WORDS BY SATSUJIN
Hi.
I’ve got a real name, but I’ll assume you don’t give a shit what it is. Truth of the matter is, if you do, chances are you don’t have too much to do with yourself and need a little something to occupy your time.
That said. My “name” is Satsujin. I sell porn.
Accurately speaking, I manage porn. I’ve been slumming in this industry; a satellite in the debauched world of sweaty envy for well over eight years. For those of you that want to do the math: I started when I was 18.
This is the equivalent of taking my already overcooked personality and dropping it into a Crockpot of discontent and bitterness. It has slow cooked the cynicism right out of me and left a peppery flavor in these words I leave for you, my less than busy reader.
I climbed slow, unsure of my direction, to the position I am now. I’ve managed what seemed to be a growing retail establishment that has wedged itself into the land of corporate pornographic kings. There was a time when the decisions I made were not so important, my ripples as minute as the twitter of a cricket’s legs, and yet I was far more driven to write about what irritated me to sheer anger than I am now.
In hindsight, I know that the things I dwelled on, wrote about and allowed to drive me to absolute madness are small things. But that doesn’t make them any less funny. Because let’s be honest; an angry woman who sells porn and deals with complete idiots on a regular basis can be pretty goddamned funny… under the right circumstances of course.
Confessions of a Porn Clerk
Chapter 1
Some day/in some month/circa 2006
This is my ode to a large group of people populating the world. I am thankful to say that I do not surround myself with this bunch, of my own free will. I have no such thing as a “pity friend.” The friends I do have I value greatly and while I do not always keep close contact and return phone calls, those dear people understand their place in my heart. Not a damned one of them is a manipulative crybaby.
As a porn clerk, I’m bound to a code of ethics. Most of these little porn rules are considered socially universal, though they are not written or found in The Porn Clerk’s Manual to Handling Cockmonkeys.
We do not shout your late fee for the transsexual porn that you rented and kept for two weeks, across the store.
We do not find you in the public library and ask out loud, “How was Assault That Ass 3?”
We do not snitch out your multiple visits and greet you by your first name when you bring your girlfriend to the store for the first time.
We do not “test” your sex toy for the purpose of waving it overhead and shouting “Yes, ma’am. This here is a good one. Yu-huck.”
We are a quiet, jaded, and often underestimated lot that enjoys laughing at you on the inside, just as much as pointing a finger at your retreating back on the outside. With that in mind, while I would enjoy publicly humiliating two manipulative crybabies that I loathe with a passion, due to my Porn Clerk Silent Code of Ethics, I will not. Though I can’t say that I won’t shout their late fee across the store to make myself feel better and quietly feign a blush and a mock apology to cover my antics. Oops.
The manipulative crybabies in question… we’ll call them Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber. Or to make matters easier, we’ll call them John and Robert. John is a fat-lipped faggot who likely has more hair around his asshole than his scalp. His eyes bulge. I bet the birth date on his driver’s license places him somewhere in the sixties. He’s not fat, not tall, not short, and not skinny. He is White and average-looking, aside from the fact that his face reminds me of Mr. Bighead from the cartoon Rocco’s Modern Life.
He’s charming when he wants to be, but I’m sure that talent only rears its head when there’s enough testosterone around to outdo Anna Nicole Smith. These are all attributes that I’m willing to forego, as I’m not vain enough to omit someone being a valuable customer based on the sheer fact that they’re ugly. We’ll get back into why this guy sucks in a second. I still have to introduce his butt-buddy.
Meet Robert. The kid is half the other clown’s age, easily. I probably have more hair on my face than him (and I don’t have facial hair people. Give me some fucking credit here). His eyes are close set and he’s got a sweet smile. He’s tall and kind of skinny. Perhaps if he hadn’t been sucked into the Black Hole of an ass that John was, he may have turned out okay in the next ten years… with the right guidance, of course (prison might help).
Fuckface John has this kid on a leash. I don’t know what the situation is sexually, financially, or socially and I really don’t give a shit to tell you the truth. But it’s pretty obvious that the older guy has the leash in his hand and the collar is secured on Robert’s throat. Robert mopes around like a puppy waiting for John to piss so that he can roll in it and look in his master’s eyes adoringly. Half the time, I expect to hear him say, “Whatever you say, oh great leader of cock-worship!” Still, their behavior with each other doesn’t bother me. It’s the way they act with me that pisses me off.
I’d like to say that I know the people I work with relatively well. We’re a tight-knit group that picks up on each other’s ticks. I’ve worked with these people for years. I have a rapport and an understanding with them. Some fuckface ass-hat thinks he can whine about me to my co-worker on matters unrelated to work and it won’t get back to me? Oh no, no, no! They are sadly mistaken.
I’ve tethered you people enough. Allow me to cut the roast for you, and serve exactly what this fucking dish is about. An ex-coworker (we’ll call her Misty) used to give these guys free rentals until they started getting weird on her. And by weird, I mean calling the store asking for her. Making comments about seeing her parade around in some of the costumes (which really aren’t much more than scraps of fabric). Since Misty was a relatively good friend of mine, it’s no wonder I would be protective and decide to handle them from there on out. So I charged them for their movie rentals.
Oh my God!! The world ended!! How dare I make them pay FOUR DOLLARS PER RENTAL? These jackasses were so pissed that I charged them; they called the store asking for Misty to complain. She isn’t a supervisor, I am. And even if she was, do you think complaining about paying for something you took for granted would really do you any good? LMAO @ you fucktards.
But it gets better. Their secret loathing for me spawned into other avenues. They’ve complained to other employees. Not three days ago, I watched them return rentals late. They racked an $8 late charge on their account. I watched my fellow co-worker (we’ll call him Bob) check them in and keep the late fee on the computer. So they come in to rent the following day and lied to my face with, “We were here at least before midnight. I mean, we raced to get here” (Clue: I put away rentals after midnight, just to trap assholes like you). And when they’re not happy with my reply (”I watched you turn them in; they’re late”), John storms off to my co-worker Bob to complain.
I would be fine with complaining if you were just a cheap bastard. Regularly dealing with cheap bastards has thickened my skin to where I don’t have to write a fucking rant every god damned day to maintain my sanity. It’s the fact that you took personal shots at me because you didn’t get your fucking way. And like a manipulative crybaby, started leg-humping my other employees to not only try and scam free rentals out of them, but use the opportunity to talk shit about me.
“Ugh. She must have dyed her hair again to think that charging us was OK.l”
“Oh. My. God. She’s sick. I don’t want her helping us”
“Ugh. She doesn’t even look female anymore.” (That was the cake-topper, by the way)
All this from a guy who looks like his mother started him off with daily collagen injections to the mouth rather than breast milk.
The moral of the story folks: Manipulative Crybabies don’t always get their way. If anything, they get bigger late fees and an occasional “Oh, I’m sorry. It looks likes your account has been suspended. You’ll need to refill out an application.” Stop your whining. Stop taking the clerks for granted. And when you don’t get your way, take it in the ass like you normally do and shut the fuck up.
