nudna praca!

[Gość: Superman]

Jaka ty masz nudna prace?

If you have ever gone through a toll booth, you know that your
relationship to
the person in the booth is not the most intimate you'll ever have.
It is one
of life's frequent nonencounters: You hand over some money; you
might get
change; you drive off.

Late one morning in 1984, headed for lunch in San Francisco, I drove
toward a
booth. I heard loud music. It sounded like a party. I looked around.
No other
cars with their windows open. No sound trucks. I looked at the toll
booth.
Inside it, the man was dancing.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm having a party," he said.

"What about the rest of the people?" I looked at the other toll
booths.

He said, "What do those look like to you?" He pointed down the row
of toll booths.

"They look like...toll booths. What do they look like to you?"

He said, "Vertical coffins. At 8:30 every morning, live people get
in. Then
they die for eight hours. At 4:30, like Lazarus from the dead, they
reemerge
and go home. For eight hours, brain is on hold, dead on the job.
Going through
the motions."

I was amazed. This guy had developed a philosophy, a mythology about
his job.
Sixteen people dead on the job, and the seventeenth, in precisely
the same
situation, figures out a way to live. I could not help asking the
next
question: "Why is it different for you? You're having a good time."

He looked at me. "I knew you were going to ask that. I don't
understand why
anybody would think my job is boring. I have a corner office, glass
on all
sides. I can see the Golden Gate, San Francisco, and the Berkeley
hills. Half
the Western world vacations here...and I just stroll in every day
and practice
dancing."

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