Readers, While I may now be in a period of stable employ, it has not always been this way. Luckily for me, the large urban bureaucracy which hired me has more than enough psychos to keep them busy before they get to an insignificant curmudgeon like myself. However, before landing in this coven of uselessness (where even I look like I dwell in the upper echelons of effectiveness) I toiled in a mindblowing array of menial jobs. In fact, readers, I am a little like the Imelda Marcos of jobs: collecting positions and stashing the memory of them in my own mental walk-in closet of nightmares. My experience is so vast and varied that (to extend the previous metaphor) to retrieve the memory of a specific job I would require one of those Clueless -style wardrobe computers to sort through my past jobs based on categories like "hemisphere", "level of meniality", and "humiliation?" before it would hit a match and the electric motor would whirr, bringing the long...
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