So I work now for a lady who bought a 5-apartment property, and wants to renovate. Instead of installing floors, I now rip them up. There's quite a bit of autonomy, as my employer (she met Steve at the Miami, and bludgeoned him with a blunt) skips out to buy things or to tend to the multifarious other schemes that she's running elsewhere in the city. So I am left alone, hacking away (with a shovel, strangely the best tool for ripping up floor) with the cloying old lady smell of the last tenent: an elderly nun that had lived here for the 28 years prior. The only things she left behind were a cupboard full of moth-balls, a few rosary beads rolling around on the floor and the shadow-stain of the mini chapel that she had lent against one wall. So I smash and hammer and curse all day, wondering what the neighbours must be thinking about that meek old nun, as I tend to unleash angry hollers of "splintery Jesus" and "fuck, goddamn, that fucking hurts". They must think she got into the sacramental wine and watching the world-cup. Either way, it's a good job, and I listen to Korean emo on CKUT as I deliver my wrath onto all chipboard that opposes me. Leaves me tonnes of room to think, which I truly appreciate in a job.
Always give a standing ovation, it gives you a better angle to check out the cellist's cleavage when she bows.
I either have an ingrown hair, or an outgrown belly.