The average business executive does nothing more than sign papers and go to “strategy meetings.” Well, if that’s “real” work, then I will get out my double-breasted suit and you can call me Mr. Blades.
Imagine tepid water made even more so by the rainbows of grease reflected by the sun.
Picture a lone hair extension floating on this vile pond of filth, like a ship lost at sea.
Visualize a candy bar the size of a piece of human fecal matter, left as a gift by some careless yuppie, that now drifts lazily along, staining its unsuspecting victims a nice shade of brown.
Can you hear the banshee-like screaming of small trolls who do not heed your warnings or cautions about the toxic lake?
Imagine cleaning porcelain tubs that were originally white, but have now become a pretty shade of yellow, brown and sometimes, green.
Discover the odd and wondrous powers of a “squeegee.”
Learn the enjoyment and experience the pleasure that is known as “picking up lazy people’s trash.”
I’m probably crazy, but working conditions like these make me want to become part of the corporate machine.
Any ideas about our mystery job? Let’s run down the facts once more.
You have to work around a tepid pond of filth where fecal matter and hair extensions do not invoke the typical “yuck” reaction, but instead spur you to go nearer to them because your contract states that you should be the one to clean it.
Horribly defiled porcelain tubs call you by name, begging you to rejuvenate them, and banshee-like trolls run at your feet while pretending not to hear you.
Now, I ask you, do you really want to be a lifeguard?
You might think I’m writing this all in jest, but I guarantee that, if employed as such, scooping poop will become a routine ritual for you.
Many people say that the job of a lifeguard is to tan and hit on chicks. Where, in any paragraph above, did I mention tanning or women? Oh, you must have been confused when I said that you will be scrubbing toilets once or twice a day.
I am scatter-brained most of the time, and often forget about the research done that proved that human waste is a powerful aphrodisiac. I promise you, it’s not. Both women and men do not like it if you smell; I will vouch for it.
My parents used to tell me that, as a lifeguard, I would not gain any real life experience, but I dealt with the ornery public who, at times, wanted to lynch me, and I did the grunt work that would make most people want to throw up.
How is that not real work? See, people only see the tan body, but don’t understand the miserable and disgusting work that came first.
Getting tan is about the only perk a lifeguard has to look forward to. Of course, maybe the tan is not from the sun, but from the close contact with so many brown substances.
So, next time you hear someone say, “Life guarding isn’t real work,” poop on their floor and ask them to clean it up. When they yell at you and refuse, ask them, “Why? It’s not real work.”
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