Traffic wardens, the tax man, over-paid local council execs, football stewards, PR luvvies and pretty much anyone who has found employment via the jobs section of The Guardian.

However, as far as I am concerned, one occupation stands head and shoulders above all others as the standard-bearer of extreme annoyance - a job which represents the very essence of everything that is wrong with the world.

I am talking of course about people who work in High Street record shops.

Without naming individual stores (we only have one big name music shop in Hastings – work it out for yourself) there is not a creature on God's earth which fills me with more dread and contempt than the average shop assistant at the average music megastore.

You know the ones. Ridiculous hairstyle in a range of quite simply stupid and garish colours ("Look at me. I've got green hair. I'm an individual…not at all like every other middle class-rebelling-against-having-nothing-to-rebel-against teenager). Nose and lip piercing optional but preferred. Arrogance and misplaced sense of superiority essential.

In public they skulk away on the peripheries. But in their chosen environment, in amongst the New York Dolls t-shirts, rows and rows of CDs and books reproducing Banksy prints, they are a different animal altogether.

Watch as they scowl at the middle-aged mother looking for the latest James Blunt release, scoff at the twenty-something girl buying Ibiza '08 and spit at anyone who dares show a passing interest in anything as passé as an Oasis record.

You see these are people whose musical knowledge is beyond question. Just listen as they play (too loudly) the latest Foo Fighters album over the store stereo. "Don't you just love Dave Grohl?" they ask nobody in particular. No. We don't. But thanks for asking.

And there lies the problem. Despite the sneers, the arrogance and the "I'm only working here until the NME hires me to tell people what music is cool" attitude there lurks one small problem. Namely that they work in the musical equivalent of TESCO.

Asking one of these shop assistants for advice on new music to try is like asking someone on the tills at Lidl to recommend a cheeky foreign wine for a dinner party.

In their eyes they have all the musical integrity of modern-day John Peel - sent by the gods of music to lead the people to the promised land of terrible indie bands they heard had a created a stir on Myspace.

I have even begun developing counter-offensive tactics . Next time you go into Zavvi or HMV take your I-Pod along. Get within direct eye-shot of the person behind the till (for it is they who are most likely to have selected the music currently polluting the airwaves) and look up at the nearest speaker thoughtfully. Pause for a few seconds. Then visibly tut and, being sure to shake your head disapprovingly, plug in your earphones and walk off.

If that isn't enough try my new personal favourite. Make up a bands name, go up to the counter and ask when they will have their new record in stock. When they say they don't have it and it doesn't seem to be on their system just mutter "Oh, ok, I didn't think you would of heard of them YET, I'll come back in six months." Sit back and watch them squirm. Extra points if the person pretends to have seen them in concert recently.

I know what you are thinking. There are more important things to worry about. You are probably right. Fact is I can't help it. As a self-confessed music fascist nothing grates me more than being on the receiving end. Perhaps that is the problem. It's a bit like looking in the mirror and seeing a reflection of your own behaviour. You don't always like what you see.

Is there a particular job you love to hate? An industry which winds you up more than any other? Let us know by leaving a comment below.