I really can't believe it.

He actually did it!

Larry is not with us anymore.



I knew he was troubled but I didn't know how bad it weighed on him.

I feel somewhat responsible.

We spoke of suicide often, in jest, I thought.  

When the happy mask went missing I assumed it was another soul sucking

management technique.

Alas, t'was not.


He's in a different place now.


I'd like to say better . . . . but who knows?


His head lamp forever extinguished,

I leave you with his last words.  



Dear Friends,

A life is like a tunnel. And to each his own little tunnel.
But at the end of the tunnel, there is not even light. Just nothing.
Even memory goes before the end. Old folks know that.
A little life, a little savings, a little retirement, and then the grave.
And all of it for nothing... It's all useless, even children.
When you're old and poor your kids will throw you in a rest home to croak
alone in silence. Children don't care.
Filial love doesn't exist. It's a myth....
You love your mother as long as she gives you milk,
and your father as when he lends you money.
But when her breasts are all dried up and your father's pockets are empty
the best thing to do is lock them up and let them die before they cost you too much.
Children pretend to be nice only when there's an inheritance.
But when the inheritance is a fridge or a TV set, it's not even worth pretending.
Phone once a month, shed a few tears when they die and your duty is done.
Love, friendship, it's all bullshit.

Juvenile illusions to hide the fact that human relations are nothing but cheap business.
Friendship and love suits us, but in a calculating way.
Come into the world. Eat. Wag your bone. Give Birth. And die.
Life is a huge void. It always has been and always will be.
A huge void which could manage perfectly well without me.

I'm sick and tired of playing this game.

Not for me.

No.

No More.

This ones for the ridiculed...


In the words of Miyamoto Musashi:

" In our society there are four classes of people.
The samurai, the farmers, the artisans, and finally, the merchant.
Each is respected and disrespected equally by the other classes.
The samurai are warriors and live a "higher ideal".
The study of their weapons is their prime motivation.
Farmers are next because they provide food needed for the masses.
Artisans are craftsmen and makers of weapons and other products.
Merchants are a ridiculed class because they produce nothing
except profits from the work of others. "





I think he would have liked this.

Perhaps later I'll burn something in his honour.

Everyone handles loss in their own way.

Graham has an interesting technique I'd like to share with you.

He'll be on the phone dealing with some chode, trying to answer their queries.

Then, when they arrive at the store, he acts as if he didn't speak to them.


"I was talking to you about a Guitar Hero song book."

"No, I don't think so"

"I was sure it was you that I spoke to"

"I think I'd remember if I spoke to you about that book"

"well, do you have it?"

"We've got books. They're right over there, go take a look."


I particularily enjoy the way people begin to doubt themselves.

Who could I have spoken to?

You can see the dead hamster flopping in the out of control wheel in his head.

Puppets.  Dance for my amusement.


I had a few memorable ones today. . .


First was the guy who called for Chuck.

"Is chuck there?"

Sorry, he's off today.  Maybe I can help you?"

"OK.  Maybe you can.  What's your name?"

"I'm Curt.  What can I do for you?"

"Hi Curt, is BJ there?"

"Sure. Please hold." (I'm fast on that hold button, it's like a Get Out of Jail Free)

Bj comes to the counter, annoyed to be pulled away from his online game.

"Yes? . . . Six."

I already know what the question was.

The question that he needed Chuck for.

The question I couldn't answer.

The question that caused BJ to shift his annoyance toward me.

"He just wanted to know how late we're open."

and ultimatelay the question that caused me to snap back,

"What do you wan't me to do about it? He asked for you, Tex"


and then this guy,

He rents a full size 88 key piano and has me wheel it out to his car.

His transportation is a Pontiac Sunfire, NOT the optimum gear transport.

"Just put it in the trunk."

"it's not going to fit in there, you have to put your front seat all the way back."

Of course, he ignores me and opens his trunk to  show off a hole no larger

than a lunch box between the trunk and the back seat.

"I don't think it will fit there"

"Clearly. You have to put your front seat all the way back."

He now opens his rear door and stares inside.

The keyboard is 5 ft long and the space accross the back seat is less than 4 ft.

I shrug and repeat, "you have to put your front seat all the way back."

He finally opens the front passenger door and adjusts the seat.

It slides right in.

"oh, you've done this before."

"Feels like a million times."

I can't help but smile knowing he will have an epic time

trying to figure out how to remove it when he gets home.

I miss Larry all the more, I know he's laughing now . . . . at all of us.

Another Day, Another Dime.


All things considered today was quite welcomed.

The boss gives me 2 hours off, out of the blue,

just because, and thanks . . . . my cynic sense is tingling.


I also spend a few hours in the back, off the sales floor.

That is a welcome relief.


So yeah, it worked out OK for a day that began,

"Let's get this rape started!"


Oh well, there's always tomorrow.

I've found that I really have a Love/Hate relationship with this blog.

I've got like ZERO free time as it is.

but here's the rub . . .

this nausea,

although it leave a bad taste in my mouth,

it does feel great to get it up and out.


The worst part is the feelings of squandered time and utter futility.


So, open wide my impressionable chicks. . . .

another steaming morsel coming up.


Mr. Peepers, is back - With a vengeance.

The Helen Keller of the latin music scene.

This time he needs some congas.

Phone call #1.  Identify customer,
identify needs, look up options,
provide pricing and suggestion.
6 minutes to close.

Phone call #2. Reiterate same info.
(5 minutes after call#1)
Upgraded distain level.
literally one minute to close.

Phone call #3. Reiterate same info. Again!
(5 minutes to close Day2)
Further upgraded distain level.


Phone call #4. Guess who?
Guess what? Guess when?



Did I cave?

Of course.

You See (pun intended), the law of infinite futility states:

The moment one caves, they all cave.

If anyone will cave, you save time with pre-emptive caving.

and besides,

I save the big guns for people who can see my disgust.

Have faith. 

I've got some sweet stuff coming up.

My head hurts tonight.

Too many wrenches.

I'd really like a  .  .  .