policy:

"I will have to see an ID with this check."

Most people, most NORMAL people, then offer their identification, which I then scan and copy down their ID number and expiration date. It's just a method of verification, in so far as if there is an issue with the check actually clearing. When I ask him, however, he cocks his head and asks:

"Can't I just use yours?"

My eyes widen in horror. Is he serious?

"Um, no sir, I believe you have to use your own ID."

"But in the last store I went to, I used the clerk's ID number."

"Well, I don't know what they do at Old Navy, but here we have to use your ID number."

He finally handed over his ID; but it took my heart several minutes to stop pounding in my chest.

After my break, a total of about four people came into the music department. One person, though, set off the alarm system as he walked through it. I thought he must have been carrying a tagged book, but there were no books clutched in his hands. He was sweating, extremely overweight, and obviously in need of a shave - or at least a bath. When I looked at him quizzically about the alarm going off, he gave the loudest, most audible sigh I have heard in my life -- I think Old Navy heard it, in between giving out ID numbers -- and exclaimed in gruff tones, "IT'S MY PACEMAKER, OK? ARE YOU HAPPY?"

I almost replied with my standard, "Oh, it's ok. We're more concerned with people leaving rather than coming in," but then realized it just wouldn't be appropriate. I honestly had no idea what to say. Do you say, "seeing you sets off my heart alarm?" 'Cause that's what I was thinking...

Towards the end of the evening, a diminutive woman walked into the store and came directly to the counter. I wasn't there, however, and didn't notice for a few seconds. When I heard her loud "A-HEM!" I darted over.

"Yes, can I help you find something, ma'am?"

"My granddaughter is going to be the ballet later. I would like to find a DVD of a ballerina. I have the title right here: Follows Her Dreams."

Now, I have never heard of Follows Her Dreams, so I went to the computer to search. What I found was a DVD for a relatively famous children's cartoon character. We did not have any DVDs of Angelina Ballerina, the dancing mouse, in the store, but we do have a ton of books in the children's department.

"Ma'am," I said, "we don't have any of the DVDs in the store, but we do have a ton of the Angelina Ballerina books in the children's department, if you would be interested."

"Oh," she replied, matter-of-factly, "I don't buy my granddaughter books." And with no further explanation, she turned around and left the department.

Yes, you come to a book store to buy a non-book gift for a new ballerina. I can totally see the thought process on that one. It's like going to the grocery store to buy a pet.

Anyway, maybe it's the slow days that bring out the worst in customers. It certainly felt that way during the slow emptiness of the music department.