Satisfaction

Ever been in a shitty mood, angry,generally disappointed, sad, not “feeling it”… and or a combination of all those things on top of being sick?

And then all of a sudden…

Enter whiny spaghetti-western winds.

 

Grey clouds…overcast crumminess…as I drove to the local supermarket. My windshield wipers wouldn’t shut the fuck up–they’ve been that way for a month now. People kept telling me to check the fuses, or to unscrew the relentless wipers. It had been constantly raining, so It would be a bad idea not have them.

Of course everyone has a solution for you as long as it doesn’t involve them helping.

And these people have no idea I am a fervent Nurse With Wound fan. One only need to listen to this band a good ten seconds to understand the connection. Their style lies somewhere between the sounds of a busted television set and beautiful drones, dissonant noises and nonsensical clatter. Yes, at times, the rubbery moan a windshield wiper would make on the ass of a pretty young girl. Or, not as exciting, a simple piece of mundane glass.

 

As I walked into the supermarket, to purchase the flu medicine my body was crying for, I beheld my boisterous bedhead on the reflection on my car window, and a vicious wave of vanity voided what little confidence I had mustered on the way there.

Run in, run out, I told myself, don’t fuck around with these dorks. Get it, and split.

I grabbed a few things and avoided conversation. I sounded like a busted vacuum cleaner, and didn’t want to cause my throat any more unnecessary pain.

After I paid for my things, I approached the convenient kiosk that stood near the exit.

 

“Welcome to Starfux, Sir, may I help you?”

I pointed at my throat and gestured a writing hand on paper. How handy, a Starfux inside a supermarket, I thought.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I will get you pen and paper right away,” she said while glancing at my small plastic grocery bag. You have the flu? Well, that makes sense. I’m surprised you’re out here buying that stuff for yourself, you should be resting.”

“Static static,” I said trying to thank her.

“You poor thing! Ha, ha….Let me know if you need anything else. Anything at all,” she said with a glisten on her lip gloss as “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” kicked on the speakers with its revitalizing power.Funny how good music does that to a man. “Someone should be taking care of you.”

And as I took my hot tea from the counter, I smiled to be polite and wanted to thank her for making me feel like a Rolling Stone, but was glad my voice wasn’t up for it.

I walked out with a different feeling than when I walked in–I was reminded, that even in sickness with an aching body, I am a once-man now a god…

Shit, I thought, this song is far from over.

And if it’s good enough, it might find its audience, someone might push “repeat,” even if, to most people, it might sound like a couple of old windshield wipers.

∞