ROX-TV takes a look at the book “Shep’s mixtape volume one” and teenage death jobs in the 1990s. Tonight’s episode features working at a video rental store….

This story comes from a place long ago and far away. Well, maybe not that far since the building is only a few miles away, but definitely long ago. To set the scene and help people understand the vibe, I must say upfront that this story takes place in the 1990’s. Although I can barely believe it myself, more than twenty years have passed since the close of the greatest decade I can remember. Society was different then and so were the people. For starters, we had video cassettes.

Just saying that out loud now sounds cheap and janky. Video cassettes may be a laughingstock and the punch line of fine jokes, but once upon a time, they were the highlight of any respectable weekend. Old and young people alike all partook in the renting of cheap plastic tapes that fueled our desire for entertainment. Thanks to the eighties, most video stores were chalk full of terrible actions movies, cheesy comedies, lovesick romances, and slasher films up the ass.

Disney was in high demand back then and so were video games (also for rent at all “modern” video stores). The really good shops even had an adult section for all the lonely hearts, kinky lovers, and stoned cold weirdos. I myself longed to see what was behind the saloon doors and the tiny roped off section but would have to wait until I was officially eighteen. Nevertheless, the moral of the story is that the video store was like a corner stone of society that no one but the Amish could ignore. Entertainment was in high demand and people were renting movies like nobody’s business.

I’m not sure where the idea came for me to seek employment at Hollywood Video, but it had something to do with desperation, I think. I had been working at a local grocery store for almost a year when something finally snapped. I won’t go into all the details here because that is another story, but I can say that I was disenfranchised and determined to do something that wasn’t bagging groceries. The pay was a factor I think but there was something else, like a nagging thought that wouldn’t leave me alone. I couldn’t really put my finger on it but the feeling basically said, “it’s time to move on“.

I didn’t always trust or listen to my feelings back then, but in this particular case, I heeded the advice and quit my grocery store job after a year of service. “Good riddance” I thought as I pushed my cart into the wall for one last time. I was a kid and kids can quit whenever they feel like it. I had no bills and no obligations to speak of. There was no family to feed and I wasn’t paying anyone rent. My family auto was a paid off Geo Prizm that was unofficially designated as “mine” even though it really wasn’t.

Never one to dwell on bad decision making, I quit and that was that. Unlike a responsible person, I never liked giving a two-week notice. Who fucking does that anyway? Maybe someone hoping to “use” the grocery store as a primetime reference down the road, but not me. I wanted to get as far away from the place as I could and prayed to God that I wouldn’t be going anywhere that needed or wanted a reference from a bagger position. I wasn’t ready for the big time yet, but I just hoped that when I got there, places like the B.G.’s (slightly different than real business name) wouldn’t matter one way or another.

Some people might turn around and say “that was a shitty thing to do” but was it really? Could a person honestly give a two-week notice and still deliver a satisfactory job performance, literally going through the motions, when the end was not only a wish but a calendar reality? I have to be honest and say “no, no I couldn’t”. My focus would be totally out of whack, knowing that no matter what happened over the course of ten business days, I was gone regardless. If I had been a little older who knows? Maybe I would have waited until the next job was in hand, but then again, it seems like getting hired and then turning in a two-week notice would be counterproductive.

Would the entity offering the new job really want to wait for two weeks to get me into some kind of inadequate training program? Even if the answer was yes, could a person put in an honest effort knowing that their new career ship was sailing, and the current job was a dead-end street? Lots of questions here but little substance to hang a hat on. My hat was staying on my head, and I was out the door. Two-week notice be damned, just like a grocery store reference. If I needed B.G.’s to vouch for me in a few years, then my life was going to suck and I’d be better off dead anyway. I didn’t want to think about it much further than that. I’m not shitting on grocery store jobs exactly, I just had dreams of grandeur.

So, like I was saying, I quit and that was that. I got my last check for sixty-five dollars and twelve cents and I was gone like the wind. My bagger days were behind me and I had enough money to get drunk for a week and buy a few packs of cigarettes. Unlike today, everyone cool smoked in the 1990’s and I wasn’t missing that boat. Over the next few days, I drank forty ouncers of cheap malt liquor, Mickey’s to be exact. The one with the green bottle and vicious hornet as a mascot. It really should have been called “Mickey’s Malt Headache” but everyone is wrong once in a while.

I partied like it was 1999 and maybe it was. Actually, it wasn’t but the Prince line was too good to leave alone and the timing was near perfect, nearly. I didn’t know much, but I knew I was off the grocery store circuit. I hated service jobs but that was about all there was available to me at the time. It’s that shitty period in a person’s life when they don’t have the qualifications to get a real job and patience for low paying gigs is running out. Let’s face it, no one likes to wait on people or run a cash register, but that’s where I found myself.

As I tried to shrug off the facts and find that one golden opportunity that didn’t suck, reality kept showing up to rain on my parade. Rolling around town, it became apparent that I was not going to find a record store job. They just didn’t exist much by then and over the course of another decade, the ones that made it that long would all be dead too. My mind briefly entertained the movie theater, which seemed interesting enough, but they wouldn’t have me. I was never given an official reason for the snub, maybe I just wasn’t usher material. The theater manager must have sensed trouble when he came across my resume.

“Better to leave that one be” he probably thought, “Just another washed up grocery boy from the wrong side of town”. My dreams of Friday night popcorn nausea died that day as the old man tossed my resume in the can. Oh well, that’s show business. From one disappointment to another, I drifted along, chasing the teenage American dream. There is some haze in this period and I’m not quite sure what drew me to the video store. Maybe like so many other bad jobs, it was the last option. I don’t really remember or maybe I’m just blocking out the desperation that I must have been experiencing.

There is nothing worse than when a person gives up and agrees to take a lousy job, only to have trouble even finding an employer willing to take them in. When a person is young, lots of jobs and experiences seem beneath them, when in reality, its usually the other way around. I don’t remember exactly when I settled on trying to make a run at the video store but it was probably a few weeks after being leaving B.G.’s grocery. I had rented movies at Hollywood Video many times and had spent countless Friday nights cruising the selection. I guess part of my reason for choosing the video store was the movie “Clerks”.

Clerks was a cult classic, even in the 90’s and featured some odd ball characters making their way through life. One of the anti-heroes worked at a video store and he spent most of his day fucking with people who came into to rent movies. I found the movie hilarious and slowly began to see the connection. I too could work at a video store, entertaining myself while screwing with the public. I could be sarcastic and jaded, doing just enough not to get fired like Peter from Office Space. Once I allowed room for the seed to grow, the opportunity came to fruition.

I dropped off a resume and was hired after a small-time interview. We’ve all been there, making promises to “care” about the customer and to always put the company first. “Could I deal with people in a hurry and make their experience at Hollywood Video a special one” ? Oh yes, not only would I be happy too, I’d do it with a big fat smile on my golden face. Shit. Whatever I said must have worked because I got the job. After taking the tour of the facility which was really just one giant room and being introduced to the cool kids, I was given something that made me question the whole arraignment. Tuxedo clothes.

“What the fuck is this” I thought as I fondled the clip-on bow tie. Had I been so self-centered and unaware to overlook such a ridiculous thing as a tuxedo uniform. I suppose as a paying customer, I had never given it much thought as to what the staff had been wearing. What did I care? I wasn’t some uniform sniffer or two-bit weirdo. I didn’t care because I didn’t have to care. It’s the American way isn’t it? Only giving a shit about anything when it was directly affecting my well-being. I quickly glanced at the manager to confirm my horrors. Sure as shit, she had on a tuxedo shirt, cumber bun, and black dress pants. “Dear God” I thought as I looked down at her shoes and there they were, staring right back at me, dress shoes.

I recoiled in terror. I continued to nod and smile at the manager while quickly scanning the room. So, it was true, tuxedo clothes for everybody. From the nerd running the register, to the odd chicks filing movies back on the shelves, to the dude restocking the candy. It was like a prom night from hell. I couldn’t believe I had overlooked such an important item but I’ve already covered that. As I pushed out the exit door, tuxedo shirt and bow tie in my hands, I swallowed the last of my pride. There was nothing left to do but get drunk on cheap beer and make the best of it. I was scheduled to start in two days and decided not to the waste the time sober.

The day had come to report to my new job at Hollywood Video. As I stood in the bathroom getting dressed, I still couldn’t believe that I was going to put on a “tuxedo” and serve the public. Technically there was no top hat or tuxedo jacket but everything else was there. When I finished adjusting my bow tie, I took a long hard look in the mirror. “Today there is no dignity left” I said to myself. The outfit looked rather silly by today’s standards and maybe the 90’s for that matter. If I owned a time machine, I would go back and tell myself to cheer up. No one cared what kind of clothes I had on any more than I did, when renting movies. It was a non-issue.

I was merely an obstacle that had to be maneuvered before enjoying a movie at home. I would have been served well to remember that fact. Sadly, being young meant that self-awareness was at or near the top of priorities. It would take at least a decade to end that way of thinking and wasn’t much help to me then. I cringed for all those who had been “humiliated” by their circumstances and headed out the door. The car started as usual and I pulled away from my parent’s house. The thought of a man wearing a tuxedo and driving such a small car brings a smile to my face. What an odd sight I must have been, if anyone dared to notice at all.

Pulling into the parking lot confirmed a few things that evening. One: people liked to rent movies in the town I lived and Two: I had no idea what I was doing there. I parked on the side of building that my manager Roxy had pointed out as “employee parking”. It was kind of an empty privilege because customers parked there too. Roxy was the woman in charge and had been responsible for hiring me. Her real name wasn’t Roxy but if I had to name a woman who had rode the wave of hair metal in the early eighties, Roxy it would be. She fit the bill to a “T” in every way. She really was from the eighties and was a rocker chick. She spoke of local bands like they were famous and spent her time off following around a group called “Fiendz in Wonderland” among others.

Literally that was the band’s name, no innuendo or false moniker needed. Although I never actually met the “Fiendz”, I verified that they existed with the help of an old rocker guy named Chad who partied occasionally at my girlfriend’s brothers’ house. Chad was on the verge of being a small-time manager slash promoter for another band called “Catz Ass” and was excited that I knew about the Fiendz in Wonderland. “Shit yeah they rock” Chad assured me when I brought the band up over drinks one night. “I’m actually thinking of booking them with Catz Ass and going on tour” he said very proudly.

The tour never happened and Chad disappeared from my reality, taking Catz Ass and another band named “Crotch” with him. Anyways back to Hollywood Video, Roxy was my manager and an official groupie of the Fiendz in Wonderland. I told her that I found all of the rock and roll stuff very exciting, even if I didn’t really. Agreeing with the boss is better than not in my opinion and I didn’t want to let her down. So, what if she followed around a shitty band with no future and a massive cocaine problem. It was still more interesting than the coolest person at B.G.’s had ever been. I worked there a year and never met anyone who cared much about music, let alone drugs.

I will say this, even in my younger years the wild side was calling me. Maybe a better term would be the “alternative side” of life. Places where societal norms gave way to idiots, drunks, free thinkers, dreamers, druggie’s, and morons. Sure, it was a pitiful sight, but only if a person was looking with the wrong eyes. I could see value where others simply saw garbage. I didn’t agree with Roxy on music but I wasn’t dismissive of her either. At least she was doing what she believed in and wasn’t afraid to have a little passion (and cocaine) about it. The fact that the Fiendz probably never had ten or fifteen fans at their best gig, did nothing to slow down Roxy’s support for them. God bless her.

Roxy took me around the first day and showed me the ropes. As we went from one work station to the next, she would introduce me to my new co-workers. The second person I met was named Stacy and was one of Roxy’s best friends, at least from what I could gather. Ironically Stacy was also a huge fan of the Fiendz and went to their shows with Roxy. “I slept with the lead singer” Stacy said on the first day we met. “That’s pretty cool” I said with enthusiasm. I was there to work, but I also wanted to be accepted socially, as all humans do whether they admit it or not. Stacy was a little looser with the cocaine talk and spoke of the drug very nonchalantly.

Stacy, as it turns out, was the assistant manager and Roxy’s right-hand man when it came to running the store. Other employees included a guy named Phil, a pre-emo era skater kid name Brad, a freckle faced woman named Gretchen, a former classmate from my high school named Becky, and a few people who didn’t make the memory bank. Everyone seemed friendly enough and before I knew it the day was over. It had been a flash of movies, names, people, faces, smiles, smells, and tuxedos. I wasn’t sure about much as that first day ended except that my feet hurt and I was sick of smelling candy. The store had an overpowering smell of sweets from the stockpiles of candy near the check-out lanes and on the shelves near the registers. Like the tuxedo’s, I had never really paid much attention to the candy aroma until I had to literally be around it for eight hours. It was horrible.

When I finally got home my parents wanted to know how my first day had been. I lied and told them “it was great”. Of course, it wasn’t great, if anything I felt kind of sorry for myself. Reduced to wearing a fake tuxedo, renting people movies, and selling candy to babies; I could only think of how proud I would be telling my grandkids about working at Hollywood Video. “Get a grip man” I said to myself and tried to snap out of it. Surely, lots of people had started in the gutter and gone on to do great things. Secretly I thought I was above it all and already longed for something a little less profile with more dignity. Renting videos for a living was not what I intended to do and the more I dwelled on it, the less fun it became.

Unlike Roxy and Stacy, I didn’t have to be there exactly. I wasn’t north of twenty-five, I didn’t have an apartment, and there were other jobs out there. As I tossed in bed, thinking about my next move, I decided to try and make the best of it. The job wasn’t forever and there would be other things down the line, but I could feel the foundation already getting shaky. I hadn’t put in ten hours and already there was the first thoughts of escaping. It was going to be an interesting ride.

The next day I got ready for work and put on my “uniform”. It was still stupid, but I let it roll off my back. There was no point in getting worked up over it, the situation was crap but no worse than when I worked at Taco Bell. I felt like a tool in their uniform too and somehow in comparing the jobs, I came away feeling slightly better. I found that the more I said “fuck it”, the better I began to feel. I might be wearing a shit outfit but so what? People were worse off somewhere, at least I wasn’t bagging groceries and trading worthless conversation with strangers.

The voice in my head yelled “no dummy your bagging up video’s and still having pointless interactions with people who’d rather skip the conversation”. I did get tips from people at B.G.’s when taking out their groceries. The only tips I got at Hollywood were about terrible bands. “Well at least I’m not outside half the day” I reminded myself. The weather couldn’t touch me inside the video store or could it? About that time Roxy told me to follow her outside to empty the rental drop box on the north side of the building.

In that moment I had to admit, the new job might not be an improvement from the old gig. I was starting to feel the weight of disappointment again and tried to block it out. I could always listen to Roxy, who was currently explaining how and when the box needed to be emptied. “Every couple of hours or so, we need to empty the rental drop box to get those new releases back on the shelves” she said. Back in those days, the video store was given a certain amount of copies of “new releases” to rent. The hotter the title, the more in demand those little buggers were. It was not unheard of for people to come back several times in a single day, just to find a copy of the new “it” movie that was out.

Often times people would request to have the “drop box checked” for the chance that a certain movie might have just been returned. Even though we emptied the box numerous times a day, customers insisted on this time-wasting check, just in case. It all seems so strange now, not just my outfit but the rental practices of the local population. We had hundreds if not thousands of selections, but 85% of the people wanted one percent of the movies we had in stock. I personally thought that movies coming out around that time kind of sucked anyway and was happy to pick over the stacks for a lost gem. Finding a good movie really was an art form and it needed to be.

Today if someone doesn’t like the movie they picked on Netflix, they simply hit escape and go back to the main list of titles to choose from. In the nineties, things were a little more serious. A bad pick simply could not be replaced at a whim. If you rented a shitty movie, you watched a shitty movie. There was real commitment there and it had to be. The video store was not open all night and you had to physically get in your car and make the drive over. And back then, it was not appropriate to wear fucking pajamas out of the house, no sir. Going out, meant getting ready and looking the best you could under the circumstances. I do miss the nineties in that respect. No matter what decade it is, comfort should not completely win out over pride.

As Roxy gave me the one-time explanation about the drop box, I noticed that there was a fatal flaw in the design of the box. When a customer pushed a movie in the slot, if it wasn’t pushed hard enough, the movie would come to rest on a small lip, formed in the neck of the drop box. Sometimes people returned movies and they would get stuck there, overlooked for hours or even days. This caused late fees for people that didn’t deserve them and a long drawn out process for fixing the flub. I didn’t know it at the time but this design flaw would become famous among my friends later on. More on that in a bit.

My manager explained that if the box wasn’t changed periodically, movies would eventually spill out of the mouth and new releases wouldn’t be back on the shelves to make the store money. She cared about the store a little more than me, but she was in charge so she had too. I made a few mental notes and then helped Roxy push the heavy box on wheels from the inside of the return box to the store. Each movie then got dumped into a giant return bin and had to be scanned back into the store’s computer. This was critical and if it was not done correctly, the last person to rent the movie was billed with late fees when it didn’t come “back in time”.

Brad was pretty good about checking in the returned movies but no one else ever seemed to do it. After watching Brad waste hours on the process one day while I ran a nonstop cash register, I had an idea. I too would start to check movies back into the system. It was a way to get off the register and seemed to serve Bradly very well. Although we had room for six active registers and cash handlers, we didn’t always need that many. In fact, after the main rush between the hours of 5:30 and 8:30pm, there wasn’t always enough work to keep everyone busy period. This was when the lucky ones got sent home which was fine if you wanted to get out of work early, but hurt a lot on payday. Besides, once I was at work I didn’t really want to go home early.

I usually spent all my money on the weekends and if I had committed to working a shift, there was little point in leaving early. All the people I knew were either on the lake or unreachable (at the tail end of the time before everyone had a cell phone). Getting out of work early did not guarantee that a person could find anyone they were looking for. To safe guard against getting sent home, busy work was just the ticket. It also was a great avenue to get away from the blasted cash register whether we were busy or not. I soon started to learn the tricks of the trade from Brad and my views on the video shop began to change.

It was still a job and work was still required on some level, but there were different ways of experiencing a shift at Hollywood. I took my ques from Brad and before long we were both lost in the shuffle. As long as work was getting done, no one really cared at what speed we moved at. Over time Roxy seemed to be less and less interested in the day to day operations of the store. She and Stacy were spending a lot of time together and before long they became roommates in a local apartment building near the Fiends. I don’t know it that was a good development for the store but it was great for the slackers.

Slowly things began to break down all around the store. From the bathroom cleanings,  vacuuming, to restocking, and everything in between, the video store was slowly drifting in disfunction. It was not as tight around the store, not like when I first started. But then again, I wasn’t trying as hard as I had either. No one was. At first it was just me and Brad fucking off, but before long others were getting into the act as well. Sometimes there would only be two people on the cash registers, when there used to be at least five. As far as I knew, no one had gotten fired and the hours were still the same, but nothing was getting done.