Please, No Stairway

All my life I have enjoyed music and wished I could make it. (While there may have been hope that I could have composed music, those days are long past.) I sang in choirs and played a variety of musical instruments, all in the vain hope that I might, someday, make beautiful music. All I did was make mediocre-at-best music.

My last, glorious attempt at musicianship was an attempt to play the guitar. (My guitar teacher, Karim, never once laughed at me; he's a great actor.) I enlisted the aid of a friend who did play guitar for the selection of my new axe. We wandered down to Guitar Center to peruse the selection. The salesperson, who did not look like this, played a piece of some complex jazz piece and then followed it up with a perfect performance of Stairway to Heaven.

I was impressed. But I am also Scottish. So I decided to come back on another day when Guitar Center was running one of their ubiquitous sales. On the appointed day, I wandered into the store, looking for my new guitar. What do I see? My salesperson playing a piece of some complex jazz piece and following it up with a perfect performance of Stairway to Heaven.

I felt so betrayed.

Guitar Center need a "No Stairway" sign for their own stinking employees.

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