The Sass Account
I sighed deeply, surveying my surroundings like I'd done many times before. Back to life. Back to the world I tired to put off but it didn't give. My name is Charlie Anderson and this is where I'm going to live the rest of my years on this planet.
Eh, if I had to choose between this life and the one I tried to secure previously, I guess this was the safer way. I made an attempt for the other one. I lost. Nothing in my life has been premeditated. I tried very hard to live by the principle of hard work and minuet talent as a drive. Instead it was just work and more work. Punch the clock while blowing raspberries at the fucked up shit and laugh at the rest of the things that don't make sense.
Like this intro, it's confusing isn't? I am a stickler for those actually. Well right now my mind feels actually more muddled and actually kind of delicate. I'm a weird one what can I say? If my life wasn't so mundane and plain I wouldn't worry so much about trying to change it. I gave up trying years ago. I guess I lost my chance when I lost my opportunities. The ones I'll never get back again. But I don't want to bore your ass with those.
My life story reads in fragments and I'm getting used to the mediocrity I feared of some years ago. Doesn't mean I didn't despise it. On the contrary, it could always be better, but it doesn't and for that alone, this is where you have me.
23, outwardly sighing through the seconds that are my days, 30 minute lunch breaks, having co-worker acquaintances cancel often on you confessing their much attended to "family emergencies" as a plausible excuse. I beg to differ; of course society doesn't permit me to be so forthright with these people. Oh I wish on the top of my list that there lived more honest souls among our race. I've wondered what kind of world that would be. We've done so well keeping up with fallacies and untruths; I wonder how challenging the thought of being real would pose for our generation of humanoids? Would it kill them? Would the truth about themselves hurt deep to the core?
I guess the monotonous drudge of waking up and converting oxygen into carbon dioxide is a challenge all in its own. I never had a plan. I suppose this is why I'm a clerk. I had dreams, maybe in my yesteryear or something, but those are long since buried. No one understands this shit but me, so don't try to decode this perspective.
I began stacking something in the perfume isle of the Wal-Mart I belonged to when I heard my name being called.
My supervisor just informed me that I am needed in the music department. Oh joy. Can't wait to saunter over in a department that no one really purchases anymore. Ah, Napster is like a godsend. I sort of did a mental celebration when I found out you can actually steal the songs you love just by sharing them with other people you've never met before. A breakthrough in technology if there ever was one. College students and the less fortunate benefited.
I preferred being at register mainly because it's the only time of the day I get to touch that much money, even if it's not mine. Money is a necessity for me. I don't treat it like chocolate as soon as I have more than I had before. It's part of the pillar of existence. It's also the root of all things evil. It makes otherwise cavemen and women, confident and omnipotent. God-like if you will. It's like a secret society that a small group belong to. Having money gives you power; mostly for bad reasons. Power and fame is the worst combination since Hollywood started calling Jessica Alba a dramatic actress.
We're told to adore these people. The extremely fortunate. Why? Because of their money? Their arguably good looks? All their accolades brainwashing us to think they are some kind of rock star gods. Please with a capital P. Maybe it's just the celebrity part I got a problem with. I hate being told what to listen to and who to like. That music industry is no different. In fact, it's the worst it's ever been in years. The steady decline of quality, subject to debate, has dropped rapidly. I barely listen to the radio. Wal-Mart has that all-purpose radio station they love to shove in the employee's faces as well as torture their eardrums.
The annoyance of auto-tuning, songs about smut instead of substance, feeling and character has replaced what was once real music to me. Whatever happened to music having depth?
I was told to stack the CDs in the shelves that people love to mess up in alphabetical order. Fuck yeah, that's fun. Shifting through all the wasted top 40 is exactly what I dream of doing. I guess I try not to think about it so much and just get it over with. Usually there's always more to do afterward so it's over pretty quick.
I was flipping through the massive section CDs, organizing the ones with their labels and such. Pop/Rock section always bummed me out because it was crap and more crap we were selling. I miss the days when pop music was more alternative something like the Spin Doctors, Soul Asylum or Toad the Wet Sprocket. Instead all I see is overproduced and overrated Miley Cyrus, Justin Bieber, Selena Gomez and Taylor Swift; it's just a sea of suck. I rolled my eyes and bit my tongue whenever a customer asked if we had the latest so and so record and if it was any good. I've faked so many smiles in here I swear I lost count.
I stopped when my thumb touched the sheathing cover of One Direction's latest release: Four. They look like a Hollister Frat party you wanna just blow up. I didn't get it. What was so special about these guys anyhow? They look and sound like little girls and for a boy band they don't even dance. They jump around on stage or so I've heard. What hell kind of entertainment production is that? Jesus H. Christ. The Backstreet Boys and *N'Sync were a blessing compared to these five dolts.
I've been over this several times. Their music is sub par. Of course someone as talented as Ed Sheeran would be pinning their "decently written" tunes since they can't physically do it themselves. Suggesting a line or two doesn't make you a songwriter. The Spice Girls pulled this shit years ago and sadly the public didn't care, because all they were to the industry was an entertainment piggy bank. Plus they looked good and were more about image anyway. With One Direction though, I mean seriously, it's probably too hard to just stand there and maintain six-pack abs, auto-tune the shit out of your voice and have sexy accents.
I can't really decide if I really hate them with good reason or if I'm just jealous. A devoted fan would call me jealous no doubt, even the robots themselves who sing these songs. But I am far from a hater. It's just preference for me. They are single-handedly ruining the music industry with their bull shit antics and crappy songs about a one-night stand that only someone under the age of fifteen would find appealing; and they don't know what that is. Then again, people are dropping like flies in the losing of their virginity department.
Well at least I have my occasional rant on Twitter to look forward to. You gotta love the ability to lampoon people who deserve it. Especially bands like One Direction. It's like Ryan Seacrest, or scripted "reality" shows like American Idol or The Voice, they're easy targets. One of them was displaying a smug smirk in the picture and it was annoying the shit out of me.
Louis Tomlinson. He hates his fans. I just know this. Even he knows it and deep down his retarded fans know it too. He doesn't give two shits about any of them. All he cares about is being famous and dating girls who look like Gonzo and Gumby's aborted baby. Not that I was jealous. There's nothing remotely attractive about him. In fact he looks like a deformed rat with a receding hairline. How does your hair already start thinning by 23? I thought British boys would suppose to be hotter than American asshats. God he is so infuriating I just wanna vomit.
But he has it. He has what everyone wants. He has adoration. People he doesn't know and wouldn't save from a burning building spending their hard-earned money on a concert ticket kissing his ass everyday on Twitter. Marriage proposals, perverted comments from sexually frustrated bitches with pizza faces. I figure there's not a lot going on in his head besides getting laid now that he's single. That walking eating disorder he dated previously couldn't satisfy his needs. Shame. I heard he's living here now, oh fuckity joy. Didn't know the sky was blue either.
"Charlie, come back there. Christina needs you again." Lydia in makeup brushed passed me.
Did I really wanna deal with this now? The last time Christina called me over I was blamed for some crap I didn't cause. I think people are just bored outta their fucking minds here. Looking like they're busy so they don't have to scream every five minutes like the rest of the team so want to do.
I shoved the One Direction CD back in its place. I bet it would sound better crackling in a fire than anywhere else.
"Wonder what I'll be yelled at for something I didn't fuck up now." I mumbled, dragging my body to the back of the store. And by back I mean miles and miles away.
Welcome to my hell. Enjoy the lemonade I made in the lobby, this is my life as you see it. This is as good as it's gonna get.