But that doesn’t mean you don’t have feelings.
You hear it all day long from your customers.
“Hey shirt salesman, I’d like to buy a shirt. But don’t talk to me too much because who cares about you.”
“Listen up Shirty McShirterberger. If I wanted to hear from a guy who spends his life helping people cover up their upper bodies with a bunch of dumb fabric that buttons in the front, I still wouldn’t listen to you because I’d come to my senses just in the nick of time.”
“I am so angry that you’re alive.”
“Why are my customers so mean?” you’ll ask your wife when you get home tonight.
“Shut up,” she’ll mutter absently while binge-watching Falcon Crest on Netflix.
You’ll go upstairs and look in your closet at all the shirts you own. Is it so bad to sell people something that they need to look presentable? Does it make sense for that to inspire such hostility in people? You like shirts. And you’re good at selling them. If the world wants to hate you for that, so be it.
Just then a brick with the words “Shirt-selling Scum” will fly through your window and crack open your skull. Your wife will find your body after three more episodes of Falcon Crest, then she’ll watch two more before phoning an ambulance.
Happy You’re A Shirt Salesman Day!