We're Psychos 2

I worked so many parttime jobs in college, even worked two jobs at the same time while doing my thesis and flunking some of my exams. Fortunately, I still get to pass them for i really magically, mysteriously aced some of them. I started working as an internet "supervisor" working 25 hours per month, if you worked more than that you're wasting your time. Then, i worked for the first time as a summer job employee of the city hall in the Stocks department. That is not "stocks" as in those numbers running with arrows on BBC. I literally worked in a stock room, less than 6 feet high; it requires for you to sit for a long time or you'll get stiff neck. I am not that tall but brushing your hair on the ceiling sounds like cleaning the cobwebs out. And i never wondered anymore why sands are all over my scalp.

Then, I worked back as an internet supervisor for another semester, they just liked me. On my last semester in college, I worked three jobs (not at the same time): as a research assistant twice, and a student assistant in our dormitory. It's almost playing supervisor amongst the power-hungry students. But actually, I just answer phone calls and visitors or just sit in the library cutting old newspapers for some valuable clips. And the valuables for me are quite those not too valuable for my boss. As for my being a research assistant, I count crab larvae every day for 1 month, change buckets and drums of water everyday for 1 month, feed the as small as a "headlice" larva with still smaller larvae of algae and shrimp. That must have been the turning point of my life, I started talking to my specimen. We are psychos or serial killers, I prefer the former, it's a choice, and I don't have to keep my hands dirty.

These jobs needless to say made me ready to what the real world really is. I thought I could tackle just any job a la Malcolm in the Middle. But then, there is not enough job out there. And either I must settle as a humble security guard, or be an elementary teacher, or wrestle with the government employees, or smile a lot as an assistant manager for a pizza company, or thwang, tongue-twist, talk to americans about their favorite bouquets, or sit for hell hours typing and listening to accented doctors. I end up the last. Choices, choices... we never really get what we want. But we need money so we settle for what's available. It's a cutthroat business, the lucky ones get laid first or laid off first.

Bill Gates, I am your son.