I have been waiting for the past few hours for my current employer, "Ruby", to call me on my cell phone. Upon returning to her house after lunch I discovered she had accidentally locked me out. Not having a back up key hidden under the deck, we agreed she would call me once she had returned from lunch. That was three hours ago, during which I am sure her lovely 'strained gold' coloured paint has dried on my favourite Corona paint brush, renedering it useless to me. I guess she shouldn't have given me her credit card number and expiration date. "Ruby" is a piece of work, she only drinks Perrier or Smart Water (read, tap water with flashy branding and selling for $5 a pop), her choice of wine is a chilled French Chardonnay which we enjoy together during happy hour at 5pm, her personal trainer spends every Tuesday moring with her, her two maids come by twice a week to clean up her s$&t, while her personal assistant does all her work for her. Most mornings she answers the door in her robe having just been woken up by the ringing doorbell. And she's rich-terribly so. Where's the justice in that. Sell a few crates of European furniture made in China and you can buy a silver Mercedez. Not fair. Of course I don't say a word - she's paying me $25 an hour and until that's through I'm as sweet as can be. After painting her bedroom she nearly threw a hissy fit as the fumes of the Latex paint were overpowering her senses, making it hard for her to breath. I, on the other hand, had spent the whole day in the room the other day and had escaped with a mere succesion of nose bleeds. What's the fuss - good for the circulation. She insisted on low VOC paint (variable organic compounds) for the other rooms. Fine - two hours at the paint store equals another $50, plus extra mileage to report to the IRS reducing my tax bill. All in a days work.
That's all for now. To steal a little something from my brother James:
- reading: The O'Henry Prize short stories, 2003
- listening to: Beck
- Ben
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