Monday, May 3, 2010
How I didn't want to be a Barbie Girl, but Target forced me to.
- Hi Barbie!
- Hi Ken!
- You want to go for a ride?
- Sure, Ken! - Hop In!
- Ha ha ha ha ha!
During my first year of college I worked in the back stock room of an unheralded Target.
One might say I was known as the "Target Super-Stud" of the back stock room area. It's a title I held dearly as there were only two of us men that worked back there, and the other one may have had an eleventh finger growing out of his shoulder.
For those that may not be aware, Target is your home for Furniture (crappy), Patio Furniture (still crappy, but not as crappy), Gardening Tools (those little hand rake things), Swimwear (non-exotic), Electronics (hand-held, ahem "back massagers"), Toys (including hand-held, ahem "back massagers"), Men's and Women's Clothing (finely crafted), Video Games (expensive) and Bedding (both human and canine).
Alas, this story is not about the marvelous goods and services offered by Target; they are indeed bountiful. No, this is a story about a lowly stock boy and his being treated inhumanely by the corporate Target king fish.
I'm a Barbie Girl in a Barbie world
Life is plastic, it's fantastic
You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere
Imagination, Life is your creation
Every day. Every day. Every fall-ooping day (pardon the language) at 10:30, I would take my break in the designated Target break room.
Contrary to popular belief, the Target employee break room is not a pastel gorged romper-room filled with 25 cent mechanical ponies and curtained photo booths to make out in. You would think there would be at least some giant darts to toss around at all the red circles, but there's not.
No, the Target employee break room is basically a room with some tables and a hanging television that plays a single station: the Target music station.
Come on Barbie, Let's go party
I'd rather not.
Target music television essentially looped the same videos over and over. My break began promptly at 10:30. Barbie Girl started at 10:35 and lasted until approximately 10:38. Every day.
I worked at Target for six months and this music loop did not change during that entire time.
T'was, my own... living... hell.
You can touch, you can play
You can say I'm always yours, Oooh Whoa
The Target break room television sat approximately 14 feet off the ground. A hard shoe toss at the screen proved futile after the third try. I tried dragging a table to the site of the television, but was still unable to reach the volume because there was no volume; nor was there an on and off switch. There was nothing - just Aqua and Barbie and me.
Make me walk, make me talk, do whatever you please
I can act like a star, I can beg on my knees
Come jump in, be my friend, let us do it again
Hit the town, fool around, let's go party
It's like the lyrics have been scalded onto my brain with one of those fiery hot poker things that they use on cow behinds. (I forget the technical name.)
Every time I step into a Target - that tune, those lyrics, that living purgatory - immediately enters my mind. I only wish I could discard it, head-vomit it out of my ears, let it ooze out of my nose; yet it lingers, reminding me of those many hours we spent together so long ago.
And that, my dear friends, is how I became a Barbie Girl - made of plastic, it was fantastic.
I shall never escape her wrath.