Anja has a great story today – go read it, then come back here and read one of mine – it’s kinda similar.
Back already? OK – I spent a couple of years in the mid 1980’s working at London’s Record & Tape Exchange, an extremely grotty chain of second hand shops resposible for about 60% of the people working in London’s music industry. I spent one day each week in the branch that sold musical instruments and home entertainment goods, a place of not infrequent violence as we locked the doors yet again to prevent the escape of some poor smack-addict attempting to flog a stolen trumpet. One day a middle-aged gentleman arrived in the shop to sell a knackered looking video player. After making sure his ID was present and correct, I took the machine into the workshop at the back of the shop, where we tested much of the incoming stock, plugged it in, noticed there was a tape in the machine, and pressed play. And there he was – our middle-aged seller – masturbating furiously for the camera, naked apart from his socks. After regaining my composure, I took the machine back into the shop, ready to tell the surely mortified customer that he’d forgotten to remove his home-made pornography. And what happened? Before I said a word, he smiled at me, asked if I’d enjoyed the performance, grabbed the player off the counter and strolled casually out of the shop. I never saw him again.