I used to work at a record store. Well...Record, instrument, movie, and video game place, but we called it a record store. Sounds Unlikely, it was called. What a brilliant name that is. Anyway, I listened to every album, read up on every movie, tested every game, and played every instrument. I knew all there was to know about about anything that came through that store. I was good at my job.
Every day I got a barrage of stupid questions.
"Where are the new movies?"...this question was normally asked while the new movie cabinet was directly in front of them.
"Do you have that sequel to that game those guys made last year?" Oh yes, we have that one. It's between SHUT THE FUCK UP and GET THE FUCK OUT!
And, my personal favourite: "Do you guys sell any pot?"
I can't hate them, because we had a lot of marijuana-inspired work around. But we don't sell it.
One day a man came in with long, dark hair, mirrored aviator sunglasses, black cowboy hat, and a long leather coat.
What struck me as strange about him is that he didn't browse. He came up to me and said, "What's good?".I was stunned. I couldn't answer such a simple question. I replied "That depends on where your taste lies. We have some decent metal over there, if that's what you're into."
He stared blankly at me...at least I think he was. I couldn't tell his expression behind those big sunglasses.
"What makes you think I'm into metal?" he asked. "From your outfit, I could guess you're not into say, Glukoza Nostra." I remarked.
"Do you have any of her albums", he replied. "Moskva, to be specific."
"You must be joking." I snapped.
"What? Just because I dress like a death metal fan means I can't enjoy Russian pop music?"
"Well, yeah...people's clothes normally display people's views."
"What makes you think I'm normal?"
Touche.
We talk about albums and movies for a while, and he selects his material accordingly. After an hour of discussion, he ended up buying about $400 worth of stuff. He pulled out a wad of $100 bills to pay for it all. Now, I'm not a materialistic person, but that wad made a beeling for my blood pumping muscle.
"That's alot of money."
"Yes it is...you want one."
"Indeed I do."
And he gave me a $100 bill...just like that.
"Want to make some more?"
Again, beeline for my heart.
"Yes. Yes indeed."
He gave me his card and left.
That's how I met Tex.
