Ever have a day when you get completely frustrated at work?
Not just “irked” or “mildly chagrined” or even “pissed off”. That kind of stuff happens at least once a week. Beige city. Small time. No biggie.
But punching-the-walls, door-slamming, yelling-at-paper-that-falls-on-the-floor levels of anger? A degree of outrage that makes you reconsider your career options? Maybe it’s not too late to be a Peruvian alpaca farmer? Or maybe you start to think that plotting to knock over a bank is a far more sensible retirement plan than continuing to climb behind your desk every day for another twenty-five f*cking soul-destroying years? A day when you can’t accomplish anything to save your miserable life, every photocopier in the building is simultaneously flashing “PC Load Letter”, the intercom won’t stop blaring pages to deadbeats that should just GET THE F&CK TO THEIR MEETINGS ALREADY, and (just for an extra kick in the package) your computer decides to crash at random every 30 minutes or so?
A day when some moron on a cell phone runs a red light and just about T-bones you on the way home? And when you get home, and you get part way through making chicken fajitas, only then do you realize that the only red pepper in the house has gone bad and now tonight’s entree is (basically) hot chicken wraps with salsa? So you start to scream and throw the rotten pepper across the room and insult its intelligence and call its mother very bad names and the white rage blinds you for a good ten minutes or so as everything boils over and you sit fitfully at the kitchen table with hands uncontrollably shaking and brow perspiring?
It’s good to have a record collection on days like today. The collection understands. It always understands.