5 Reasons why you should quit your day job

Most of us would stop working if we could. We constantly dream about it, but that's about as far as we get-dreaming. Working a 9-5 just seems inevitable. I, Timothy Ward, however am a master at defying the inevitable. I stare 'The Inevitable' in the face and call him dirty names. I say, if you want to stop working, STOP WORKING; I'll even give you 5 reasons why you should. 1. If you stop working you'll have more time to devote to reading my articles, columns, and lists. This will enable me to become a household name down at the Unemployment and Welfare offices. My fame is a small price to pay for you living your dreams. Think about this when you see me on the 'Today Show'. 2. Quitting your job will make you feel wonderful. For about 10 minutes you'll be on cloud nine, you'll be on top of the world, you'll be living the good life, you'll be: - insert your own cliche here-. Then you'll start worrying about the car note, the mortgage, the kid's school clothes, groceries, and how you're going to pay that $850 you owe the Petermanns for running over their mailbox and a whole row of prize-winning azaleas. All this will probably depress you to the point of assisted suicide, but at least you had 10 minutes of freedom. 3. Daytime television is some of the most exciting and captivating television around. You'll wonder how you ever survived without all those quality soap operas, daytime talk shows, and judge shows where you get the sinking suspicion that the judge has been paid off. When you combine this with all the informative commercials that air during the daytime that will 'Show you how to make $1,000 a day stuffing envelopes, 'Teach you to drive a tractor trailer in 4 days', 'Allow you to get a degree from home in such exciting fields as GED preparation and septic tank scrubber' and you'll not only wonder why you didn't quit your job sooner, you'll also vow to never work again. 4. In your formerly employed state you missed all those important calls from collection agencies and other bill collectors. Now that you have quit your job you'll be able to sit at home in eager anticipation of these oh-so-important calls. Toss in a few telemarketers, calls from the Sheriff's Association asking for donations, and a few of those computers that call you and ask you to 'Hold for an important message' and you'll have a full day of just answering the phone. It will be like having a full-time job all over again, without all the hassle of getting a paycheck. 5. Dragging yourself out of bed every morning at 5:45 a. m. can't be good for your health. Your doctor will proud of you for caring enough about your body's well-being to go as far as quitting your job. He will not, however, see you as a patient anymore because you no longer have health insurance. But there's no need to worry, after all that's why we have free clinics. Sitting all day in a damp clinic waiting room next to two teenagers with stage 3 Chlamydia is yet another experience you would have missed out on if you had kept your day job. There you have it folks. 5 reasons why you should immediately go out and quit your job. Feel free to quote any of these reasons to your employer when you turn in your two weeks notice. If she wants to know where you came across such valuable information tell her that a unselfish friend of humanity supplied them to you free of charge, and all I asked in return was that you remember me next time you need your septic tank scrubbed...

Mr. handyman

First thing Saturday morning I decided to fix the washing machine. This decision had not been reached lightly. The cold water pressure was weak so I had checked with two experts at work (i. e., they had both owned washing machines at one time or another) and determined that it was a sticky solenoid. I grabbed my toolbox and told my wife what I was planning. “It’ll be fixed in ten minutes,” I explain as I head down to the basement. Meanwhile, she is looking up the number of a ‘24 hour emergency plumbing service’ and entering it into the speed-dialing function of the telephone. “Shouldn’t I call the plumber?” she asks, making it obvious that she doesn’t understand men. Of course, she has her reasons - I’ve had some bad experiences. In fact, I’ve yet to tackle a home improvement project that has actually improved the home. But today I was feeling confident. I carefully removed every screw from the back of the washing machine only to discover that it still wouldn’t come off. So, using the largest screwdriver I could find as leverage, I applied gentle pressure until suddenly there was a god-awful screech followed by two loud snaps and the back of the washing machine flies off like a cork out of a champagne bottle and smashes against the concrete wall with a thud that shakes the house. I hear the basement door open above me. “Should I call the plumber?” “We don’t need a plumber, everything is going according to plan,” I assure her. Of course, I’m not exactly sure what the plan is. The back of the washing machine is filled with enough wires and hoses to launch the space shuttle and I have absolutely no idea where to begin. So I slowly begin removing parts, looking for anything which might remotely resemble a solenoid, which is a cylindrical object which can be magnetized (I looked it up in the dictionary). Every hour or so the basement door opens. “Should I call the plumber?” Finally, with head held low, I humbly tell her, “It’s time to call a plumber.” Personally, I believe I was on the verge of figuring the whole thing out, but I could tell that she was starting to get nervous. A short time later Mr. Smarty-pants Plumber arrives and views the carnage. “What the hell happened here?” he asks in disbelief. I tell him the only thing that pops into my head. “Vandals. We’ve been having some problems in the neighborhood.” “Must have been a whole gang of them to have caused this much damage,” he suggests and I can only nod my head in agreement. He continues to review the scene of destruction, occasionally muttering “Hmmm” under his breath. Somehow, I intuitively know that every “hmmm” is costing me an additional fifty dollars. Finally, Mr. Overpriced Plumber starts putting everything back together again until, like magic, the washing machine is back in one piece and pushed against the wall. “Exactly what were you trying to do?” Mr. Couldn’t-make-it-as-an-electrician asks as he’s calculating a bill larger than a small country’s gross national product. I seize the opportunity to show him he’s not dealing with just any goober who walked in off the street. “The cold water pressure was weak,” I explain. “Sticky solenoid.” “Uh huh,” he responds and reaches behind the machine and twists off a hose. He taps the nozzle against the palm of his hand until a black, gooey glob of sludge oozes out. Then, with a final twist, he reattaches the hose. “Your filter was clogged.”