Growing up in Dallas, Texas, one of my favorite adventures was blowing my allowance on music. I’d hop on the DART bus and ride all the way to Sound Warehouse near Prestonwood Mall, where I spent countless hours digging through cassettes, albums, and eventually CDs.
One trip stands out above all the others. I was about 14 years old and walked up to a long-haired teenage clerk sporting a glorious mullet. I asked him if he knew where I could find that tape with the song where the lady says “Me love you long time.” He paused for a second, gave me a knowing look, disappeared into the store, and came back holding a cassette. “This is it,” he said.
I rushed home, popped it into my tape deck, and waited for the song. It never came. Instead, my speakers nearly exploded with a wall of thrash metal. Somewhere between my terrible description and his sense of humor, he had sold me a Suicidal Tendencies “Join the Army” cassette instead.
Looking back, I can’t even be mad. That’s the kind of thing that happened at record stores back then. Sound Warehouse wasn’t just a place to buy music. It was where Gen X kids discovered new bands, developed questionable tastes, and occasionally got punked by the staff. I miss those days, and I definitely miss Sound Warehouse.
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