"TURN THAT OFF, WE CAN HEAR IT OVER THERE."
I fumbled to turn it down and lost my smile. Is he serial? I can't listen to George Harrison on headphones while ordering rebar to house inmates? God dammmit, I hate my life. I turned it off, bitterly noting that he had said, "off" and not "down." I considered researching union policy to see if he could in fact, tell me to turn George Harrison off. Hell, I have to listen to Jesus Guy's conservative talk radio and his own honky tonk music day in and day out. Why is everyone always telling me to turn off what brings a modicum of joy to the meaningless sea of my existence? (Source: http://www.toothpastefordinner.com/031505).
I began angrily furrowing my brow and furiously typing in Craigslist for jobs while my boss moved on to yucking it up with fellow employees. Goldie's, Suzie's, and other part-time cashiere jobs at porn stores popped up. I quickly consulted good friend Yoga Pants via email to see what he thought of my working there instead.
"They won't let you blare George Harrison either," he broke it down for me, "and you'll meet a lot of pervs. Nostalgic pervs. I can't believe porn stores are still in business.Plus they won't pay you as much."
I chewed my pencil and mulled it over. He was right. I wouldn't be able to make my rent or Comcast bill selling DVD copies of Ass Masters 7. I hit up my other friend who suggested cam whoring. I nodded to myself. I'd already showed the goods to randoms when drunk. I think. So why not get paid for it?
And I don't give a flying fuck if my viewers don't like George Harrison.