Another Bad Music experience took place while I worked at Sears. This time, it was the summer between my freshman and sophomore year of college – 1988.

I had taken my lunch break at Wendy's, across the parking lot from Sears. As I made my way back to Sears, a slow-moving car inched up behind me. I paid it no heed, as I assumed it was simply someone looking for a parking spot.

The car pulled up alongside me, slowly. Again, I wasn't alarmed; I thought he was simply passing me. But he didn't pass me; instead, he was keeping pace with me. His window was down, and I could hear the music playing on his car stereo: Rock Steady, by the Whispers.

I looked up, thinking he needed directions or to know what time it was or something. Alas, no.

His bright yellow shorts and dingy tighty-whiteys were down around his ankles, and he was masturbating while leering at me.

Since these were the days before cell phones, I ran inside the store. I considered calling the police, and I should have. But I thought he'd be long gone by the time the police came, so I didn't think there was much point to calling. And I was embarrassed. And I was a stupid 18-year-old.

But this wonderful memory comes back every time I hear the haunting strains of "Rock Steady":

And we begin to rock steady
Steady rockin all night long
And we begin to rock steady
Rockin till the break of dawn

A quality memory for a quality song.