novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- we are all of us so impressionable i did a quick sweep-through of the record bins in the thrift stores downtown today, seeing as i'm driving back to the bay area tomorrow. in the last thrift store, i waited until a couple of haughty teenagers with that perfected air of indifference gave up the ghost on the tape rack, ignoring the albums completely. they shuffled off as i squatted down and flipped through the three stacks, beginning on my left. i'm a lefty. i start on the left. my habit is to look for albums i'd want and i make a pile. i thumb through quickly. if there are duplicates, i toss them on the pile too. afterwards i sort the pile into "buy" and "put back" based on the condition of the records themselves. if one of the duplicates has a better condition record, but a damaged sleeve, i swap them out. i was halfway through the first stack of records when i folded my legs underneath me, repositioning so i could reach the back of the rack. in doing so i noticed a ten- or eleven-year-old boy hovering above me, watching my progress. he had sunbleached hair and thick skater shoes on, but he didn't look like an asshole kid. sometimes you can just sense the kindness eminating from a person. i wondered why i was so interesting; there were odder characters here. why wasn't he monitoring the man who kept fingering the sweaters in the women's department? wait, don't answer that. better he be interested in what i'm doing. i wasn't even aware of how fast i sifted, or how large my inital pile was growing, but it somehow impressed him and he squatted down as well, beginning on the right. i was nonplussed. i watched out of the corner of my eye as he popped rod stewart from his stack, smacking it down on his own little pile. i shook my head, frustrated that i had lost a possibly awesome rod record, and went back to my routine. he made it through the rest of the third stack and then gave up. he stood up, backing up to give me space as i moved myself and my pile to the middle stack. he picked up his pile and wandered over to dishwares, where he propped them against mixing bowls, ever so gently, beside a half-eaten bag of chili fritos. big bag, too. i turned back to the records and sorted out the ones i wanted to buy, and only then did i nonchalantly wander down the store until i too was in dishware, examining broken mixers and ugly ceramic coffee mugs (not ugly enough to be funny, but just plain ugly) until i turned and faced him and any frustration sank onto the musty tile floor, mixing with the rubble of ripped off price tags and broken plastic toys. his eyes nearly popped out of his head. territorially he swooped up his pile of records and held them against his chest. i noticed a particular ratt album that i had been searching for. damn. what records did you pick? i asked him. i just picked up whatever looked familiar, he said. you know, rod stewart. he was already backing towards the cash register, and i thought i only had one chance to give him a piece of advice. i really wanted to get it right, but i only had one chance. i wanted to let him know that he should check the records themselves, because sometimes thrift store records are far too fucked to cost even a dollar... but what issued from my mouth made him relax and smile, and this reaction made me wish he was mine somehow, a little brother, a son, a cousin: look for rod in the seventies. it's really good. 10:33 pm - 08.19.05 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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