Yeah, I'm Not That Proud
Whenever someone asks me what I do for a living, and I can't think of a quick and fancy lie, I usually tell the truth and say I work for the newspaper. This brings a bright smile to most folks face, since they think that I'm in some lower grade of show business. What department do you write for? Uh...I'm not in the writing end. Photographer? Well, no. Can't say I do. What do you do then, the lousy interlopers in my life inquise me further.
I work in the circulation department. I am in charge of seven hotels, and am responsible for over 700 papers a day. This mollifies them for a tincture of a second and then they say "you mean you deliver newspapers"? Yeah, I'm nearly 49 and sling newspapers to hotel rooms in the middle of the night. "At least it's a job", say the dopes, who I am beginning to hate more by the minute. I trundle a garbage can full of newspapers down the hallways and sidewalks of hotels and slam those babies against the doors of the guests.
It ain't so bad then, because they usually walk away (but they always say bye) not wanting to pick up my failurestink. The snobs. The fucks. I hate what I do as much as they do, but they don't have to do it, so they get to feel superior to a 49 year old paperboy. I hope they're happy. The morons.
I could lie and tell them about my chain of luxury pay toilets in northeastern North Carolina and extreme southeastern Virginia, that I fantasize about each night before prayers. But I don't tell them. They wouldn't understand.
The shits.
jp
I work in the circulation department. I am in charge of seven hotels, and am responsible for over 700 papers a day. This mollifies them for a tincture of a second and then they say "you mean you deliver newspapers"? Yeah, I'm nearly 49 and sling newspapers to hotel rooms in the middle of the night. "At least it's a job", say the dopes, who I am beginning to hate more by the minute. I trundle a garbage can full of newspapers down the hallways and sidewalks of hotels and slam those babies against the doors of the guests.
It ain't so bad then, because they usually walk away (but they always say bye) not wanting to pick up my failurestink. The snobs. The fucks. I hate what I do as much as they do, but they don't have to do it, so they get to feel superior to a 49 year old paperboy. I hope they're happy. The morons.
I could lie and tell them about my chain of luxury pay toilets in northeastern North Carolina and extreme southeastern Virginia, that I fantasize about each night before prayers. But I don't tell them. They wouldn't understand.
The shits.
jp
posted by Mr. Liberty at 11:05 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home