Why I Hate Jobs

Because now we don't farm for a living, we starve our souls.
Because now we don't sweat in the sun, we freeze in the air conditioning.
Because now we don't sing spirituals together in pain, but make our mouths smile to elevator music.
Because now we don't drink fresh-sqeezed lemonade on porches for our break, but bottomless bottles of bitter liquor in tinted windowed bars.

Why?

England's Dry Cider Strongbow

And who says that a bit of aged cider can't be good for the heart???
I tell you, I'd go mad if I didn't have something funny to be around...
And though my large Irish husband isn't really English and isn't really
five point zero percent alcohol, who wants to be that anyways???? ?
And well he isn't really Irish. Though once we are buying firewood in
A small northwestern gas station slash "convenience store" (what   an
Oxymoran in the rural forests of Washington) when all of a     sudden
He opens the door at the same time another red headed bearded man
Reaches for that same handle (awkwardly) and stops short  and  waits
And Ben says "Oh thank you" and the man nods and says in his rural
Accent "For an Irishman".

Ben walks out and he walks in, pretending to be Irish. Spiritus Sanctus.