No matter what your parents told you, subverting the human race through subtle machinations is really hard work. During our discussion of how, exactly, a set of Braille-encoded nipples might cause some people to feel bad about themselves, I told Paul the story of a blind kid who uses sonar to make his way through life. It's really something special and when he gets to groping age I do hope that he doesn't run into a pair of these implants.
Before I go on a tremendous (and hilarious) tangent about how much I hate Hollywood Video and a journey down my employment track record, I want to mention some new stuff on the site. A helpfully labeled Stalker section has been added to the immediate right of these wondrous words, and Paul and I now have graphical representations. Observe.
Let the hatin' begin.
I wanted to rent the new Prince of Persia, but sadly the only place I know of where I can rent games is the Hollywood Video down the street. I'm going to share with you, in a helpful bulleted list, what my fucking problems with them are:
- H.V. never gets new titles the day they drop.
- They never have more than 6 copies.
- It costs $8 to get a game for 5 days.
- The people that work there clearly hate their jobs.
- They hate me for having the audacity to come in and rent movies.
Now that I have NetFlix, I don't have to go there for movies anymore. Granted, I could get a Gamefly account (which I may have to do for sanity's sake) but I don't know that I would use it all that much. I don't see myself going through games the way I go through movies.
A trip to Hollywood Video had become something of a chore. I knew that one of those miserable grunts was going to be standing behind the counter, mouth-breathing at me and rolling their eyes when they realized that yes, I wanted to rent another three movies, and yes, I am returning three, and yes, they are going to have to walk three feet and pick them up out of the return bin.
Of course, that is an era of my life that I can consider successfully completed. I have NetFlix now. I watch movies and TV shows with impunity, knowing that my mail-man won't roll his eyes at me when I return those three red envelopes to the box.
Or, at least, I won't have to watch him do it.
It's not like I can't relate to them. During my tenure at MTSU, I worked at a video store. It wasn't a chain, I was allowed to smoke inside and I didn't have to wear a purple collared shirt. This place carried obscure, independent films, which has a very specific meaning to which audiophiles can easily relate. The rules of indie media are pretty simple; if a lot of people like something, it is categorically uncool. Perish the thought of something that is accessible and likable by more than 6 and a half people.
The point I'm slowly trying to make is that I liked most of my customers and they liked me, easing the execution of our respective roles. The customers didn't dread coming to the store, and I didn't dread coming to work. I didn't hate my job the way Hollywood Video-ites seem to.
Some people asked for my opinions on certain films, and I was happy to oblige. Of course, when I refused to let someone leave the store with a copy of "Cast Away," citing my personal responsibility to never allow someone to make the mistake of sitting through that unbearable hunk of shit, I would get angry phone calls from my boss.
Totally worth it.