15 Minutes of Dignity

No, I don't want more fucking hours.

I am not an hourly employee. I can't be. I am 68 years old. I have lived a life. I have accumulated dignity.

Christ, man - I have a college degree. I must have done something constructive with that over time. Right?

You want me to take a 15 minute lunch. Are you fucking serious? Half an hour is insulting. I am a human being. Fifteen minutes is a direct assault on dignity. Jesus fucking Christ. I will not fucking do it.

You have a project for me? Give me a fucking break. Don't call it a project. Don't pretend it is something that requires intelligence. Skill. Knowledge.

You want me to stuff fucking envelopes, like some fucking child. "Look, little Johnny, you take this piece of paper and slip it into this little envelope, you seal the envelope, you stamp it, you put it on the pile and you do it again - 350 times. Isn't that fun, little Johnny?"

"Let's fold t-shirts. We have all these t-shirts we are going to try to sell, hundreds of them, to push our brand on an unsuspecting public, but first we gotta seperate them by size, fold them, and put them in boxes. Which we will have to dig through every time some unsuspecting rube buys a t-shirt. What makes it enjoyable is that it's all for the cause. Don't you think?"

No, I don't want more fucking hours. I want less hours. I want no fucking hours.

Fuck paying the bills. I've been paying bills all my life.

They must all be paid by now.

Andy Warhol said: "In the future, everybody will be world famous for fifteen minutes." An incredibly stupid quote.

I am looking for 15 minutes of dignity before I die.