Week In Review

Monday - 

Guitar Center - I hate guitar center. Let me start by saying this. I hate dealing with musicians who think they are better than you (and they are better than me, but then again I don't play a genre of music referred to as "Cock Rock"). I went to Guitar Center 3 times in the last 2 weeks and here is how they went:

Time 1: I went to Guitar Center to buy a small amp so that I could start to pretend to play in a band. I had already tested the amp I wanted during a previous excursion, and so I went in head up and bright eyed, hoping to look like someone who had had no idea what a "guitar" was and desperately needed help being stripped of his cash. This did not work, as I waited for a solid 10 minutes as Guitar Center employees (you can tell because they probably have a pony tail, some sort of facial hair, and a plethora of tattoos,) walked by, completely disregarding me. I should've tried my normal tactic when faced with this situation at retail outlets, raise both my hands real high and hope someone helps (I decided against this, because the image of someone putting both hands in the air might inspire a flame out loser to start playing "Freebird") 

Eventually, I went up to the counter to ask the fine young man if he could help me get a guitar. He then muttered "maybe" and gave me an extended talk on a warranty. After taking 5 minutes to find someone to cover the front, then 5 minutes to get the amp, he came back and rung me up. Well, if you don't count the 10 more minutes it took for a manager to respond to the constant page of "need customer service at the front desk." (Apparently washed up musicians still trying to "make it" aren't reliable or speedy in anyway. Who knew?) Finally, I check out, warranty in hand, which coincidentally leads to time 2. 

Time 2: The same day I bought the amp it broke. A knob fell off as I was carrying it in and amazingly, all the knobs on an amp are important. So I went back a few days later to return it, thanks to my nifty warranty. Before you can enter the store with an item, you have to check it in, to make sure you aren't stealing it and pretending to bring it back. So I walk into the store and wait. And then another guy with a return comes. We wait. A third cowboy joins the party and we all wait. The store had just opened so it wasn't busy (there was maybe 2 other customers in the store.) As I stood there, I noticed 1 customer being helped by 2 employees and these employees would occasionally stare in my direction, not make direct eye contact and go back to helping this guy figure out which axe will make his cock seem longest.

Eventually a guy said he would help me, but he had to help the customer that was already being helped by someone else first. Eventually the manager waddled over and called everyone to the front. They exchanged the amp with no problem from there. They didn't even check the box and so I wished that I had poured cement in there instead of an amp. 

Time 3: I went to ask the fine fellows if they had a guitar pedal that I needed. 

Me: "Hey, do you have this guitar pedal?"

DBag: "No."

Me: " ...Can I order it?"

DBag: "We don't have it."

Didn't even check inventory. Just looked at me, and then my said shirt and said he knew someone who worked at my company, and gave me a name that I didn't know and asked if I knew him. I wish I could've said "Hey, do you know Mark at Guitar Center in Freehold, NJ?"

Thursday: 

I ordered a guitar pedal on eBay. I won it for dirt cheap, well below what others were going for, which in turn left me with this message in my inbox:

"Yo, you got this dirt cheep. IM PISSED. Whatever."

So I had high hopes that the package would contain said pedal and perhaps some feces. So I was anxious to get it, of course. I tracked it and knew it would be coming on Thursday and so I got to my apartment complex at 5:58, the office closes at 6. As I pull up, I see the sign on the door that says "see you at 9 tomorrow." I am pissed, but I get out and see one of the ladies inside. I knock on the door and make the international symbol for "package" (which is basically holding your hands 6 inches away from each other like you are about to eat a loaf of bread like a child from a Dickens' novel). She said no (even though the package was within 4 steps of her current position. I said, "It's not 6 yet." She looked at me and did the most stereotypical thing a middle aged black woman could have done "YES IT IS," with some fierce head movement for emphasis. I got back in my car, slammed the door and then proceeded to lay on the horn all the way back to my apartment. That'll show her. 

Saturday:

I always knew I lived in the bad part of town. Whenever I tell anyone what road I live off, they cringe slightly, and for some reason never want to make the trek over. Today, I officially found out why. I was googling my apartment complex and found a review page with the first review headline "DO NOT LIVE HERE UNLESS YOU WANT TO GET STABBED OR DO HEROIN."

I had to click, before I even read the post, the reviewer gave a link to the Greensboro police report website and said "type in the complex address and watch the reports pile up." I did, I set the date range from Jan 1, 2009 to today. Can you guess the number of incidents in those 45 days? Would you guess over 100? You'd be correct. In fact there were too many to list. I started clicking and found that almost all of them were break ins. I am shocked and awed that my shit hasn't been stolen yet. At more than 2 break ins per day, it's only a matter of time before a "hoodlum" as the review said, collects my things, disperses them throughout the Greensboro area pawn shops and buys himself some shiny rims. 

The review said to count myself lucky if this hand't happened to me yet. So, as of tomorrow I will be looking for a new place to live (this isn't the only reason, as I've found I can live for at least $300/month cheaper in areas that are significantly less shady). Let's hope I don't get robbed in the meantime.