Today, about 12 noon, as I sit in the sunshine outside a coffee shop to use the Internet cos I don't have it at home, looking up phone numbers so I can leave messages because I don't have an office (or at least one I can use in between assignments without wasting an hour on Muni), right after having left the fifth in about 15 messages to the police spokesman, trying to get a quote for a newspaper story that would eventually spiked (didn't get the right quote, see), I am seated next to a painter. Exchange goes as follows:
Me: (on phone) This is C, reporter from etc, blah blah blah blah blah blah
Painter: Reporter, huh? Must be cool.
Me: (who makes 550 a week, with car in shop needing repairs he cannot afford to make, sitting outside cos he doesn't have internet in his one-bathroom home which he shares with three other people, too broke to move) ::silent::
Painter: But at least you must get laid a lot?
That's two-for-two, relaxed-looking pony-tailed painter man. Wanna trade jobs?
Could always be worse, though.
