Hey, dude, the one dressed in all-black hogging the listening station at Little Axe: stop dancing around me when I've finally got access to the damned thing. In the time that it took you to get your ass up to look around for MORE records, the seat was hot and sweaty. Even then, you came back for more! You stood around me, trying my patience and distracting me from the task at hand. All I could think about was you, standing, staring, hopping around on your feet to signify your impatience… What was that shit you had in your hands, anyway? Eminem? Well, of course I began whistling toneless tunes as I calmly, slowly, slipped a record back into its sleeve, ensuring perfection. I looked at you and whistled some more. Then slowly, carefully, pulled out another record. I always though that fellow record listeners in local shops have a common understanding; but you, sir, have changed that perspective. Take your poor ass taste in music to Everyday Music.