Next thing I knew, I was being called off my line eight times per shift to pick up the slack of anyone who was afraid of a little heavy lifting. The end result was me managing to modestly maim myself on multiple occasions. Not the least of which, during my attempt to load a trailer with liquid dish soap spilled all over the floor (as is tradition in any number of jobs one should've known better than apply to). But, no worries there, I managed not to conk my crown onto the floor by catching myself into the side of the trailer. Where you ask? Of all the places, down on my right humerus. Was it down right humorous? Well, when you say it like that. NO. Not at all, in fact, it reminded me in no uncertain terms why I abandoned my childhood dream of being a pro-wrestler. And, of course, like any “good employee” I didn't report it. A second brush with calamity occurred when I simply put my foot down and managed to not stick the landing on my heel but rather its side. Which, mind you, is not the preferred method of human locomotion as evidence by the fact we are not designed to walk on our tibias. Who knew?

Now, I'll admit it takes a lot for a man to willfully resign from a job after about year out of the workforce. But I will say, in conjunction with all the other bruising and pulled muscles I received, yea, that'll 'bout do the trick. Well, that and the fact that me and my mind seemed to disagree on the amount punishment that my body could receive, the latter deciding that I should not be permitted to sleep until what time I arrived to my senses. Well played. At length, handed my employer a hilariously worded resignation letter then beelined out the gate before they had a chance to read it. Figured they'd either find it funny or they'd be royally pissed, either way I didn't want to stick around simply for curiosity's sake. Life then followed up that bit of unemployment and injury with me managing to slice my thumb top-down like a peeled potato, losing a tooth, catching my arm on a bit of hot oil, various chargers kaputing, and the pièce de résistance my shed / mancave / entire library burning to ciders. But that's neither here nor there, and incidentally enough, no longer is my shed.