No, the pretty one DOES NOT want to hold a damned guitar.

I'm still trying to find a balance for the job change and the hours and blogging. It's not so bad on weekends because there are far fewer posts to catch up on, but trying to catch up from Monday and Tuesday on a Wednesday is going to be the trial of my life.

I recently had a plea for more stories. 

Which stories? Childhood stories? Work stories? Daily life stories?

No idea.

But I do have a work story from yesterday that Padawan found amusing. (I found it irritating.)

You all know by now that I work in a music store. I'm sure some of you have already gone through the trouble of finding out which music store I work at, but I'm still not saying which one or exactly where or why. Anyway, it is very common for people to call and ask to take pictures, to have field trips, to have birthday parties, to film, to whatever in our store. Frankly, it's annoying when they get told yes.

Like this one time some people did a music video in here. On a Saturday. During Band Season. Needless to say they were loud, obnoxious, and in the way. So I always cross my fingers and hope they will get a resounding no when they ask to do things. And when they want to do it on Saturdays, that's generally what they hear. 

No.

I mean, I'm not the biggest fan of the word when it's applied to me. (In fact, I generally disregard it when I hear it and either do what I want anyway, or nag and pester until the "no" becomes a "yes" in my favor.)

But these people wanted to come in and film whatever for God knows what on Friday, and so Manager Man and B-Money gave the okay for it on Thursday. Fridays aren't busy this time of year. It's Fridays during football and marching season that are unreasonably busy. But Fridays in summer? Not so much. 

I hate cameras in the store. I hate having my picture taken, I hate being interviewed, I fucking hate being in panoramic shots of the store. This face does not belong on any pictures other than ones involving friends, family, and good times. (Or pictures I take of myself.) When people come in to film, I make myself scarce until they're gone (unless they're just doing it all day, in which case I'm shit out of luck for hiding but I can try to stay out of their way.)

Yesterday the camera was just following the one guy around mostly. They did ask B-Money if they could "get a few shots of the pretty one holding a guitar," but B-Money told them point blank that "Chanel doesn't like being on camera. You can ask, but I doubt she says yes." A look in my direction, an emphatic shake of my head, and they moved on.

I avoided them like plague for the first two hours. I even forgot their existence entirely because they were quiet, respectful, and stayed out of the way. But then a man was asking the new receptionist about a quarter sized guitar, and she didn't know the answer so she turned to me.

"Is this a real guitar?"

"Yes, that's a real guitar. It's quarter sized for children so they can play properly and comfortably."

"So this is a real guitar? You play it like a normal one?"

"Yes, it's a real guitar. Those are real bridge pins, real steel strings, real tuning pegs. The frets are the same, the notes are the same. It's just a smaller scale." Then I turned to my right and the camera was right in my face.

God damn it. 

I'm pretty fucking sure that I made it damn clear I didn't want to be on camera. I fucking said no, thank you very much.  I immediately looked down, turned around, and walked away. 

Good. Fucking. Grief. Does nobody respect the privacy of the individual anymore? I fucking said I didn't want anything to do with the camera. Doesn't that count for something?

I've never been so annoyed with a filming crew that came into the store. I stomped off to the back where I organized percussion and snare kits for the better part of an hour before someone came and told me they were had vacated the premises. They better edit that out or so help me....