December 13, 2007
JOBS I DON'T WANT
Originally PUBLISHED June 5,2006
I saw an amazing thing at the bank. The cashier asked for a picture ID, so I showed her my driver's license. Then, she punched some numbers into a machine on her desk, and the damn thing spit out five $20 bills and gave me a receipt for my deposit.
I asked her... (her name was "Dawn," which I learned by reading the name-tag she wore on her ample bosum)... "Darlin'... does that machine count ALL of the money that you handle? You don't get to... like... actually COUNT IT YOURSELF anymore?"
She grinned and replied, "No, sir. This machine is BETTER than I am at counting money. It never makes a mistake and it's made my job easier."
I took my $100 and walked out of there stunned. WHY would you ever want to work in a bank if you can't handle a LOT of money, even if it's not yours? Banks will give you a TITLE, like Vice President of something, but they don't pay SHIT for wages.
I couldn't do that for a living. I would rather rob the bank and count all the money MYSELF!
Another job I don't want is being a pharmacist. The last precription I had filled was for Pepcid, and the young GIRL, about my daughter's age, gave me the pills after she entered all kinds of crap on a computer, then handed me a bottle of 30 pills that boasted... in her own handwriting... "triple counted."
Bejus. She "triple counted" PEPCID???
If I worked there, I would end up stealing a grocery bag full of hydrocodone and hopping the next flight to Costa Rica. I MIGHT "triple count" every pill I stole after I made it through Customs with that shit duct-taped to my crotch and encased in a condom that I stuck up my ass.
Those are two jobs that I don't want.
WHY work in a bank if YOU can't count the money? WHY work in a pharmacy if you have to nit-count PEPCID, for cryin' out loud? Naw... those jobs aren't for me.
I would end up with about $100,000 that wasn't mine (blame THAT error on "the machine") and I would be driving a fork lift to haul pain-killers on a pallet out of the drug store. I would end up in Costa Rica with lots of stolen money and gallon jugs full of Vicodin and Perocet decorating every shelf in my rented home, on the beach, complete with a maid who not only cleaned my house, but slept with me, too.
I also would have my picture thumbtacked to the wall in every post office in this country, where they serve up posters for "America's Most Wanted" criminals. BWHAHAAAA!!!
I could live with that, which is why I don't want to work in a bank or in a pharmacy.
All content © Rob Smith