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letra de ode to a summer retail job - the doubleclicks

it’s another summer morning at the store
sunscreen in the air and flip-flops on the floor
chaotic children run around like dust inside a sunbeam
and i wonder if i even dare to dream

i don’t want to touch wet money anymore
i don’t want to touch wet money anymore
i’m fully aware it’s hot
but i’d really rather not
i don’t want to touch wet money anymore

every day it’s wearing down my will
as each new customer comes to the till
in one hand a beverage
that they need to stay hydrated
pulling from their purse a currency that’s fully saturated

i don’t want to touch wet money anymore
i don’t want to touch wet money anymore
if it’s been inside your sock
i just don’t want it at all
i don’t want to touch wet money anymore

if i only had a day without wet money
if every bill was clean and crisp and dry
my retail disposition would be sunny
i’d smile each customer fair in their eye
and i wouldn’t be ignored or condescended to
i’d say “how’s it going” and they’d say “doing well, and you?”
and i wouldn’t go a-wondering if this is all my life is for
selling deadpool books to aging hipsters at a comic store
is this what i intended when i reached this age?
day-jobbing sporadically for minimum wage
am i heading towards or have i just surrendered all my dreams
if the cash was dry, it wouldn’t be as bleak as that all seems

i don’t want to touch wet money anymore
i don’t want to touch wet money anymore
there’s an answer, what do you call it?
oh that’s right, a gosh darn wallet
i don’t want to touch wet money anymore

- the doubleclicks

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