Y'know, it's kind of annoying.

I really like my delivery job, is the thing, but you'd be amazed how many people don't seem to think that guys with lovingly-maintained classic sports cars really need adequate tips. I think I've heard so many variations on "with that car you need money?" that I'm gonna go verklempt any minute now. And if I ever need to mutter disparaging things in Yiddish I have this whole vocabulary that I'm not sure I want to know what it all means, yeesh.

'Course, then I get days like this afternoon where I took a half-a-dozen loaves of challah bread out to Mrs. Smetski in Brooklyn and it turns out she's about a hundred years older than God and must've dated Lee Iacocca in high school or something with as much as she knows about Mustangs. Also her knishes are amazing. So it's averaging out pretty well in satisfaction even if I could maybe use a little more cash.