But Does That Mean You Love Me?

In a move that is sure to make me want to shoot myself in April when I receive 12 W-2s in the mail, I recently got a new job, this time at a country club. The job is the bomb. I do banquets, which means I work with food-service types while serving rich people who belong to ridiculous organizations. Again, this job is the bomb.

Last night I chided a co-worker for constantly being sarcastic. "You have to be serious sometimes," I told him, "or else the cynicism loses its meaning." Then I picked up one of the powerpoint printouts and newsletters that the Risk Management Association left behind. I slid it under the napkin covering my server tray. "The best part of this job is stealing the literature they leave behind. It's so much fun to read," I told him.

He looked at me and said, "I'm just gonna say this, no sarcasm at all. You are really weird."