Last night I was out with Fatigue for Friday Night Madness. While we waited for our beers to arrive, we caught each other up on the bits and pieces of the last couple of weeks since we were last out. I talked at him, telling him what’s happening with my writing, he talked at me, telling me what’s happening with his singing. A nice evening, the bar wasn’t too crowded, all our favorite waitresses were working, and as usual, the customers were a cross section of our neighborhood. $16 a pint hipsters sitting at one table with a table of $5 pitcher drinkers next to them.
I was pleased to have a funny story to share with Fatigue. Earlier in the day I was cruising the writer’s forum, and came across a thread looking for some ideas for humiliating jobs that a character might have. Jobs that would be super embarrassing, easy targets for being looked down upon, lots of opportunity for humor. Yanno where I’m headed with this, right?
No less than three people volunteered the idea of dog poop picker upper. Now it’s true, lots of opportunity for comedy in this, and it doesn’t have quite the same ring as “My Son The Doctah,” but we all do what we have to do. Fatigue is a singer, who walks dogs to pay his rent. Mrs Fringe is a Mama, a writer, and walks dogs to put the pharmacist’s kid through college. Yes, dog poop picker uppers. Try not to be jealous, as we spend our days skipping through the rain and snow, laughing and examining dog poop. Sure it’s a shitty job, but someone’s got to do it. *rimshot*
But we were laughing last night, assuming the posters were young enough to not intend any harm or insult. It’s innocence, to see these types of jobs as throwaway. We ate, and then chatted for a bit with one of the waitresses. The one who serves us beer on Friday nights so she can continue working on her doctorate during the day. Bar maid, ditch digger, lawyer, nit-picker and poop picker upper, we all do what we can and what we have to. Everyone has a story, whether we’re living life on the fringe, or just appear to be.