I’ve mentioned this many times over the past few months, both on this “esteemed” blog and out loud, with my mouth, but I am currently in the throes of a full-bodied, months-long obsession with a band called Drug Church. I’m gonna mention it again right now. As of this moment, I’m also planning to write a little bit about a TV show called Corner Gas, which I’ve also mentioned here and IRL before, but not nearly as much as I’ve mentioned Drug Church. I also wanna maybe talk about the bizarre nature of existence, but I might not be ready for that yet. Anyway, here’s a Drug Church song.

I’m gonna start here: the way I make a living is, I help run a pretty large operation in my field of expertise. It is far from the worst job I’ve ever had. The benefits are practically unmatched in my industry, and the pay, while absolutely not as much as it should be, is decent for this town. Several days a year, I don’t have to work very hard at all, and I get a shitload of PTO. I work with several friends (including two of my best ones), and many of my workplace proximity associates are fun and/or pleasant to be around for 4-10 hours a day, 4-5 days a week. Jobwise, it’s about the best I can hope for at this point in my life.

The Problem is this: several of my workplace proximity associates are significantly less fun and/or more unpleasant to be around for even 4-10 minutes a day, yet I continue to find myself having to be around them for 4-10 hours a day, 4-5 days a week. I’m talking fuckwits of the highest order. Complete baked potatoes when it comes to personality and/or work ethic and/or basic intelligence and/or the ability to carry on a conversation without complaining about some goddamn thing or another.

No offense to baked potatoes. If I am one thing, it’s a man who loves baked potatoes. About once a week we’ll have baked potatoes (aka Big Ol Taters) for dinner, and they’re fuckin delicious. What you do, see, is you get one Big Ol Tater per person (approximately 1 pound each)(to be clear, the potatoes should be approximately 1 pound each, not the people). Scrub em up real nice and either pat em dry or let em air dry for a bit. Approximately one hour before dinner time, preheat your oven to 425°, then rub each potato with some cooking oil, then rub some kosher salt and cracked black pepper on each one. Pop em directly on the middle rack of your very hot oven and bake for 1 hour. I put a small baking pan lined with parchment paper and aluminum foil directly under the potatoes to catch the dripping oil. After an hour, check for doneness by jabbing a toothpick into the fattest part of each potato. If the toothpick goes all the way in with minimal resistance, your delicious baked potato is ready to spruce up. I like to top mine with butter, more cracked black pepper, shredded cheddar cheese, steamed broccoli, more shredded cheddar cheese, sour cream, and salsa, but really your imagination is the only limit when it comes to toppings. You could plop some chili on there, or some cheese sauce, or pretty much anything you can think of. It’s a hearty, satisfying, super-easy meal, and it’s cheap as hell to boot.

But I was talking about my shitty co-workers. I know that shitty co-workers aren’t a new thing. If I am one thing, other than a man who loves baked potatoes, it’s a man who has had his fair share of jobs.¹ As such, I’ve also had had my fair share of un-fun/unpleasant co-workers, but here’s the thing about my current “un-” situation (situat-un?): this is by far the largest place I’ve ever worked, both in terms of size of the company, and in terms of sheer number of coworkers. I’m no mathematician, and I admittedly have always had difficulty understanding fractions and decimals, but I know enough to know that that’s gonna result in the largest percentage of coworkers being absolute chucklefucks that I’ve ever experienced before, and friends, I’m here to tell you that it is dumb.

The company being as big as it is means, among other things, that getting rid of incompetent and/or inept and/or entitled and/or lazy and/or combative dickheads can be a months-to-years long process which requires an endless stream of “Conversations” and “Coaching Sessions” and written documentation, even when every single person around them can see that those incompetent and/or inept and/or entitled and/or lazy and/or combative dickheads should never have even made it past their probationary employment, let alone still be employed some 5, 10, 15, or more years later, constantly crying victim when their incompetence and/or ineptitude and/or entitlement and/or laziness and/or combativeness is called to task.

Just some all-around contemptible people.

I also work with the largest quantity of Loud Talkers per capita to be found in the entirety of my employment history. And if I am one thing, other than a man who loves baked potatoes and has had his fair share of jobs, it’s a man with sensory issues who has a real hard time with loud talking, especially when it involves more than two people at a time, which it almost always does when I’m at work.

The lazy asshole thing combined with the loud talking thing means that, among other things, I lose a little bit more of my already fragile mind every single day I work. I don’t like losing my mind. It’s the second healthiest thing about me, after my beard.

Here’s what I’m getting at: Drug Church helps me deal with all that shit. I listen to them on the way to work, and I listen to them in my mind while I’m at work, and I listen to them on the way home from work, and most days I listen to them at home after work, too, except when I’m watching Corner Gas, but sometimes during commercials, and so very many of their songs speak to the way I feel  90% of the time.

They are one of five things keeping me sane right now, the other four being my amazing wife, my amazing friends, Corner Gas, and Ginger, the groundhog who hangs out in our backyard and eats clover. Here’s another one of their songs.

Corner Gas is a Canadian sitcom that originally aired from 2004-2009 on CTV. It takes place in the fictional town of Dog River, Saskatchewan, where Brent (played by comedian Brent Butt², who also created the series) is the proprietor of Corner Gas, which sits at the intersection of two roads in the middle of the prairie. Lacey runs The Ruby, a cafe/diner that shares a wall with Corner Gas. Hilarity ensues. All the people in town are either kinda dumb in an endearing way, or too smart for their own good (also in an endearing way). It’s very cleverly written, the cast is great, and the show is just hilarious. You can watch the whole series for free with ads on YouTube. You might be able to stream the whole thing without commercials somewhere as well, but not on any of my services.

I got tickets yesterday to see Drug Church live in May. It’s a headlining show, and I’m not sure I could possibly be more excited. Well, if they were playing here so I wouldn’t have to drive to Indianapolis, I would be more excited, but I’m still so fucking pumped. It’s a newer venue called Turntable in the Broad Ripple neighborhood, located in the space where Cracker’s Comedy Club used to be. My friend Lori saw a show there a while back and said it was a cool space, and I trust her judgement.

Here’s another one of their songs.

I gotta wrap this up for now. Don’t worry, I still have plenty more to write about Drug Church. Probably about Corner Gas, too. Heck, I have almost three full seasons to go still, plus there’s a feature-length follow-up film (Corner Gas: The Movie) and an animated series (Corner Gas Animated)! I still wanna talk about the bizarre nature of existence at some point too, but I guess I’m not quite ready for that, other than to say that the nature of existence is completely fucking bizarre.

Here’s one final Drug Church song for this outing. It’s the first one I ever heard, and it’s still one of my very favorites. There’s a 92% chance that the opening guitar lick is in my head at any given moment.

Ever been to a county fair
Where all the games are scams
Now apply what you know
To all the things you don’t
Politics and business
Most love many friendships
Throw until your tendons tear
But those bottles stay weighted

Goodwill then hard stops
Slow learner gets taught
My teachers tried, my teachers lost
(There were principals involved)

Mishandled, and robbed
They rubbed my feelings raw
But now I’ve put my glasses on

Brings it all into focus
Slow to hear, late to notice
But now I’m on a constant watch
Cynical not bitterness
Love my girl and friendships
I forgive all of life’s hassles
Flat tires to thieving bosses
Overdrafts to cheating exes

But don’t make me remember
If I don’t have to

Goodwill then hard stops
Slow learner gets taught
My teachers tried, my teachers lost
(There were principles involved)

Mishandled, and robbed
They rubbed my feelings raw
But now I’ve put my glasses on

Apologies
Are a wedding night fling
Sometimes it’s best to exit quietly

Apologies
Doesn’t quite wash it clean
Sorry is a sad and sorry thing

Thanks for reading. It means a lot.

1. A quick count indicates I’m currently on my 21st job, with a strong possibility that I’m forgetting at least one. In addition to Drug Church and Corner Gas, I’ve also talked a lot hither and thither about my absolute disdain for the entire concept “working for a living”, especially when the purpose of that work is to make more money for someone who already has more money than me. That’s a topic for another post(s), though. ↩︎
2. If that’s not a name destined for a life in comedy, then I don’t even know what’s real. ↩︎