I’ve had some terrible jobs in my life. I know what you’re thinking, we all have, sure but we’re talking about me, not you. As I was saying before I so rudely interrupted myself, I’ve had some terrible jobs. I won’t go into them because I don’t want to cause myself nightmares. One that does upset me is imagining myself standing in a long line of workers plucking chickens. I’ve never done it but I imagined it. Yuck.
My point is there are terrible jobs out there. Underwear inspector for instance. I don’t even know what the requirements are for that. Do you wear it or inspect others doing so? That’s just what I need, to decide how a set of underpants is holding up on a hairy fatso named Harold who’s mined the thing with beer farts. Okay I’ve changed my mind. That one is worse than plucking chickens.
What it comes down to is that there are always jobs worse than yours. No matter what you do the one thing that unites everyone is seeing someone with a worse job and saying, “I’m glad I’m not him.” The him is that guy who puts the little blue disks in the urinals. I shudder to think whom he says that about.
A Fifth of Brian 