Real work

I went to a job interview, they said: “Are you a Christian?” I hadn’t said they would be damned to hell if they never accepted Christ—I didn’t wear a cross on my lapel (just a falcon, in fact). All my contributions were pertinent to the matter, I just said: “I think it would be best if people had some authority, like an aristocrat, to lead them.”

They said: “We like your tweets, but we cannot give you the job.” To stop immigration was their stated goal—well, to watch it anyway; yet I suspect they feared I might stop it, not watch it, and that would never do—and that is why I cannot respect conservatives.

You could say I have a taste for real work.

I went to a job interview, they said: “When are you going to get serious?” I said: “I am serious”—and I meant it. All I did was make a few true observations—not even the most true, that the birds are angels and the gods are returning. Still, it was too much—or enough for them to say I am a fool. Yet the birds are angels and the gods are returning—and there is nothing less serious than to cheat your fellow man for vanity. Who’s fooling who? I did not get the job—though I did attain my position.

You could say I have a taste for real work.