One of my absolute favorite times of the week is Sunday morning. I love the smell of the coffee brewing, the look of my dining room, with the sun shining in the windows across the wood floors, and the big Sunday newspaper.
I start with the front page. Just a quick glance. Then I go right to the ads. I used to save the Target and Dayton’s ads for last. A weird idiosyncrasy I’ve had since my twenties. Now that Dayton’s is defunct, I still savor the Target ad. Before Weight Watchers, I would eat a still-warm scone from the little local market two blocks away, but now I down my dry Kashi GoLean with my coffee. After the ads, I go back to the available sections (Chris is usually reading across the table from me.) The Arts, Money, Opinion and Travel are my first choices.
Yesterday, in the Money section of the Salt Lake Tribune, there was a fluff piece on employment - “Employment: The worst jobs”. Underneath the title, and before the brief article, was a list. Number one was “Flatulence analyst”, number fourteen was Blue cheese factory worker and then near the bottom – right after “Slaughterhouse worker”- was “High school guidance counselor”.
I kind of wish I had seen this list before I invested two years full time into grad school, one year of internship and 14 years on the job.