A Working Class Zero

A Working Class Zero

Hello, reader! Unfortunately for you, the Interesting Quotient of this post drops precipitously from there. But I did want to take a moment before I spend 45 minutes rummaging around in boxes for socks and a pair of pants that over the weekend my wife Cat and I successfully moved into our new townhouse.

It took four huge guys seven hours to move all our stuff from where we were to where we are. It was a blast working with these guys. You all know me as a frightfully articulate, super-sensitive writer, but, via my decades spent working in warehouses and other such Physical Labor jobs, I know myself as a guy who gets paid by the hour to move heavy stuff from one place to another. And one of my favorite things about being a Joe Beast o’ Burden is hanging out with other B.O.B’s. I never know what intellectuals (not to mention Professionally Religious people) are talking about. But put me around guys who actually work for a living, and I’m good.

Of course, now such folk never know what I’m talking about.

“Stop telling us to buy your books,” the movers kept saying. “And willya get the **** out of our way?”

And it’s not like I could stiff ’em on the tip. It’s not like they don’t where I live.

It’s so great to be living in this place I can’t even begin to tell you!  I’m dying I’m so happy!


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