When I worked at Taboo Video in Seattle in the late ’90s, I thought many of the store’s customers were already dead. I mean, biologically alive, but living in limbo at best. They worked horseshit jobs that they hated but were even more afraid of losing. Many so-called decent people derive their hope from morally bankrupt institutions, but most of my customers survived daily struggles by consuming a pornographic hallucination. Whether Dungeons and Dragons, fantasy football or fisting videos, it’s all the same to me. You need something to distract you from your daily grind and I provided that dream.
So many customers showed up at Taboo and walked briskly to the porn video booth to jerk off. And frankly, for most of them, it really was the high point of their day (or week, or month). I was there to facilitate that without making them feel bad. I don’t know what it is about me, but people kept telling me their darkest and most tragic secrets. Quite often, customers would show up very late and very drunk, and especially during the holidays… they’d get in the mood to talk.
Some lady would say, “I sucked my son’s cock!”
Some dude goes, “I fucked my stepdaughters!”
Me: “Uh, how about that Ichiro?!” (Trying hard not to get a boner…)
These kinds of crazy exchanges made me feel like Lucy van Pelt; Taboo Video store was my psychiatry booth. But believe me, my advice is completely worthless. I wish I had been a better student and trained as a therapist, so I could inspire them with great psychological insights. Unfortunately, I didn’t and can’t. The Doctor is OUT.
(I hope most of them are doing okay.)