So, it is now officially a month since quitting a much-loved job of three years as a dildo salesman. I left the job on rocky terms and sadly never want to set foot in that thong-n'-dong shop ever again. I learned alot and made some lasting friendships working in that sex shop. But, after we hired a pack of lazy, back-talking ghetto wiseasses who sat around bitching about whatever music I'd put on and left all the customer service to me, it became just like every other job I'd ever worked in the District o' Cocoa.
In my life, I have worked hundreds of crappy blue collar jobs. I've done about eleven years of grease-stained foodservice, coming home wearing a cologne of chlorine and meat every night. I've been a retail slave with a plastic namebadge and matching smile to mask the homicidal urges firing through my subconscious. I've done construction, courier work, landscaping, telemarketing, door-to-door soliciting, all of it, man. I have been the minority at every job but the last and have always been treated like garbage for it.
Now, I came from an affluent background and went to private schools... I don't consider myself underpriveledged. However, I got my first job as an acne-laden teenager at Roy Rogers selling fried chicken to the Gucci-fied flesh mountains of Potomac. My scumbag father was starving me out of the house while playing sugar-daddy to his trailer-trash blonde whore of a second wife with the money he inherited from my dead mother. This job was to be the first of oh so many, where I would slave away in squalid shithole establishments, getting a real-world education scrubbing toilets and frying lard. I would be the only cracker in the soup at most every job I'd work... and I'd be learning a respect for the have-nots as I rapidly became one of them myself. My dad put me out on the street at seventeen, I moved into Langley Park, easily the sickest ghetto I've lived in. A hard-knock life unsuited to a suburban comic book geek from Montgomery County was to be my new blessing. This was where I bought my first tape recorder, and began making music from urban noise.
Thirteen years after my first job, eleven years after Langley, having bounced from one dysfunctional hell to another, and here I am. I have been living on my own since I was seventeen, struggling from paycheck to paycheck, finally to land safely, comfortably, into the life of a full-time artist, musician and student. I am no longer wasting my twenties behind a cash drawer... I'm going to make this shit work. It starts with turning my back on the past, no longer blaming my family and friends and taking responsibility for my current life.
I got a whole three-level house all to myself. I got a badass Macintosh studio with all the instrumentation I need to record my solo album. I'm looking at properties with my favorite jewelry teacher and three other students to open a studio / boutique. I'm adopting two cutie Siamese kitties tomorrow for company in my big home. 
I'm the luckiest bastard I ever met.