If you grew up in Toronto in the 80s and early 90s, you may have shopped for music at the Record Peddlar on College across the street from Maple Leaf Gardens. It could be a harrowing experience. After browsing through the racks and selecting your purchases, you had to deal with being judged by the guy at the cash. As he (and it was always a he) flipped through your selections, the conversation went something like this.
Him: “Crap. Crap. Crap. Not bad. Crap. Good. Crap. Crap. Crap. Still want this shit?”
The goal became not to buy the music you wanted but to get the approval of the dude at behind the counter. It was the definition of an abusive relationship.
So what was this guy’s problem? Why was he such a prick? Probably because after many years of idiot customers, he was just fighting back. PTSD, maybe.
I was reminded of my Record Peddler experiences by this article entitled “How Your Pretentious Local Record Store Asshole Got That Way.” I totally get it now.