words

If you ever wonder what a record-store clerk does with his time, the answer is simple: He files. And as I stare at a bunch of new CDs that I need to scan and place into the racks, I realize that this is pretty much what I’m going to be doing for the full two weekends.

Lauren is tasked with showing me how the filing system works. You ever been trained by a 16 year-old girl?

My co-workers for the next two weeks.

The writing hasn’t been going well lately. Nothing I write is funny. There’s too much content about booze and staying up late, wandering the streets until drowsy. My head is foggy.

In a last ditch effort to inspire some creativity and go back to my writing roots, I started volunteering at a nearby record store. With hundreds of independent music stores going out of business every year, I decided to spend a month working behind the counter of one of the last stores left standing—and found a place where metal still rules, vinyl still sells, and the 16-year-old clerk ringing you up has never heard of Hannah Montana.