How to lose your job through the medium of music...
If I had to listen to Don't Speak by No Doubt one more fucking time I would've gone on a mad fucking gun rampage in Milton Keynes city centre. The food court in Marks & Spencers would've been knee deep in blood (instead of the usual cous cous, ciabatta rolls, and lemon mouse) at the end of lunch time. The walls of the Disney store would've been sprayed with the entrails of all the lovely little kids who run about in there like the bunch of bastard-cunt-fuckers on ritalin withdrawl that they are. The Body Shop would've contained real bodyparts as part of their window display.

I fucking HATE that piece of shit song by No Doubt.

The reason? I used to work in a well known hobbyshop in Milton Keynes city centre, and being a till monkey meant you'd listen to the approved store tapes over and over -

- and over and over and over and over and over AGAIN!!! Argggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!

And the store I used to work in in Milton Keynes, the mecca of the roundabout and narky traffic warden, only had one approved store tape. ONE!!! And on that tape was this fucking SHIT song.

I'd somehow managed to land the job of Assistant Manager in this shop. One day the store held an area meeting for all the managers in the Midlands (they had a nice comfy room upstairs for the staff to piss about, sleep, fuck their girlfriends, oh, and to hold area manager meetings). My manager was involved in this meeting, so I was left in charge of the shopfloor.

Now, I knew these meetings went on forever, so as soon as all the VIP's had disappeared upstairs I went to my bag and found a tape, any old tape. I ripped out the store approved tape and lobbed it in a drawer where I hoped it would never be found again.

"Whatcha doin', Spanky?" asked my underling for the day, Greg.

"Putting something decent on the stereo. Can't stand listening to that peroxide fucking bint from that self-mastabatory load of old bollocks, No Doubt, one more fucking time," I reasoned. And I put the tape on. It was a mix tape, lots of nice gentle funky stuff. Nothing offensive, to the best of my recollection. And anyway, it was Tuesday morning, it was always dead in the shop on Tuesday morning.

Greg and I put out new stock, danced round a bit to such classics as Sweet Widow by the Spin Doctors (goes on for fucking ever, that one, but is rather fucking ace).

And then someone comes into the store - fuck me! That's unexpected...

And then someone else, and then a bunch of kids. A load of Japanese tourists. Fuck! Curse those fucking coaches that stop by occassionally and spew their fetid contents into my shop; the fuckers made me do work! WORK!!!

So, Greg and I are suddenly working our asses off, selling all this load-of-old-hobby-bollocks (toy soldiers etc), to these small people from the Far East.

And then my boss and his boss (an itinerant Geordie midget with the voice of Bernard Blessing and the temprament to match), and all the other managers from the Midlands area, take a break from their meeting and flood the shop.

It was fucking PACKED!!!

And then, as if through some strange twist of fate, I remembered what song came after Sweet Widow on the tape. And I felt my stomach flop about inside me like a spasticated whoopie cushion.

Oh... sweet... merciful... crap... on... a... shitty... fucking... bike...

And I was way across the otherside of the shopfloor dealing with some oriental dickweed, Greg was closest to the tape machine but I just couldn't communicate with him without drawing more attention to myself.

Instead, I just ploughed on with my sale and hoped no one would notice the song that would blare out of the speakers anytime soon.

Unfortunately they did.

And unfortunately I received my P45 later that morning, and a proverbial kick up the arse. (It would've been a real kick up the arse if the Geordie area manager had his way).

And the reason?

Standing there with my hard on bleedin'
Theres a devil in my dick and some demons in my semen
Good God no that would be treason
Believe me Eve she gave good reason
Botty looking too good not to be squeezin'
Creamy beaver hotter than a fever
I'm a givin' 'cause she's the reciever

- and so on.

Fucking Red Hot Chili Peppers...

Still thinking of sueing the bastards for having my name added to the ranks of the unemployed...
( SpankyHanky, Mon 6 Apr 2009, 13:37, 13 replies)

I sympathise
The same song nearly drove my father to the point of madness as well - it seemed that every time he got into the car and turned the radio on, whichever arsehole DJ on whichever arsehat station would have just cued that record.

I haven't heard that song in years, now I think of it. I'm quite glad of that.
(LongJohnBaldry, Mon 6 Apr 2009, 13:44, closed)

I once did 12 hour night shifts

...doing a security job in a little porter cabin with one weird guy. Apparently he was a TV and he once bought some gun oil along with him and sat it on his desk.
Anyway, what CD did he have to put on repeat for 12 hours? That fucking song 'Tribute' by Tenacious D. The single. Over and over again. I nearly killed the fucker.
( Turquoise Hexagon Sun has just dropped acid on, Mon 6 Apr 2009, 13:50, closed)

Thanky, Spanky.
Now I have that cocking song in my head. It's going to be there all afternoon, too, as I forgot to bring any music playing machine with me today.

Your story will get the deserved click once that song stops repeating on my brain jukebox.
( Moey, Mon 6 Apr 2009, 13:54, closed)

Shoe Shop.
Student job. One tape. "How Can I Live Without You?". Grrrr. Aaarrrrggghh. OOOOWWW I'M IN PAIN MAKE IT STOP MOTHER
(McChinaman banned, Mon 6 Apr 2009, 14:16, closed)

Actually, I quite like the song
But then again I haven't listened to the radio for nearly 12 years. Odd, since I used to be a radio DJ.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Mon 6 Apr 2009, 14:21, closed)

you have my sympathy
Our store (before they banned radios to save a few quid on the PRS extortion racket) used to have A christmas tape. Played from open until close, on automatic loop; for most of december.

One day we could take no more. Banter in the staffroom was filled with desires to throw the infernal machine off the roof, go at it with the hammer, chuck it under a delivery lorry, and so forth. Someone, who may or may not have been me, observed that the only reason it repeated was due to the 'repeat' switch being in the ON position. The assembled throng murmered thoughtfully.

Over the coming days, the tape deck developed a mysterious fault - the tape would play only one side then stop, the repeat function strangely disengaging itself many times a day.

In a rare feat of insight, and perhaps sensing the looming rebellion; a couple of extra tapes were hastily approved. This cut the repeat frequency from an agonsiing hourly, to a more tolerable three hourly. We were happy again (well, as much as you can be, working retail at christmastime).

It's the little things that can make a big difference to morale. After I left I hear they put a sofa in the staffroom, which has done nothing for morale (but that's another tale). Yet the purchase of two cassettes brought a little variety, relief, fleeting smiles amid the pressure; to many.

edit: Of course, the rest of the year it was just ordinary radio in the back. This had its own problems - like back when mainstream radio 'found' coldplay, and went apeshit over "clocks". Did they think it would get better because they played it what seemed like hourly? It used to be a good song, we liked it, yet each man kills the things he loved.

Soon the opening bars would have anyone nearest running to unplug the radio. Someone might enter the back and ask "why's the radio off?". "Clocks" was all we needed to say, and a grunt of acknowledgement, tinged with tired resignation, spoke all.

Years later and I still can't enjoy it like I once did. Radio stations: Try some variety. An album will have up to 20 tracks to explore, and there are hundreds released every year. Who knows - your listeners might appreciate you using your supposed muscial knowledge to recommend new sounds.
(The Incredible Sulk Finally remembered his password on, Mon 6 Apr 2009, 15:01, closed)

The one that makes me want to kill
If I go anywhere near a shop in the weeks before Christmas is fucking fairy fucking tale of new fucking york.
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Mon 6 Apr 2009, 16:21, closed)

at least that is actually a song as we understand it
most christmas drivel is a bunch of fucking crap that no one would listen to if it didn't happen to be about christmas.

it really pisses me off that people abandon all standards just because some fucking tosspot has discarded all semblance of artistic credibility to rake in some extra coin at christmas.

I fucking hate all christmas music. I did every singly bit of my christmas shopping online last year.
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Mon 6 Apr 2009, 16:45, closed)

What?
Even The Frog Song by Paul McCartney???

Surely that's a classic.

Bom-Bom-Bom-BAIEEYYY-AYYYEEEE

Bom-Bom-Bom-BAIEEYYY-AYYYEEEE
( SpankyHanky, Mon 6 Apr 2009, 16:56, closed)

Not forgetting
Barry Manilow's schwiiiing version of Jingle Bells, some people don't got no taste.
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Mon 6 Apr 2009, 17:20, closed)

why do they even play it?
I mean it's a good song and all, but essentially it's a tale of being drunk, in police custody, shattered dreams, and serious marital discord - not exactly family material is it?

Similar thing with "Stop the cavalry" - oh how festive, a song about nuclear war! Just because he 'wishes he was at home for christmas', and it has a few jingling bells; FFS...
(The Incredible Sulk Finally remembered his password on, Mon 6 Apr 2009, 18:41, closed)

When I was sorting the Christmas post in 2007
it was Leona cunting Lewis. Urgh. Hate that song. Hate it.
( idonthaveafunnynickname Drink-Aware? Sure. I'm aware I want another drink., Mon 6 Apr 2009, 17:20, closed)

It was you!
Coincidently, I have lived in MK for quite some time (I still walk through the city centre twice a day). And that one fateful day I was walking back from some appointment (dentist? unsure) and lo-and-behold from one of the shops I had just recently passed I heard the blaring lyrics of ".. something dick demons and lemons."

Naturally I poked my head around the door before carrying on as the look of terror on the poor blokes face was incredible.

I am just going to assume it was you.
(Mordarke, Mon 6 Apr 2009, 17:59, closed)