It’s What’s For Christmas Ben Richmond’s kitchenette looked like a newspaper had exploded all over it. Sheets of smudgy black-and-white type covered the chipped linoleum-topped table, while others lay littered on the ground. A few had even ended up on top of the refrigerator where he’d flung them in a fit of exasperation. Ben’s job search was going slowly, to put it mildly. The whole enterprise made him want to throw up his hands in defeat, crawl back into bed, and stay there for the next few decades. “Accountant, actuary, advertising manager,” he read out loud from the classifieds between sips of coffee. He sighed heavily. He had none of these skills and wasn’t even entirely sure what an actuary did. Probably, he shouldn’t have called his boss at Speedy’s Custom Siding a neurotic dickless wonder. That had gotten him fired but good, the latest in a long line of drive-by encounters with employment. Ben couldn’t honestly say he regretted not working at Speedy’s anymore, with its sterile white walls and mud-colored carpet.
What do You think about Spam! It's What's For Christmas?
