Remember that on record store day. Indie record store clerks are usually dicks like Jack Black was in High Fidelity. If you weren’t in their club you were scorned, even if you were a regular.
Except the younger girls who work there. They were pretty cool about your shitty music tastes. And cute. I wonder if that’s on purpose. Ahh, I remember now. She stood behind the register, glasses on her face, and I put my CD down and she said “Oh, I really like these guys.” And for a moment I wondered what it would be like if I asked her to come over and listen to that with me, and then we could be together. Months later we could go through the inevitably bad breakup, because she was a crazy art student and art students always have weird baggage that you shouldn’t even get involved in. I wonder what she’s doing no—er, what was I doing again?
And that’s one reason I think my college town’s indie record store charged $17 for new releases.
So when they set up a whole day so you can come out and support your indie record store, I’m not so quick to do that now. Overpriced CDs, dickhead staff members. No thanks. They ride a high horse to try to make you feel guilty for supporting big retailers or internet downloads, thinking somehow that will endear you to their business.
“In contrast to the mystical palaces depicted by your writers, I have found record shops to be untidy and dysfunctional, and the patrons to be accordingly surly, arrogant and disingenuous…I have now found a record shop that is always open, reasonably priced, well ordered and infinitely varied. It’s called the internet.”