Elitist Posturing

This blog won't be all outrage and mutiny. Our jobs are hilarious, which is why we have them.

Walked onto the sales floor a day or two ago, and saw the Merch Supervisor helpfully providing customer service to a young couple at the info desk. Spectacularly trashy looking skinny white dude--shiny track suit, facial piercings, ballcap, tattoos. Sorta draped around his Special Lady, an equally sketchy and even skinnier girl. And I'd never seen these particular kids before, but I knew immediately, and you would've too. I thought Insane Clown Posse! It was like they had a big sign around their necks saying 43605. And sure enough, I walked around to peek at the computer screen, and our colleague was diligently trying to locate Behind the Paint, the riveting tell-all by the one and only Violent J. Which is actually a hard-to-find collector's item, I happen to know. I get asked about it once a month or so by sullen, poorly dressed young men. It's the Unholy Toledo of the white ghetto. I laughed out loud when I saw it, pleased as punch with my own snobbery and keen eye for detail. I sincerely hope my man the ICP fan didn't hear, because he hates guys like me. Any true Juggalo would cheerfully murder any effete bookstore types whom he encounters. As he should.