least the wild have come back to their native land.

Give the Wamanpoag Tribe a few slot machines and who knows where they'll celebrate No Thanksgiving on the 400th anniversery of the Pilgrims' landing.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

I graduated 'sin laude' from university. Most of my classmates entered straight 9-5 jobs. I drove across the USA with my friend Andy and a coed named Carole. Two months later I returned to Boston. America was in a recession. A banking personnel director said that I had a stutter. He was right. I didn't get the job, but my gay friend Bruce knew of a position at Filene's Department Store as a perfumer.

"I don't know anything about scents." I wore Old Spice.

"Doesn't matter." Bruce was connected in the gay world. We wentto baseball games together. He had a thing for Bernie Carbo of the Red Sox. Bruce hoped that he was queer.

The manager of Perfumers' Workshop hired me on sight. Pay was $200/week plus commission. I mixed fragrant oils for old ladies searching a cheaper version of Chanel # 5. We had the combination in our playbook. The boss talked about sending me to New York.

"The Big Apple." Bruce was excited by this prospect. He liked back rooms and dirty sex. New York was infamous for its loose lust.

I failed the final test.

IE sleep with the boss.

Bob fired me the next day and my career has an olfactory engineer came to an end. My good nose went to waste, although the entrails of scents haunted every inhalation. Peaches reminding