“Hi, welcome to my summertime hell, may I take your order please? Pickles, mustard, jalapenos and black olives on barbecued pork? What do you got a tapeworm? God, I think I’m gonna hurl!”

Right about now you are wishing you had tried a little harder to get that internship, aren’t you? You could be in Minneapolis right now getting coffee for some slack-ass engineer who just loves having a personal slave. Six of one, half dozen of the other.