My career choice is one of complacency. I’ve had many jobs in my life. I used to press the button that made The Cobra go whooooosh at Ratanga Junction. I was the token weirdo slurping vodka out of a Spiderman sippy-cup at a cool clothing store called Space Station. I wore actual pantyhose at Grandwest while fiddling with faulty slot machines and signing little pieces of paper that granted the wielder a free sandwich and/or bottle of Johnny Walker, depending on the amount of monies they won. I was number one spiller of chemicals but looking fly as fuck in a labcoat while nursing sulphur allergies at Koeberg power station. I sold international travelers all manners of alternative South African music with the occasional Britney Spears album when I worked at a music store at the airport called Rythmic Beat. I shunned the unbelieving UK market when they would call in to complain about exploding HP printers destroying their 50 million year old coffee tables at Teleperfomance. FUCK. I’ve seen some shit, man. I’ve done some shit, man. There are several other job encounters that I would rather not mention… Whilst I did sometimes wish to climb that corporate ladder, be that slick-haired caffeine addict dishing out motivational hogwash and driving that Murr-Cey-Deez Benz, I chose a different life. I chose… complacency in mediocrity. Now I sit behind a desk. I internet. I help people that ask for my help. I typedy-type and talkedy-talk. Better? What is better? I ‘member watching an episode of Penn and Teller questioning that very term. Why do we seek better when what we have is deemed enough by our own standards? Hmmm. I am…. happy. I am… content. I am… loved. I am also… poor as fuck, yo. Meh.