I took my first piss test lately.

Was it a coincidence that it happened to be six weeks after my last dabble?

No I don’t guess.

Would I have taken one in those many years of my job hopping past, if not for the fact that I wouldn’t have passed without the help of another bladder or some clever chemical additive to my ensemble?

Probably.

Still I told most of those companies or temp. agencies that I was “boycotting,” at the time, and in my own very self-serving way I guess I was.

But it all brings to mind a story about a temp. agency which didn’t just want me to sign a waiver granting the right to give me a piss test, in spite of my highly political boycott, should I happen to have some unfortunate accident fall against me, so that the company might prove beyond a shadow of doubt that the injury was very definitely my fault; they wanted to give me a piss test before I took on any assignment at all.

And I didn’t find this out until a few pages into their elaborate application. So I picked up the whole mess, with my name and social security number and all those things scribbled on every other page at least; started to walk out.

“Um — excuse me,” the mousy little counter-girl squeaked, “Were you going to finish that?”

“Oh yeah.”

She was quickly following me out the front door, “Because those forms are company property…um…”

For a stoned guy I was pretty quick on my feet: “I was just going to finish it up on the toilet, I’ll be right back.”

“Oh,” she squeaked feebly, then watched me get into an elevator which had nothing to do with any bathroom in the place.

“Thanks” I guess I might’ve said; or, “Thanks for your interest;” or something like this.

Save the piss tests for airplane pilots and roller coaster mechanics and shit, please. First fucking test I take and the company is run with a level of professionalism comparable to the journalistic integrity of Fox News.

Just picture a clique of aloof New Mexican bitches in charge of the home lives of the domestically Challenged.

Just imagine a handful of master manipulators ready to aim their residents’ resentments in any direction, such as toward that new guy that came along, daring to whisper a few words like, “Safety,” “Catheder training,” or “Who’s oncall?”

First fucking test I took and I think this may have finally soured me for life on the whole goddam industry they call, “Care.”