the greeter

 

 

I think, when I grow up, I want to be the neighborhood Stasi. Yeah, that's right. I could even work from home.

Maybe I could get a franchise, or like a sales territory. I'd work for commission. You can make good if you've got hustle.

 

I'd approach it as though it were a position at Walmart ... as a greeter! Yeah, that's the ticket. 

 

In my wizened, frail state, I could be ingratiatingly pitiful, a harmless old codger fussing his last days away, butting in at the most inopportune moments, at once both harmless and annoying. 

 

"Aye?" I'd croak, irritating as any crow before dawn.

 

Then I'd wet my beak with every muttered utterance under their breath ...