May 10, 2017 | by Andrew K. Lau
So you think you have yourself a great job, eh? Yeah, well guess what? You don’t.
I don’t care if yer coding the next useless app in your glass-walled, 4.4 star review office building on North Shoreline Blvd or brainstorming insipid ad copy on 30 Broad Street, washing dishes on east 15th Street between Harrison and Thomas, catching lobster off the Great Wass Island Preserv,e or teaching snot-nosed art students on Oak Street.
I don’t care if yer a senior citizen greeting shoppers as they trudge into your store off the Ken Kennedy freeway or if yer sittin’ in yer little two-story cottage on 52nd Street near Children’s Hospital writing a needless, longwinded article about some unknown band from the played-out 1960’s. Whether yer a doctor, lawyer, or one of those Million Dollar Professional Sports Man Babies, it just don’t matter none.
I don’t even care if you think yer saving the planet with your little organic produce delivery service start-up in the most squalid corner of South San Francisco. To hell with all that; none of it matters (especially the professional sports jobs).
Unless yer name is Pete Reiniger or you happen to work for Mr. Reiniger, your job is a soulless, time-wasting vortex. That’s right: v-o-r-t-e-x. Please watch the clip below to see what you could be doing with your time, but you’re not. It ain’t my fault you chose the wrong career path.
Sorry for the antagonism, folks, but sometimes it’s the only way to get you to listen.