Archive for paul grimsley

925 Grind: Eloise – Music Shop 2 – Mystery Girls

Posted in eloise, update with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on May 21, 2017 by musehick

I take a seat near the bar, and I work to catch the barman’s eye. Doesn’t take long. He walks up to me, and as often happens, he assumes a familiarity with me which is on such a shoddy base he is never going to be able to build on it – doesn’t mean he won’t try though. I obviously use my understanding that this is going to happen to get served quicker at a bar – it’s cynical, but it works.

‘You dig that shit on the jukebox.’

‘Yeah, you don’t?’

‘Na, derivative as fuck. I mean, what is this track supposed to be about?’

‘Well, Karen O is paying tribute to the New York Dolls, you know them, right?’


‘Right – couldn’t get all that through your Shazam, right?’

He smiles and swallows. Am I being cruel? Maybe a little. But what is the point of coming in like you know everything when you don’t even notice that the person who you are talking to is the one who selected the tracks on the jukebox?

He tries to hang in there, which I give him kudos for, but the guy is barely even surface cool, and I can tell a quick fingernail scratched across the veneer won’t reveal too much substance.

I had a bad day – the boss was complaining all day, and even the Courtney Love soundtrack didn’t help. He was trying to be cute. I flirted with him, he flirted back, and then I whupped him, right? I down my drink and I get up to leave. He throws me another line, and I throw him back a smile.

He’s working hard at it. I’ve been working hard. He isn’t my boss. I should have directed the anger at the right target, but sometimes that isn’t the easiest thing to pull off, is it?

‘I had a bad day at work,’ I tell him ‘I didn’t mean to snap at you. I do like that song though – I picked the last twenty minutes of songs; so that’s why I was a little frosty when you criticised it.’

He smiles. ‘That’s fine. My name’s, Patrick. I’m sorry too – didn’t mean to attack a song you like.’

‘My name’s Eloise, and it’s cool – you were being honest. Better than spinning some line of bullshit.’

‘Well, I was spinning a line of bullshit.’

‘I know.’

‘I know you know.’

‘Look, I just didn’t want to leave with you having a bad impression of me.’

‘I’ve seen you a lot, you were always a bit of a mystery to me. I know you work at the music shop, and you come here and sit in the corner and don’t say anything, and you like music.’

‘Ah, didn’t even know you’d noticed me.’

‘Who wouldn’t?’

I’m blushing, and this whole day has spun on a dime. I’m not interested in him, but maybe there is more to him.

‘I’ll see you next time I’m in here.’

‘Yes,’ he says, smiling ‘you will.’

Another day ends. Time to go home and eat.


925 Grind: Johann – Call Centre 1

Posted in johann, update with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 3, 2009 by 925grind

We work from a script but you soon get to know what you’re talking about – well, you do if you have half a brain, and I’ll be honest half the dumb fucks I work with don’t. What informs you most about the products you are dealing with? The complaints from the customers – they range from the boringly straight forward to the unbelievably surreal. You often wonder how people can be so depressingly dumb – it has to take some kind of hard work to reach that level of perfection as a moron; what? Drinking bleach every morning? Your mum drank you into foetal alcohol syndrome? An enemy skull-fucked you with an icepick? You catch my drift? You see what I’m saying here – I’m saying that dumb as dirt isn’t a derogatory enough description for these ignoramuses; they could make a pile of dogshit seem like Albert Einstein.
I’d been on the dole (jobseekers allowance never convinced as a name) for three months when I found the card advertising this job. Some other loophole in the whole process for getting money for actual work-based training had made itself apparent and I just got seriously fucked off with the prospect of having to wait a further three months to get it. I marched up to the boards – this is when they still had the little cards instead of the badly organised computers – and took down a card and told them to contact whoever needed to be contacted and I would go for this job.
I lied about my proficiency on the phone, and in the elaborate construction of that lie; in the telling of the wondrous tale about my amazing credentials as a communicator with my fellow man … yes, in those moments, I convinced my interviewers that I was indeed the owner of the bum that needed to fill the particular seat that they were looking to fill. It stands to reason that if you can adequately bullshit an interviewer then you are possessed of the requisite amount of flannel to soft-soap a customer. Little did I know how low my reserves would run in the up-down life of a manic-depressive phone-monkey.
Answer the phone with a smile in your voice – if you voice were, for instance, to say fuck you, then that would carry into how you answer the phone. Yeah, okay, well you try and be Mr fucking sunshine when you have not eaten, your blood sugar is low, and you are lacking the correct amount of caffeine in your system. I would answer the phone with a snarl in my voice, I was flippant and sarcastic – except when I sensed that my team leader might be listening in, and then I was perfect (I had a sixth sense for that shit). But when I couldn’t convey my utter contempt for the person I was dealing with in the tone of my voice and the timbre of my responses, I would construct hugely funny pun-filled comments on their accounts designed to make the next operator who dealt with them corpse on the phone.
Yeah, I was an arsehole. Then I discovered apathy. After three months employment states that they have to offer you a permanent contract or let you go – it is an unspoken law that around this point you will already be disillusioned with the job but reliant enough on the luxuries the wage helps you afford to accept it. Yeah – I don’t even want to think about how long ago it was I started working here now … long enough to be considered established. Like fruit in a supermarket, spend long enough here and you aren’t going anywhere else.

925 Grind: Cinnamon – Clothes Shop 1

Posted in cinnamon, update with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 26, 2009 by 925grind

Yeah – I’m a clothes nazi; what of it? I have to work here daily and see people come in who have absolutely no sense of fashion and I am supposed to smile at them and make them feel good about their purchases. Sure, madam, you don’t look fat in that; no, it doesn’t look like you are smuggling a tyre around with you. No, sir, you do not look like your father and those tight jeans don’t betray the fact that you have less of a package than the gnat which just bit you on the neck.
I am stylish; it is how I got the job. I read the ad and I turned up and they took one look at me and they knew they had to have me. If I had the kind of connections that most of those rich bitches do who end up in Vogue then you would see me walking my perfect little behind down a catwalk wearing Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Chanel; only the best. But no, I got born to people whose only connections were with other useless ineffectual nobodies.
So, you think I’m a bitch, yeah? You know what? Fuck you. What do you know about me? Fuck all. Think it’s easy having to look good 24/7? No, it’s fucking not – and on my budget? Forget about it. If I slept with my landlord then I wouldn’t have to pay rent, but I’m no skanky whore and even if I was I wouldn’t let him get his hand in my pants. It makes me feel dirty that he regularly gets his hand in my wallet – but the bills are included and the room’s fucking huge – so, what are you going to do?
Mr Fucking Clueless comes in with Mrs Fucking Clueless and they both stand there cooing over each other, right? And all I want to do is gag – like, heave my spine up right there. And they buy something that even a guy with a white cane could tell them isn’t going to look good – it’s loose in all the wrong places and tight in all the wrong places; jesus, people, learn something about lines, can you?
So, yeah, if you come in here and you see me staring at you like you landed from another planet then that is probably down to the fact that this is what you look like – like an emissary of planet Shabby or something. If you raid your mom’s wardrobe thinking you’re pulling off some kind of retro chic then you’re really missing the point; if you’re actually going to thrift stores then you’re demonstrating you have no clue. It’s about how much you spend; it’s about the label; it’s about appearance for God’s sake. Anyone who stands up now and says it’s all down to personal taste is volunteering to step in front of the firing squad – don’t be so fucking naive. There are experts out there who train for this kind of thing; they know how important it is, and so should you.
Do you read fashion magazines? Do you engage with the real world? Are you actually a real person? Do you know what your wardrobe is really for? It is not a repository for all the ill-fitting hippy droppings you adjusted yourself – go and find out about haute couture.

925 Grind: Eloise – Music Shop 1

Posted in eloise, update with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 12, 2009 by 925grind

People come in and some know what they want; some don’t. It’s funny, but some of those who know what they want are harder to deal with than those who don’t. Why? Because they deal in snatches of a tune or in identikit pictures of the artists whose recordings they want you to sniff out. I’m like a bloodhound though – I have a real ear for a tune first off, a passion for music (which strangely some people who work in a music shop don’t) and if I can’t dredge what they want up from my memory banks I am a Google samurai – able to slice up a query finer than sashimi on the wing.
Not that any of this does me any favours with the boss – he doesn’t like us spending too much time with the customers – the bread and butter of the establishment. He’s a clueless fuck who doesn’t seem to realise that customer service is the only way to get repeat customers because when you can download or order online for cheaper than you could ever buy it in a music shop, what is gonna keep you coming back? Yeah, you got it – service.
I was always ahead of the curve as far as knowing when stuff was coming out, and even now when everyone has all this shit at their fingertips they still need to know where to look and how to look; they still need a tried and tested, 24 carat, bulletproof sense of what is good and what sucks a big one. People do not expect me to know what I know because I am just some stupid girly and the only effective musos are the ones with long hair and ratty beards – well, fuck that. Ever heard of PJ Harvey motherfucker? Courtney Love? Katherine Hanna? Take it back and who do you have? Patti Smith, Rickie Lee Jones, Joni Mitchell, Marianne Faithful. Janis Joplin – they could rock out in ways some of the little boys back then couldn’t even dream of. They were sexy, had plenty of sex, and still stood tall.
We get to choose the music that goes on during the day and I try to throw some fucked up shit into the mix – no one wants blandrock 24/7 or snoozejazz, or girlgroup circle-jerk bullshit that stands no chance of getting the blood rushing. I was named for The Damned song so sue me if I have something of an attitude about this shit – how can you believe that it’s only music and work or frequent a music store? That kind of thing doesn’t make any sense to me, but it is depressingly an attitude that I come across all too frequently.
It’s great when someone comes in that shares the passion you do and is into some great tunes and can turn you onto things you might not have readily listened to by yourself. When someone comes in and the things they like suck ass but they at least have some love for what they are talking about you kind of think well, maybe this one can be saved. Arrogant, huh? Maybe – but then if you don’t get that then you obviously don’t feel the same way about music as I do. For you it’s probably just a passing interest and not a passion. I don’t care to understand that attitude, or you come to that.