I used to work at this grocery store in Ann Arbor. The union guys at the store would always poke fun at me and call me "part-time". I was a little bewildered by this as they would often shoot little arrows my way like, "Hey, Part-time, I think we're out of fancy pickles." or "Part-time, clean up on YOUR aisle!". Shit like that. I couldn't grasp the concept of being a union grocer- or "full-time", if you'll. These guys were gonna work there, hopefully (ideally), for the rest of their lives. I couldn't think of a more miserable existence. Meanwhile, lil' "part-time" was way more part-time than these dicks thought 'cause while they were cracking dick jokes and lifting heavy shit, I was stepping out for hours on end. Why not? Basically, my job was to maintain the Dairy section of the store and make sure we had enough fancy pickles, cheese, and fat-free organic milk for all to consume. This took virtually seconds to stock up and the rest was spent either dicking around with my roommates and friends who I had recruited to work with me in the department (being a charming young man had it's perks with these union jerks and I took full advatage by having them hire my roommates and friends), shopping for records miles away, knocking over gallons of milk on purpose in the stock cooler just to have something to clean up, or hanging out at home checking in on the progress of my downloads on Napster. A dream job for those times, really. It makes me wonder why I ever quit. It was amazing, though, when I did stop showing up to work and the "guys" would ask my friends when I was coming back and to tell me it was okay that I didn't show up for work the past two weeks and that I still had a job (really? what, right?). I never again stepped foot through those automatic doors.
The reason I'm reminiscing is because I put on a record the other day that reminded me of the Dairy days (oh, those precious few months!). My boss Tom, who was probably the reason that I was allowed to get away with such murder in the dairy aisle, was the tweest (y'know: "most twee"), disgruntled, 38 year-old dairy manager I've ever met. In fact, the only twee dairy manager I've ever met. He had great taste in music and turned me on to some great bands (while I probably turned him on with my boyish looks, v-neck sweater, & bowl cut) by lending my all sorts of CDs , LPs and 45s. He introduced me to The Fall, The Pastels, Sarah Records... countless great things that I cherish to this day. So, for Tom the dairy pit boss, The Pastels' Sittin' Pretty from 1989 (a year when I thought Batman, Public Enemy, & Yo! MTV Raps were all that mattered)...
Is that you on the cover? Cut your hair.
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