I'm able to write about my secret late night job and still keep it a secret, I think, because I've sufficiently kept my true identity under wraps. Even the government, with their agents and feelers, haven't been able to crack the code.
There are certain things I can say with impunity, such as how I'm able to circumvent the explicit laws of the United States and supplement my income. I'm like the guy I saw on TV the other day in a poor neighborhood of Chicago advocating for more guns there. They blurred out the house numbers, therefore no one would be able to figure out who he was.
Now, we all know that when you're on full disability, you're not allowed to make money. Their reasoning is simple, of course. If you're disabled, that literally means you have no abilities. That's simple enough. If you had abilities and could make money on your own you wouldn't need the government to supply it. But I have tested the limits and have found that I actually do have abilities even though I'm disabled.
How I got on full disability is another story -- I have a game toe -- that I won't take the time or risk of telling here. The fact is, I get a big fat check every month and the government's largesse definitely soothes away some of the pain.
But I find that I have greater expenses to cover, such as DVDs, CDs, and now my latest guilty pleasures, MP3 downloads, expensive Belgian chocolate, and lattes at the college coffee shop. Meaning I needed some way to supplement what I get on the public dole.
Enter my secret late night job! I've been vacuuming and cleaning up at a local church. They said I could set my own hours, so I picked late at night. One, this frees up the rest of my day for other activities. And, more important, my government minder -- the parole-type officer that every disabled American has trailing him around -- is asleep then and thinks I'm sleeping too. The electronic monitor they put on my toe all those years ago, I wriggled out of it shortly after, and they only think they know my comings and goings!
(I can say all this with impunity, because there's a lot more disabled people with game toes than you might guess.)
So the short story of it is, now I'm up practically all night a couple nights a week, doing janitor work, sweeping around the pews, etc., with an Oreck vacuum (seriously, Nothing Gets By An Oreck, as long as you're willing to go over the same spot an infinite number of times.)
The money's good, the government doesn't know what's going on, and my life couldn't be happier!
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