Describe a time when you had to make a difficult decision...

If I had my druthers and didn't need to whore myself out for a job all the time, I'd definitely have a more pertinent story to tell interviewers. Sure, it always seems like a good idea to craftily relate a work conflict or some other tough decision regarding school or life in general. Keyword: seems.

"Well, there was this one time when my boss asked me to stay late on a Friday afternoon to get a grant proposal out the door. But, you see, I had Twins tickets and they were playing the Red Sox and I knew this cute girl who liked baseball and..." Shit! You just made yourself look like a flake with misguided priorities (although there is a strong argument to be made that cute date + baseball >> work but let's just assume that in this case, work gets dibs). If you go around saying stuff like that, you'll never get a job.

The question is an invitation to stick a foot in your mouth. Sure, you could tell a story about that time when you had to decide whether to go save the adorable child on the runaway train or the 100 inmates tied to the tracks, but for the other 99.999% of us, the best possible outcome to this question is to keep the asshole-level to an absolute minimum. Unless...

Unless, that is, you tell them about the actual last time you had to make a difficult decision. In my case, this happens on a weekly basis. As some of you know, I use a trip to the record store as an excuse for any number of unrelated tasks I'm trying to delay completing. Policy work to do? Policy is best done with a good record playing! Legal writing brief due? Legal writing is best done with a good record playing! You can see the pattern my brain continually follows. It's a good thing I don't have any other expensive habits besides elephant seal wrestling and buying vinyl.

Inevitably, I will set some arbitrary limit for myself before I enter. One new record and one used record. No, three used records and a new one only if I can't pass it up. Well, I could use two new records and maybe one used one if I can find a good deal. As you no doubt imagine, this rationale, skewed though it is, gets thrown out the window as soon as the old-attic-smell of a used record store enters my nostrils. I sometimes start to sweat in anticipation. Which isn't as big a deal as it sounds -- I sweat thinking about much more mundane things.

Today was the perfect example of the numerous difficult decisions I face once I put myself, the shark, into water red with chum. I'm discovering that Electric Fetus on Franklin and 4th consistently has the best selection of high-quality vinyl in town. Cheapo is good for volume, but there's a lot of chaff. Roadrunner and Treehouse are good, but for more obscure stuff. Shuga is filled even further to the brim with junk (although their online store seems much better). Electric Fetus went a long way in cementing its reputation with me today. I was about halfway through the "Used Vinyl" section and I had a one bona fide good find: Back in Black by AC/DC. A Chuck Berry album I had never heard of had me at about a 5/10 excitement level. I was content though. Then my day got suddenly more complicated.

I think it's an unstated rule amongst crate-diggers that you don't side up to a fellow digger. You give them space. Finding records is almost a symphony between you and the past. It's sacred. Normal people don't just side up to you while you're engaged in such a ritual. I hate it when it happens and I give many a dirty look when people do this to me. So this guy did this very thing just as I had eclipsed the halfway point of the used section. In fact, he began to move the whole columns of records down, mixing up the admittedly already mixed up organization. He was playing Lady Gaga over my Mozart. In a movie, the sound of the needle scratching a record would play and the music would stop.

The next part would also be in a movie. Just after the record sound, a chorus of angelic voices would start a rousing round of "Hallelujah!" The church version, not the Leonard Cohen version. This man was not butting into my personal space. Well he was, but it was for my benefit. He carried a box of fresh, used records and was shifting the line of used records down to accommodate the new arrivals. I always wondered when they refreshed their selection. I thought they might bring Brinks trucks in late at night and, under cover of armed guards, add the new selection while the rest of the city slept. But no, this was during the middle of the day in a busy store. And no one seemed to notice the glorious event happening right in front of their eyes!

As he finished his task and carried the empty box back to the place of boxes, we exchanged a knowing nod. Not a flamboyant Midwestern nod, but a muted hipster nod. At least his was a hipster nod, mine was probably more frantic, crazed even. For we both knew the ordeal I was about to enter.

Two whole columns, probably 100 records deep -- and it was all MINE. Like a logger surveying a tract of virgin timber, well...it moved a little. So I dug in. Like a dream, a cavalcade of records paraded in front of my wide (for an Asian) eyes, each calling out to me, louder than the last, "Take me home."

Miles Davis, Art Blakey, The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, The Who, The Doors -- all the heavy-hitters were there. An original pressing of Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band v. a novelty album jacket version of Led Zeppelin III. How can a person choose? Keep in mind, at this unfortunate time, I felt like I had to make a decision. Though the records were only about $9 or $10 a piece, I must never forget that I am a student living off of the government. So I took a few over to the in-store record player, hoping that one would be so mangled as to remove it from consideration. All of my samples were pristine and to make matters worse, they all got exclamations of approval from one of the staff. As far as record store staff go, the aforementioned nod is a pretty big get for a customer like me. An actual verbal affirmation -- almost unheard of.

So I made my decision. I had to make a few hard cuts, Revolver by the Beatles (I own a reissue), some Art Blakey jazz (tough decision, but they are more common), and Led Zeppelin I (I still feel bad about leaving this little guy behind). But I did go home with Back in Black (AC/DC), Sgt. Pepper (The Beatles), and Led Zeppelin II & III. I also went home with the good story to tell interviewers; the way I see it, a story that makes you sound just a bit weird is better than one that inadvertently makes you look like an ass. My lesson of the day.