Tonight, we’re not so much angry as we are tired. We’re tired of doing four jobs for the pay of one. We’re tired of trying to cram books onto shelves already too full of unsellable crap. We’re tired of dealing with the crazy people bleeding in the bathrooms, the people you won’t let us kick out of your dirty chairs. We’re tired of trying to keep your sinking ship afloat.
We have IRAs. Can you imagine that? We were once so optimistic we thought we’d make it to retirement. We know better now. Ain’t none of us making it to retirement.
Tomorrow, we cash out the IRAs. Tomorrow, we won’t work.
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