The sound of suck is coming after your psyche. Whether you find it insipid or you're tasteless enough to feel the groove, we're all forced to hear the music played at retail establishments. More than an annoyance, music is a mind control tool employed by the grocery business. Typically, service industry corporations operate radio networks, punctuate their third-rate playlists with asinine promotions and play the cacophony 24 hours a day.

Marketers' old school of thought was to play cheery music to induce feelings of well being and thus increase customer spending. Playing fast music towards closing time to make us shop and work faster is an obsolescent yet famous trick. The old butcher knives have been supplanted by surreptitious scalpels. Newer research has shown the tempo and giddiness of music to be practically irrelevant. For example, Kroger now plays Simon & Garfunkel every day. People simply stay longer and spend more when music they like is being played.

Some sucker ambling along and whistling to the music is a common sight where I work. Question this: are you thinking what they want you to think when you go shopping. Ironically, when front end was rocked by my favorite Rolling Stones song, I was more likely to listen to Mick Jagger than to my customers.

Christmas is the most nauseating time of year as McDonald's takes the lead in offending sensibilities. My first December under the Arches was especially harrowing, as putrid renditions of Christmas favorites drove my coworkers and I to the brink of madness. Our survival instinct kicked in, inspiring one cashier to sing along with some creative revisions. His ballads of destroying the store and making lowlife customers suck on our vengeance gave the crew a desperately needed laugh.

Like automatons, we zealously heil the ubiquitous corporate beast. Rather than celebrating good will and generosity or the summertime birth of Christ, we hoggishly wallow in our self-imposed slavery to the corporate powers that be. These masters to which we have surrendered our minds and lives are the very con men who have shrewdly decreed that we be serenaded with ballads of holiday warmth and cheer in the hopes that our beleaguered credit card accounts succumb.

Human decency forgotten, my employer commenced their noxious holiday onslaught on Nov. 10. I wonder if any customers heard me muttering obscenities. Shattered, but not broken, I brought a Walkman to work the following night.

Surely, we've all suffered through too many Decembers to have any remaining appreciation for the holiday classics. The Christian world is plagued by Christmas "carols" for some six weeks out of every year, yet albums of this chirpy, irksome drivel keep on selling. Then again, there are still Rush fans out there--misguided souls.

Nothing unsettles an actual classic rock fan more than some crap artist shrieking like a little bitch. That and the shitkicking magic of country music was part of everyday life working at Albertson's. Yeah, that company is on the brink of collapse. My current employer thinks the spoof soundtrack of The Wedding Singer is the way into a deeper relationship with America's disposable income. Of course, no talent hacks who charge lower royalties appear to be the mainstay of every company's playlist.

The sickest part of our plight? The most mind-raping songs on their playlist are by far the ones played most often. Hearing some Starbucks-ass little punk sing like a pansy about true love on a first date just makes me want to whip out my box cutter and end it all. I'm constantly subjected to this. It's all candy ass, all the time.

Classical music would be an attractive solution to the annoyance problem. Hardcore favorites like "Toccata and Fugue" or "Beethoven's 5th" would be unlikely choices for retail radio. However, unnerving besetment does not result from even the most listless, piss poor classical tune--shrieking opera scores aside. Simply put, I'd rather abandon my shopping cart and sprint for the nearest exit than be assailed by "Achy Breaky Heart" as I was as an Albertson's cashier. Each slaving day, I looked forward to going deaf with George Thorogood and Motzart while swilling caustic Chardonnay. Vivaldi ain't great, but he won't drive you to drinking.

Ignoring the music would be great if your subconscious mind would allow it. A tight budget and a wary mind guard me from psychological tricks ... I think. Whether you abhor the music and shop or whistle along and buy more, we all lose. Small, everyday victories are how the ruling class stays on top, screwing us all from cradle to grave.