#wishing things werent so awkward with sac state because that would have been a great meet cute

[cigarretteluvr]

record store employee

being home for the holiday has filled me with nothing less than pure joy. where better to be during this mercury retrograde?

my teenage bedroom, where time seems to not exist. i'm not twenty one or fifteen or nineteen in this bedroom. not going through a breakup, not a student. i just am, freely.

getting finger cuts on the records i graze my finger on and don't pick. dancing in front of my window. watching movies i've put off watching because it wasn't the right "time." indulging in the core part of myself that isn't good or bad. but just is.

today i went into town with my dad to look at the leaves changing color and falling. there's no better time to be in the city of trees than in the fall, i always tell people.

we started at mast coffee. i got a hot pumpkin chai and picked leaves out of my hair. he pulled out his camera to take pictures of me- which i co-opted immediately, "this is my new toy for the day," i said, playing with the focus. he chuckled.

the city was celebrating fall. leaves sprinkled down like confetti. trees still full of them saturated the skies and the blankets covering the streets made the neighborhoods look warm and happy and glowing.

after leaving the tower district (saddened by the demolition of tower records), we skipped over to the historic district for a record store we went to years ago. where i picked up yeezus on vinyl and it changed my life.

it was busy, but not as busy as you'd expect it to be. and not busy enough to distract the owner from my enthusiasm.

after pulling out derek and the domino's layla, and other assorted love songs, i ran to my dad to show it to him. original pressing and all.

as we stared, the owner comes up to me. he's older, short, and a sarcastic type. the kind of guy you would expect to run a record store in the historic district, but with a little bit of edge.

"now how does a youngin' like you know about this album?" he asks me.

looking at my own reflection in his sunglasses, i laugh, and respond, "i guess i'm cultured, how could you not know about this album?"

he looks at my dad snd i with a laugh. "you know, this may not be politically correct to say, but it's amazing what heartbreak and a little heroin can do. this is one of the best double lps ever made."

"yeah, pretty much sums up the seventies, huh?" i respond.

he pats me on the shoulder and laughs. we go our seperate ways. i'm looking for the marias new album still. nose-deep in the new releases, i overhear a boy in a sac state hoodie talk to my new friend.

"i'm coming back for this kanye album, i just need to run to the bathroom," he explains.

"alright buddy for sure," he responds, "it's down the hall on the right."

quickly, mr. state darts out of the store.

although i own every kanye record worth owning, my ears perked up. i meandered to the hip-hop crate and stood uncorrected: nothing i didn't already have. but gorlliaz in the hip-hop section? i thought to myself, that's a choice.

"young lady, if you enjoy hip hop, i have two unopened boxes over here i haven't priced yet. you can go through them if you'd so desire," the owner says.

"there's nothing i'd love more than to look through unopened boxes of hip-hop records," i say dramatically.

he leads me to the corner of the store next to the register and tears open the boxes. "have at 'em. i'm going to get some water. while i'm gone, you're in charge." he gives me a pat on the shoulder and disappears.

i stand puzzled for a moment. how would i react to the guy with gages asking me about a talking heads cd? but i'm too blinded by the pandora's box in front of me to think too hard about it.

somewhere between illmatic and damn, sac state is taking out his wired headphones and waiting patiently in front of the register. but for now, in front of me.

"...hi," I start

"what's up."

"oh, you know." i nod to the boxes i have made a mess of all over counter. my dad is by my side with the derek lp. "i'm in charge for now..." i offer.

he's uneased. "okay."

i try to break the tension. "what kanye album were you looking at earlier?"

"graduation, but i was wondering if," he pauses, "we... have any gorillaz." emphasis on we.

i feel like i stumbled into a fast draw. but looking at him, i get a feeling he feels the same. and the shared confusion between us makes it clear that neither of us have a pistol. so there we stand with our hands over our hip like idiots.

"yeah, uh, it's in the hip-hop section," i offer. but he's still looking at me expectantly. "i don't know which albums exactly," i pause, "we... have, but i know the sound machine is in there-- which is kind of a rare find. in the hip-hop crate," i continue, motioning my head over to the crate.

"alright. uh, cool,” he responds.

and that's the end of that. i continue looking through my boxes, and flower boy catches my eye. ever the sentimentalist, i hold on to it. the owner comes back with a glass of white wine.

"wouldn't you know it, i went out for water and came back with wine!"

"ho-ly," i remark.

"this kid," he laughs. "find anything?"

"yeah, i'm thinking flower boy." i hold up the album, in case he was wondering what flower boy was. "how much?"

"well for you, how about 30?"

"30?" i question.

"consider it an employee discount." i can't tell if he winked, but i like to imagine he did.

my entry about flower boy and la and camp flog gnaw plays in my head. "yeah why not. i'll take it."

fortunately that's the end of that story. the full circle-ness of it all bewildered me (enough to write it out on here at least). i walked out of the store giggling to my dad: how silly was that! i can't believe i actually knew what to say-- like i actually worked there. oh my god. that type of stuff doesn't happen down in socal.

and it doesn't. the most action i get in a record store in la or orange county tends to be the obligatory small talk during the purchase. the talking and the fun and the connecting-- you have to seek it down there. i'm not used to it coming to me.

after a walk in the capital mall, we end our day at a small mexican place where the cook comes out and asks us if we enjoyed the meal. and he asks genuinely. lucky for him we did, and i thank him again for cutting up a lime small enough to fit in the mouth of my mexican coke. he nods with a hand to his heart and runs back into the kitchen.

this stuff just doesn't happen down there, i reiterate.

--

if sacramento was a taste it would be a salted caramel dark chocolate. i could make up some poetic reason why (and i'm sure there is one), but i just always want one on my drive home. and it just feels right to me.

as if i need reasons to love her, it's like she always feels the need to prove herself when i come back home. making me a record store employee for ten minutes, giving me some of the best veggie tacos i've ever had, making her leaves- glowing red and orange and yellow- fall in slow motion and all around me.

here i am writing about la and she's getting jealous. my love, my hometown. reminding me that northern charm is hard to come by. that even if i want to run around la and act like a local, this is where my heart is and where it will always be.