Livin' La Chica Loca
A woman approached me over in the Pop/Rock section of my record store.
"Excuse me, " she says, "I am looking for the new Ricky Martin CD and I can't find it anywhere over here."
"Oh, we keep him under Musica Latina." I say.
She looks at me strangely. "Musi-wha?"
"Our Latin music section. If you'll follow me I'll take you over there."
As we walked together to that side of the store, the woman continued to process this bizarre bit of information. "Now why on earth would you keep Ricky Martin over there?"
I shrug. "I don't know. I guess it's because he sings partially in Spanish."
"But why?" she cried out suddenly, "Why does he have to go and sing in Spanish? That doesn't make any sense!"
"He's from Puerto Rico." I add, not sure how else to respond. "It's his native language."
"Well," she snaps, "He better sing in English on this new album, or I will be very upset!"
We come to the Ricky Matin shelf and I picked up a copy of his Life CD.
"Looks to be all English titles. Oop... wait. The last two songs do appear to be in Spanish."
"Arrggh!" The woman roars. "Why does he DO that? That makes me so maaaad! Fine. Let me hear a little of it and decide whether or not I can tolerate the rest."
She snatches the CD and starts to scan the bar code under the LVS. "You know," she says, "That damn Josh Groban does the same thing on his albums. I bought his last opera CD and he sang almost the entire thing... in Italian!" She glared at me with a look that could peel paint. "It ruined everything."
I backed away from that stare. It was a look that would not be contradicted. Of course I would have been the first to agree with her that Josh Groban in and of himself pretty much ruins everything he touches, but she truly put an indelible period at the end of that sentence with just that baleful glare alone and I wasn't about to add anything to it where the end result could very well be a Ricky Martin CD chucked at my face like a deadly shuriken and wind up poking out of my forehead as a bloody spoke. I excused myself politely and left her to her listening station, shaking her head and tut-tutting bitterly to herself over whatever it was she couldn't understand Ricky singing about to her in her ear.
Thank God I have all of next week off.
"Excuse me, " she says, "I am looking for the new Ricky Martin CD and I can't find it anywhere over here."
"Oh, we keep him under Musica Latina." I say.
She looks at me strangely. "Musi-wha?"
"Our Latin music section. If you'll follow me I'll take you over there."
As we walked together to that side of the store, the woman continued to process this bizarre bit of information. "Now why on earth would you keep Ricky Martin over there?"
I shrug. "I don't know. I guess it's because he sings partially in Spanish."
"But why?" she cried out suddenly, "Why does he have to go and sing in Spanish? That doesn't make any sense!"
"He's from Puerto Rico." I add, not sure how else to respond. "It's his native language."
"Well," she snaps, "He better sing in English on this new album, or I will be very upset!"
We come to the Ricky Matin shelf and I picked up a copy of his Life CD.
"Looks to be all English titles. Oop... wait. The last two songs do appear to be in Spanish."
"Arrggh!" The woman roars. "Why does he DO that? That makes me so maaaad! Fine. Let me hear a little of it and decide whether or not I can tolerate the rest."
She snatches the CD and starts to scan the bar code under the LVS. "You know," she says, "That damn Josh Groban does the same thing on his albums. I bought his last opera CD and he sang almost the entire thing... in Italian!" She glared at me with a look that could peel paint. "It ruined everything."
I backed away from that stare. It was a look that would not be contradicted. Of course I would have been the first to agree with her that Josh Groban in and of himself pretty much ruins everything he touches, but she truly put an indelible period at the end of that sentence with just that baleful glare alone and I wasn't about to add anything to it where the end result could very well be a Ricky Martin CD chucked at my face like a deadly shuriken and wind up poking out of my forehead as a bloody spoke. I excused myself politely and left her to her listening station, shaking her head and tut-tutting bitterly to herself over whatever it was she couldn't understand Ricky singing about to her in her ear.
Thank God I have all of next week off.
posted by Melissa at 12:11 PM
4 Comments:
the frustration with retail is sometimes realizing that folks like the one you mentioned have buying power and help shape the market place
@ the video store we get folks that won't watch movies with subtitles or in black and white
Hope she doesn't find out Dr. John isn't really a doctor.
Was she old?
I bet you anything she walked out of your store and walked straight to her white Mercades.
Nah, she looked about middle aged. And definitely not the Mercedes type. She was, how can I put it delicately? Refreshingly not so high-falutin' as that.
The ones who drives the Mercedes brush past me imperiously as they head straight for the classical room. Except of course for my dear little Mo Rocca-looking dude who always comes in and quietly buys up all the old-skool punk and Chess Records collections. Why don't people like him pester me at work more often, I ask?
Chris, you evil bastid. Howze that Beg Scream & Shout box set treatin' ya? Every day I'd stroke that thing lovingly and say "Don't worry, liebchen. Somebody will give you a good home... someday."
It amazes me how it seems that as many movies are being made over the past 100-something years, some people narrow their viewing margins more and more. It's something so far beyond what I can imagine that it baffles me.
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