Henry Rollins

'Look who’s standing over there.'

Browsing casually through the Avant Garde CD section, grey hair cropped typically close to his skull, muscle-bound and tattooed, was Henry Rollins.

I was eighteen, and spending every waking moment listening to Black Flag, Minor Threat, Circle Jerks, and basically every other hardcore band an angsty teen can think of.  I dropped my bundle.

'That’s Henry Rollins.  That’s Henry Rollins!'

I stared at his back for a few minutes, blissfully unaware of the stalker-esque vibes I was sending off, thinking desperately of something to say to him.  He was an intimidating looking man, and I had seen the videos of him shutting down teenagers who dared to approach him.  I was loathe to make the same mistake.

My colleague wisely suggested I get him to sign a copy Get in the Van, Rollins’ book of memoirs.  We happened to have a copy in stock, and the plan was for me to purchase it, casually approach him, and ask him for his autograph.

By this stage, he had ambled over to the magazine rack which was directly in front of the counter, and was less than half a metre away from me, and facing my direction.  Grasping the book, I stepped forward, cleared my throat – and ran downstairs to hide in the office until he left.

The Dick and Balls Guy

'I want to order in Soul Mining by The The.'

'Sure, that’ll take about one week and come in at around $20.  Initially I would be would happy to just take a $5 deposit.'

The man I was serving towered over me, and an expression of derision cast a shadow over his face as I was speaking.

'ABOUT $20? How come you don’t know exactly how much it will be?'

'Well,' I replied, ‘We haven’t had it before, and GST and freight can sometimes alter the cost minutely, so I’d rather take a deposit to save over-charging you.  I can assure you it won’t be any more than $25 dollars, though.'

'How come the man who I asked on the phone gave me an exact price?'

'Do you recall who you spoke to? I would be happy to confirm with him.'

'No, I don’t remember, that’s not my job.  How come the MAN knew the price, but you don’t? Is it because you’re a woman?  Everywhere I go, men know more than women.  Tell me why that is?'

At this point in proceedings, I asked him if he wanted to order the CD or not, and that he was welcome to think it over and come back at a later date.

'Why don’t you want to serve me? Is it because I have a dick and balls? Huh? Cunt?'

I asked him to leave, citing his obnoxious and threatening behavior.

'Dick and balls!'

He began to thrust his genitals (don’t worry, still sheathed in his pants) on top of the counter, yelling, 'Dick and balls, cunt! Dick and BALLS!”

He leaned over at me, saliva flinging out of his mouth and hitting me.

I retreated to the phone, painfully aware that I was working alone, and that he was much larger and stronger than me, and called the police.

As I gave his description, he backed out of the doorway still yelling, 'DICK AND BALLS!'

Meanwhile, five or six seemingly able-bodied men were watching this free entertainment, and did anyone of them have a word with him, discreetly go to the police beat around the corner, or after the fact, even just ask me if I was okay? You guessed it… nope.

One member of the audience, a regular to this day, ran away in fear, only to come back hours later when the danger was over and buy an LP, never once commenting on the situation.

Language Warning

There was a line ten people strong and I was serving a gentleman, when a pair of young women interrupted me to ask, tongue piercings and bras on display, where the latest Veronicas CD was.

'If you wouldn’t mind just hopping to the back of the queue, I’ll see if it’s in stock when it’s your turns, thanks.'

This prompted muttered obscenities, and the girls stormed away. 

Minutes later, when the line had died down and the two women had been placed on a listening station to sample the CD, my workmate Mark told me he overheard them saying, 'If that girl behind the counter says one more thing, I am going to rip her a new arse hole.'

I had a good chuckle over this, and when I sold them the CD, mentioned, 'By the way, ladies, you might want to watch what you say when you can easily be overheard.'

'Well YOU might wanna get a new fucking attitude, BITCH.'

A stream of inventive swear words and hand gestures ensued, and the altercation finished with a five cent coin being thrown at my chest.

'That’s all you're worth, bitch!'

I was unable to refrain from yelling back, 'Consider yourself banned... bitches.'

Oh, the humanity

I have worked in the same job, a Brisbane based independent record shop, for going on eight years, and cumulatively worked in retail for about ten years.

In this time, I have been hurled abuse, had close physical contact with multiple bodily substances, and generally been treated with scorn and derision.  I have also worked alongside amazing people, discovered new and exciting music, and had a few brushes with fame.  I have served charming, interesting people, and have served the lowest of the low.

Last year, I decided to bite the bullet and return to uni at the ripe ol’ age of 24.  I’m now in my second year and have no regrets.  My brain is constantly engaged with new and exciting things, I feel more emotionally and intellectually fulfilled and I have the prospect of emerging with the skills and knowledge to start a career doing what I really love; writing.

I still work at my job on weekends, and it still has its ups and downs.

In this blog, I am endeavouring to provide a selection of the depressing, disgusting, wonderful, and shocking sides to life I have experienced over the past decade.