On Guitar Center

I hate Guitar Center. There are many reasons as to why I hate such a place, which range from the people who work there to the people who shop there to the whole we’re-corporate-but-down-to-earth agenda oozing from the spaces between the teeth of employees’ smiles. Every time I step foot inside of a Guitar Center I swear I will never do so again but something always calls me back and shipwrecks me. As a result of my repeated visits (offenses), I have become a much more informed consumer albeit a consumer who, after determining the product I wish to consume, would rather deal with a computer screen, a website that I never have to talk to or look in the face or hand over any cash to, one I can just type some numbers into and click a few buttons on and buy buy buy, and a few days later, open my door to a pile of packages, satisfied and glad that I didn’t have to deal with a real, living, breathing human being. When I was in Guitar Center today, I felt like I was on one of those hidden camera TV shows where the premise is to see how outlandish the service of a business can be before the producers of the show come running out and laughing to let you know it was all a joke at your expense, only no camera crew rushed me in the parking lot, there was only a terrible taste in my mouth as I walked home, a taste that fell somewhere between stale carpet, rubber tubing and shellac.