Dear Books-A-Million, Go Fuck Yourself

If I’ve told these assholes once, I’ve told them a thousand times: “I don’t want to join the fucking savings club”. I’ve been going to Books-A-Million, purely out of convenience as it’s next to where I work, for 7 years now. Had I ponied up the buy-in of $20 the first time you asked me, given the hundreds of books I’ve bought for myself, as gifts, children’s books for friends, etc, I would have saved over $14 million at this point. Guess what? I don’t fucking care. I want to keep paying full price. It makes me feel like a big man. I’m about 500 books in at BAM, do you think I’m going to buy into the club and start saving NOW???? I’m way too smart for that, compadre. Today, as I paid full price for David Sedaris’s “Me Talk Pretty One Day”, which I’ve heard is lovely, after I refused for the 1 millionth time the discount club, I was additionally offered incredible discounts on subscriptions to some amazingly shitty magazines. One of the magazines she specifically pointed out to me was Ebony. Monica, know your fucking audience. How many white-as-snow 32 year old males are subscribing to Ebony? If it is more than 1, and if that 1 is not some wanna-be who is trying to nail black chicks at his “crib” in his parent’s basement, I’ll kiss your sweet ass. I’ve threatened, under my breath and aimed at no one in particular, to quit coming into your store a thousand times. I began doing this 5 years ago, and I do so 75% of the times I make a purchase. One of these days I’ll make good on that threat and never come in again. And then you’ll be sorry.

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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One Response to Dear Books-A-Million, Go Fuck Yourself

  1. Anonymous says:

    Amazon is cheaper anyway and you don't need a key to use your own bathroom, and don't have to contend with rude workers!!

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