Now, I know what you're going to ask me. "Michelle, what have you been doing for work since Dark Owl Records was destroyed under mysterious circumstances that totally weren't your fault?" Well first of all, nobody says the word 'totally' anymore. That word is really old and really stupid, like dubstep. God, you can't even say sentences properly. Secondly, DON'T TALK ABOUT THAT STORE. It's dead now, and it was dead before. And lame. Also, I can't talk about it because of the ongoing trial. I tried to tell the police that the fire was caused by the light reflecting off the eight-thousand disco balls we ordered during the three-minute disco resurgence last Thursday, but they wouldn't listen to me. That's why their albums suck. I mean, it's just an endless droning high-pitched siren that they play from their car the twelve times a week they come to my house for noise complaints. Self-publishing is killing the music industry.
Hang on, I have a customer. Welcome to the Moonlite All-Nite Diner. Bad food, good prices. The prices are actually bad though. Like the food. It's all terrible. You should just leave. I SAID GET OUT!
They always leave when I say that. I like it when they leave, because it means I don't have to serve them any food or talk to anybody else. One time a customer did stay and order some food, even after I yelled at him and insulted his music taste. I mean, he was wearing an 'Arctic Monkeys' t-shirt. Lithuanian throat singing is SO 2008. Plus, he ordered curly fries. Curly fries are for posers, and fans of Green Day. Green Day's music is actually really good, but anybody who says they're a fan is so obviously just pretending to like them. Anyway, instead of bringing that stupid poser his curly fries I just took all the chairs and put them outside so that he would leave. They were really heavy and bolted to the floor, so it took about five hours to move all of them, but it worked. Then I ate his curly fries. I love curly fries.
Ugh, there's ANOTHER customer. Hold on one second. Welcome to the Moonlite All-Nite Diner. Come for the horrible food, leave immedi-oh, it's YOU. You're banned; you need to leave! No, you couldn't have spoken to the manager because she died yesterday when someone lit the kitchen on fire. No, you can't investigate it. NO I'M NOT GOING TO COME QUIETLY! GET OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW!
I'm so sick of dealing with Boy Scouts. I mean, I know they all have supernatural powers and they can collapse my skull by looking at it, but their uniforms are so stupid and when they talk it's just white noise. White noise hasn't been good since like, 2017.
The really bad thing about this job is that I'm making way less than I was working at Dark Owl Records. I mean sure, I get paid a lot more doing this because nobody ever actually bought anything while I was working at Dark Owl, except for some blank CD's and a Beach boys album. But now I can't use my reseller's discount to bulk buy every available copy of all the good albums and hide them at home in my backyard. I couldn't afford to buy food, so I just pulled out the cover sleeves in the CD cases and ate those. It wasn't so bad, and no CD really needs artwork anyway. If the music is good then people will feel the inescapable urge to commit every song to memory and burn the remains.
Oh my god, there's another stupid customer. Why do you people even come in h- oh, hi Carol. I thought you died yesterday. Well I can't be responsible for EVERY TIME the kitchen catches fire because someone was being negligent. I have customers to serve, you know! What do you even do all day? You know, except for being judgmental and listening to The Beatles. That's not real music, Carol. They don't even play instruments; it's all made using computers. You know what, FINE. I DON'T NEED THIS STUPID JOB!
Sorry, I guess we'll have to pick up this conversation again later. Right now I need to order a bunch of disco balls for no particular reason.