So I’m working on the loading dock for a company that rhymes with Kohls, and is also Kohls. Yes I know oh the giddy heights my life has taken me too. Anyway in between store announcements that go somewhere beyond insipid, some sick bastard decides to play a fricking Jack Johnson song.
I’ll repeat, it’s not like this just randomly came on the radio, this is Kohl’s programmed music. Someone made a decision to play Jack Johnson. At Five In The Morning. On A Freezing Cold Loading Dock. As we where lifting fifty pound boxes of shit. What the fuck is wrong with people?
Do you know when’s a good time to listen to Jack Johnson? When you’re at the beach with a joint in one hand and a pina colda in the other. Do you know what’s not a good time to listen to Jack Johnson? Any other time. You know what’s a particular bad time to listen to Jack Johnson, on the loading dock at Five AM.
It’s not that I have anything against Mr. Johnson per se. He’s basically a modern day Jimmy Buffet with (slightly) less smarm, and (slightly) better word play. The problem is the man lives the very definition of a charmed life. Love him or hate him, you’d kill to be him. Admit it.
Do you know what Jack Johnson did today? He woke up got a little wake and bake action going. Slept with a groupy or two. Cashed a royalty check. Noodled around on his guitar for a few minutes, and then went out surfing for awhile. Know what he’ll do tomorrow. THE EXACT SAME FUCKING THING! Forever and ever amen. Jack Johnson has been anointed by the Gods as the favorite chosen son of the cosmos, the one man in this veil of tears who will never feel what we mortals know as pain.
Now normally I’m OK with that. Some people just have all the luck. It’s just that reminding you of that while you’re unloading a truck just seems redundant.
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1 comment:
I wish I'd had you there at my Thanksgiving dinner when my family were regaling me on the wonderful merits of Jack Johnson. Strangely, the marijuana use wasn't brought up.
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