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After the show, the local butt-rock radio station promoted a concert
for an up-and-coming butt-rock band named GODSMACK. Station hands
tried flyering every concertgoer as they orderly exited outside.
After everyone left, the radio station realized they'd brought too
many flyers-about 600 too many.
Now, my boss was a frugal man. He always yelled at
me for putting too much avocado on sandwiches and using too much
foil to wrap the pickles. His thrifty instincts led him to snatch
those leftover flyers from the back of the station's van and use
them as restaurant stationery. From that day forward, my boss wrote
the daily grocery list on the back of these flyers.
Part of my delivery boy duties entailed purchasing
the daily groceries. So, every morning, I caught a glimpse of GODSMACK
on every grocery list. I thought nothing of it, simply associating
some shitty band with five-pound bags of Vidalia onions.
About two weeks after
receiving the flyers, I took a part-time job at a record store.
The clientele, as I soon discovered, largely consisted of GODSMACK
fans. They were really, really excited about their new record and
the upcoming concert. Every afternoon, customers would say things
to me like, "Yo, you got that new GODSMACK CD?" or "Gimee two of
them GODSMACK tickets, yo." After a few days of THAT, the band really
started grating my nerves. While fighting old ladies for the fattest
tomatoes, delivering sandwiches, making shitty tips, then rushing
to the record store to assist customers, I was living, eating, and
breathing GODSMACK. This was before I even heard them.
Then I heard them.
I don't know what song it was, but it became clear that this was
indeed the polar opposite of good music. They took their name from
an Alice in Chains song, for Christ's sake.
We ran out of tickets
about a week before their show. I took immense pleasure in denying
their fans a chance at happiness. That may make me a bad person,
but I'd been punished enough. You see, even after the big concert
I couldn't escape. Every morning, while squeezing avocados and selecting
leafy heads of lettuce, GODSMACK taunted me. Their mass-produced
flyer made possible a ceaseless stream of grocery lists that I despised
exponentially each day until, four produce-filled months later,
I quit.
GODSMACK, I hate you.
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