Don't wanna.

I was so reluctant to go to work, today, knowing a better job awaits on the horizon. But, I went anyway, the lure of a couple more paychecks dragged me back to my shabby cubicle.

The Questionable Company "products" are manufactured on site, in the same building where I take calls from the naive fools who think this snake oil is actually doing them some good. The "laboratory" is off limits to me, not that I'm interested in slipping in, stealing the Secret Recipe. (i.e., sugar water, nasty flavoring to make it seem "good for you" and a bit of laxative to make you think your body is "detoxing".) I sometimes catch a glimpse of the lab techs and have to stifle my snickering. They are outfitted in scrubs, lab coats, surgical shower caps and booties over their shoes. Puh-lease. They aren't fooling anyone . . . well, they're not fooling me.

Two weeks ago The Questionable Company offered tours for its "members." The tour guide made them all put on hazmat-type getups, with the shoe booties and surgical shower caps and disposable paper surgical aprons over their clothes. The members were all atwitter, murmuring amongst each other with excitement about actually witnessing, firsthand, the creation of Liquid Miracles.

It was funny to see but then depressing. A large percentage of the nation's population will believe anything and they'll pay hard-earned money to demonstrate their faith.

I earn my pay through their ignorance.

I can't wait to get out of there.

It's a great day . . . if you can afford it.

Until I start my REAL job in August, I'm stuck working a couple more weeks at The Questionable Company, where senior citizens are coaxed into spending their meager pensions on expensive snake oil hawked by shysters who litter their mattresses with their commission checks and roll around naked on them.

Every time I answer the phone, I must say, "It's a great day at (Questionable Corp.), are you placing an order or signing up a new member today?" It gets old real fast.

Today a retiree phoned our call center from her doctor's office at his suggestion. He's a member, receiving commissions every time he suckers one of his patients into making a purchase. The retiree ordered everything the doctor recommended and then audibly swooned when I told her the total (over $200.)

It makes you wonder which roadside pop stands these "doctors" are buying their degrees.