Beats the fuck out of cleaning toilets.
Shopping cart duty gets me outta the store for a while, which is cool even on a shit day like today. It's that gross, grey slush that gets me talking about just moving down to California this time every year -- hey, they need groceries bagged down there too, don't they?
Mom usually agrees with me, but this morning she said that the Mexicans got all those jobs down there. Way to piss on my dreams, Mom. But she's been bitchy ever since the fire in the basement. Whatev. These things happen.