One of my responsibilities at work is to shred the documents with sensitive client information. Most days, I’m in too much of a rush doing the job to really pay attention to what I’m shredding, and when I do look, most of it is credit statements and bills and duplicate certificates.
The other day, I noticed that some of the papers I was shredding had the name of a museum I really want to intern at. For a moment, I considered keeping the papers and using them to blackmail the institution into hiring me. And then I realized how swiftly and utterly I would be sacked without recommendations.
I like the money I make. The need to keep it overwhelms even my most basic urges of delinquency. Shocking, I know. If my privateer ancestors could see me now, they would weep for all the crimes I have failed to commit.
That confessed, I’m going to drink a bottle of rum and find out where I can buy a cannon to perch on my roof.