Our intern here at EVB fancies himself a learned music aficionado. A real Phil Spector. A young Prince Paul. A regular John Peel of sorts. He takes control of the SONOS office music player with reckless abandon, like a captain steering a wayward vessel to safety. The only problem? If it's not some shitty Euro house music abomination, it's a bona fide ad-nerd indy band abortion like Passion Pit. You know, one of those bands that was destined to be featured in a bowel-rattling car commercial. One of those where a car is driving through a tunnel at night. With lights shining on it. In the rain. Yeah, one of those.
Most of the time this sends me spiraling into a apoplectic rage, cursing the young intern until he trembles behind his make-shift work area i.e. Facebook updating station. I tried to reason with him at first "C'mon dude, this is the worst music I've ever heard in my life." Other times I would HULK through three separate dry-walls to deliver a declarative reprimand regarding the assault on my archival ears. I tried begging. Dropping to my knees to plead with the young tone-def tune smuggler. No dice.
When all that stopped working, I knew I had to break out the big guns.
The kid was naive enough to teach me how to log in to the SONOS player all by myself, thus giving me omnipotent power over the office speakers. This is the first crushing blow I delivered today:
Don't fuck with me, P-10. You've been put on notice.