by Bryon Turcotte
July 10, 2009, 3:20 PM:
A quote from the movie "High Fidelity" has been in my mind all day.
In one scene after a high strung, random debate concerning their individual musical preferences, Jack Black (Barry) turns to John Cusack (Rob) and says with sarcasm, "How can someone with no interest in music own a record store?"...
Considering what I do each day this quote makes a lot of sense to me. I'm not the owner of a record store but can honestly say that I wouldn't hate to be the John Cusack of my own life.
This doesn't mean that I want the myriad of issues John has to deal with in this film but the idea of owning a cool independent record shop in a city like Chicago does seem like heaven compared to what I wake up for each week day now. Unlike the the vision of Jack Black, I do have an interest in music. Interest is a small word for my case. Love, passion and obsession are all words that could more accurately describe my feelings for this art form. So that job would not be an issue for me. Although there is the "people" aspect of that occupation that does make
me want to back away slowly, look for an exit then run. It is quite ironic that someone like me
would get paid to support, guide, teach, comfort, and help people every day when I don't even like 80% of the ones I meet. I'm either a fine actor with the patience of Job OR I've just learned not to care. Sad? Yes. Funny? Definitely, Yes.
I've neglected to clarify during this rant that I'm not a big fan of dealing with most people. It may be my experiences that have ruined me or a rare illness I picked up at a large gathering. I just get exhausted when I am around most of them. These creatures roam the world half blind, dirty and full of mites. Like birds some are beautiful to look at from a distance, but often fly by and shit on your head for no apparent reason. If there were products to protect me from their influence I would cover myself with their mist, fill my nose with their spray, and load my tongue with their tablets just to keep myself safe and sane. Unfortunately I'm hopelessly infected and must wash off the contact each day and deal with it the next. The 10% of people that don't give me thoughts of homicide or suicide consist of my family, friends, Bob Dylan, Robert Deniro, and the staff at my local Starbucks. I can handle them just fine.
I'm a firm believer of the philosophy that the world is a large dance floor and life is just one big dance party. This is my dance space and that is your dance space. Some people dance well and gracefully dart across the floor without a care in the world. They choose their steps carefully and never invade your dance space unless invited. Some are clumsy hoofers but they try their best. Shy and nervous they step lightly but never quite hear the beat. Others are convinced they are Fred Astaire, but are truthfully one step below Fred Flintstone in grace and personality. They will be the first to show you how graceful they are as they smash your toes and invade your space. Some choose not to dance at all but never fail at critiquing your steps without restraint. There are so many dancers on such a small floor that we are all destined to get shoved or stepped on during the waltz. Well, I have no problem showing up to the dance each day, picking my partners and cutting a rug as best as I can. I have no desires to be the best dancer, moonwalker or make the women swoon with my tango. I've accepted that the world is full of dancers but I don't have to dance with everybody. It's the daily line dance I don't like. In my line of work it just can't be avoided. I've considered contacting Kevin Costner with a script idea about my experiences. I call it "Dances with Morons".
So, returning back to Jack's line "How can someone with no interest in music own a record store?"... I wait for the day the same scenario comes my way. Some day someone will find out.
Someone will ask me the same question they've asked me a dozen times before expecting a different answer or one that fits their needs much better. Someone will choose to demonstrate how they only take their brain out at holidays and at job interviews but leave it in the underwear drawer under old boxer shorts most of the year. Someone will choose to whine and
shrink to the size of an infant before my eyes just because they forgot how to do their job. Someone will feel the need to only like me when the day is full of rainbows, puppy dogs and candy bars, but treat me like I've pooped in their sleeping bag when they lost their favorite
account. On that day when my fangs come out and my bullwhip cracks, some innocent slob will turn to me and say "How can someone with no interest in people work in technical service?"
With a smile I will say sarcastically, "Easy. The rewards are endless and I have become a better person just for knowing you exist. God Bless You. You've made my day."
Someday it will happen. Oh Yes, it will happen. -BT