The cookbook publishing business hasn't been real lucrative lately, so I decided to get a real job. While I could sit around the office and play on the Internet all day, my creditors have this pesky attitude that I should actually PAY my bills. Not only that, but I have a jones to deal with. It's called food. I admit it. I eat every day. Sometimes several times a day.

I need cash.

I tried whoring myself on the street corner. Didn't work. My only prospect was a Moms Mabley look-alike who said something like, «Oooooo baby! I be lovin' some o' that young stuff!» I gave HER money just for calling me 'young'.

Being a printer, I thought maybe I could print up some 10s and 20s, but the U.S. Treasury Department frowns on anyone other than the government printing money. What the hell is wrong with a little competition? That's the American way, right? Those silly boys at Treasury don't look at it as competition. They seem to think it's a crime or something, so they fight tooth and nail to keep it all for themselves.

I'd probably get caught if I counterfeited anyway. I'm not a very good liar. I can see me in a store somewhere, trying to pass a bill I printed that morning…

Yip to store clerk: This is a real five dollar bill! Really! It's not fake!

Store clerk: Why is this ink smearing? And this picture of Abe Lincoln looks more like that banker dude on a Monopoly game card.

Yip: It's the only picture I had. Um……..I mean………it's not fake! Really!

I'd get caught in an instant, and moving to Leavenworth doesn't appeal to me. I've seen movies about what inmates do to the «fresh meat». I'm far from young, and not very attractive, but I'd rather fantasize about prison orgies than actually take part. Besides, I'm far too fabulous for an orange jumpsuit, and horizontal stripes aren't flattering to my ever widening ass.

So counterfeiting is out.

A guy I printed some cards for was in my office recently, bemoaning the state of the economy. As the conversation progressed, I told him I was - sort of - looking for a part time job. He suggested I contact a company he used to work for, as they would most likely be hiring. But it would not be part time. He said it was 3 to 4 days per week, full shifts. I thought, well, that wouldn't be too bad. I could probably swing that and still keep the printing business open.

I started this business over 20 years ago, and don't want to just shut it down. It's an ego thing I guess. Regardless of not making much money right now, I'm too stubborn to just give it all up and go to work for someone else on a full time basis. It will probably pick up in a few months anyway. There have been slow times before, and I've persevered. But with my son's habit of tumbling automobiles, bills piling up in my IN box, and my food jones, I've got to get some cash flow.

So, I stuffed my ego into my desk (third drawer on the left) and applied for this job.

They loved me. What's not to love? I was cordial yet businesslike while being interviewed by two Human Resources staffers. One man, one woman. Did I say 'businesslike'? Well, to a point. I told the woman the ring she was wearing was beautiful. I winked at the man, thinking he was probably gay. Then I noticed his wedding ring, so I started blinking my eye real fast and said something about having a speck of dust in my eye. My gaydar must need re-calibrating.

«Can you start Friday?» the woman asked me.

«Sure!»

«Ok then. Your hours will be 5:15 A.M. to 5:30 P.M., Friday, Saturday and Sunday.»

«Oh…..I see. Twelve hour shifts, huh?»

«That's how we roll. Then the next week you will be scheduled for Thursday through Sunday. The week after that, Friday through Sunday. It goes back and forth like that. Every other week you'll also work on Thursdays. You'll be on our C shift. AND, you get 30 minutes for lunch break!!!»

«Wow! Thirty minutes for lunch!»

«There may be overtime, too!» said the man.

«Gee. That's ……… um ………. good.» I said, not wanting to know what it was like to work more than four 12-hour days in a row. I've done it at my business, but, hell, it's MY business! This was goddam shift work. To fatten somebody else's wallet. In the distance I could hear my ego calling from the desk drawer.

I have to be at work by 5:15 in the morning? That means getting up at 4:00 A.M. Christ. Nobody, but nobody, gets up at 4:00 in the morning. I don't even have a heartbeat until about noon. It doesn't seem that long ago I was going to bed at 4 in the morning. Now I'm getting up at 4, for fucking SHIFT work! Oh well. It's a job. It's income. Not much, but income. I can pay print shop utility bills, or maybe buy something silly and outrageous. Like food.

I show up the first day. My eyeballs are on my kneecaps. I'm shown how to «dress» for work. It's what they call a «Clean Room». I have to wear a lab coat type of thing, rubber gloves, a surgical mask, little bootie things over my shoes, safety goggles and a hairnet. A hairnet? I don't even HAVE hair.

There's absolutely NOTHING about this clean room drag that is flattering. To top it off, all the newbies have to wear GREEN lab coats. That way everyone knows they're new and probably not worth much. After one is not «new» anymore, they give you white lab coat, to show that you are now worthy. Much more my style, since I'm an Autumn. Green makes me look washed-out and anemic.

The one saving grace of my clean room drag is that it's NOT a so-called «bunny suit». When I first heard about the bunny suits, I pictured voluptuous young women in skimpy swimsuits and long fake ears. WRONG! About half of the people on my shift work in another area of the plant where they have to be totally, TOTALLY covered. They wear a headdress that snaps on to overall-looking things that totally cover the body. They all look like they're wearing burquas with safety goggles. They call them bunny suits. No bunny I know would be caught dead in one.

My green lab coat, although not very fetching, is beginning to look better and better. It's not as sexy as a wifebeater, but at least it's not a bunny suit.

I'm shown to my work area and meet my «Lead Man». Ooooo! A leading man! He has pretty eyes. That's all I can see of him. A lab coat and eyes. Eyes covered by safety goggles. That's all I see of anyone there. Goggle-covered eyes and lab coats. Off in the distance I see another GREEN lab coat. Ah ha! One of MY people! I start to walk over and introduce myself. Nah. Whoever it is probably isn't worthy.

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