Better still are the idiots who hide records so that no one else can nab them until they return enough bottles to afford their object of auditory desire. It is now my standard policy that once I discover a hidden album, it goes directly to the back overstock area, thus ensuring that the guilty party will never be able to collect their hidden treasure.

The same goes for records I have to audition too much. My favorite example involves a very odd man in his forties with blatant, uncomfortable sexuality issues as well as some rather bizarre concepts concerning stereo vs. monaural sound reproduction. He used to come in every few weeks or so, often offering me photocopies of music-related news stories. (You know what, pal? I really don’t give a rat’s ass about some society dedicated to ensuring that each and every one of Bing Crosby’s bazillion boring albums are put out on compact disc.) On several occasions, this freak asked to hear a particular song on a classical compilation. (I’m not so dumb as to actually let people play the records themselves; I know all too well what that brings). As cordially as possible, I played the track and he seemed to truly enjoy the music, and, admittedly, Liadov’s The Enchanted Lake is a lovely piece of music.

But he didn’t seem willing to cough up the six dollar sticker price. And it was a double-album at that! One day after playing the track for him yet again, after he’d lisped, "I think I’ll probably buy that record next time," I banished it to the dark overstock netherworld and waited. I gotta tell you, when he came back, watching him search high and low for the record with growing panic and dismay was easily worth a hundred times the price printed on the tag. When he finally asked about the record, looking as if he might break down in tears, I claimed to not know anything about it, suggesting that somebody likely either bought it or put it away in the wrong place. Hey, like the song says, kicks keep getting harder to find.

Let’s not forget the greatest record store annoyance: hagglers. Some people don’t seem to think that I’m serious about the little round price tags I dutifully place on my wares, and some people believe they can bargain me down with their oh-so-clever and cunning charms. One shrewd shopper, who didn’t even have the grace to try to butter me up before announcing his agenda, pointed to a rare stereo copy of Jerry Lee Lewis’s The Greatest Live Show on Earth album, which was displayed on the wall and clearly marked with a $50.00 sticker. "Ya know," he said with a the drawl like potato farmer or maybe that of a truck driver, "that Jerry Lee Lewis record you have there on the wall has been there for a while now – I’ll give ya thirty for it. Cash, right now."

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