Working

So, it's become pretty obvious my days of holding down just one real job are pretty much numbered. It was a good time while it lasted.

I've never quite never considered myself to be poor. Even with second-hand shoes and a diet that consists of a lot of beans, I've thought of myself as middle-class, but broke. Both my wife and I have reasonable jobs with some benefits. Neither of us is making minimum wage. Neither of us is as poorly treated as the average person working the line at Burger King. I can not fathom how they do it, how they pay their bills, feed their family or keep a roof over their head.

All I know is I want to do that. Anything beyond that is thick, velvety gravy.

Friends have always said I seem to miss my old job slinging coffee at Books-a-million. It was a good time more than it wasn't. I didn't take it too seriously. People who drop chunks of dry ice in the urinal or who place books on animal husbandry deliberately in the romance book section are having a pretty good time, even if they are sleep deprived. I made some friends and the money really came in handy.

But there's no going back to that. It wouldn't be much fun a third time around (not that they'd have me) and besides, my situation is different. My evenings are less available than they were before the birth of my youngest child. I'm probably looking at some weekend work, maybe late nights or possibly some very early morning shifts somewhere. It won't be all bad. These are prime times for strange tales and decent coffee.

Maybe I could drive a taxi. That could be fun. I saw Taxicab Confessions on HBO. I've also heard Charleston might be getting a plasma center, which is just like a job except all you have to do is lay there and let them drink your blood. Both are probably more difficult jobs than they appear. There may be licenses or special training involved.

But I guess we'll see... and if anybody out there reading knows about a gig somewhere in Charleston with flexible hours, send it along.