This piece originally ran on The Trenches at http://trenchescomic.com/tales/post/it-aint-all-fame-and-fortune.
You want to hear some shit? Let me tell you about my average day. It starts off with waking up at 6:45 in the morning, which is waaaaaay before the sun comes up, which means it’s cold. Real cold. So cold that the steering-wheel heater in my BMW takes at LEAST five minutes to warm up. Sometimes I even have to hit the three-zone seat heater, which is not a step I take lightly. That thing chews right through ultra-premium gas.
Once the climate problems are dealt with, I have to fight my way through ten, maybe fifteen minutes of light traffic. Occasionally there’s an accident, some person in an Oldsmobile or something, and I have to drop down to fifty-five miles an hour. Let me tell you, there is nothing more depressing than driving past a broken-down minivan filled with screaming children when you can only do fifty-five. Just awful.
Finally I get to work. My clothes are freshly laundered and hanging in my locker, but the industrial-strength drying machine they use shrinks my pants sometimes and then I have to ask for a new pair. They always give it to me, but it’s just so humiliating to actually have to talk to the equipment managers. Rarely, they make eye contact, and what am I supposed to do then? Acknowledge them? Pretend to remember their names?
After the pants disaster, the only way to calm myself down is to head up to the cafeteria and order some freshly made pancakes and scrambled egg whites, but the kitchen staff create a very hostile environment. They also put out biscuits, gravy, waffles, hash browns, thick-cut bacon, thin-cut bacon, and sausage patties, and there’s a fruit and yogurt bar, a cereal stand, croissants, English muffins, more bacon, and fully made breakfast sandwiches. How am I supposed to look at all that and eat healthy at the same time? Some people just don’t get it.
Once breakfast is out of the way (and I’ve been forced to bus my own dishes over to the dishwasher), it’s time for meetings. Then there’s an agonizing forty-five minutes before I can finally escape, and if I fall asleep during the meetings, I get yelled at. It’s so unfair—don’t they know how early I have to wake up? Then I have to somehow find a way to fill the next two hours before lunch; usually the only option is to play dominoes, but sometimes I lose and that really sucks. It’s super hard to stay focused at work once you lose a domino game. It can ruin your entire day.
After lunch (with a measly selection of four entrées, three side courses, a salad bar, a sandwich bar, a dessert bar, and an ice cream freezer), there’s another hour of dead time that I’m supposed to fill. Usually I’ll sneak into the equipment room and read the paper, but the couch there is getting old, and the dryers are moderately loud, so it’s a less-than-ideal environment. It’s really hard to focus on the crossword puzzle with a dryer rattling around. Other times, I’ll go take a nap in the lounge, but there’s only the two couches, so if it fills up, it’s a real bummer.
Then comes the worst part of the day: practice. I have to actually put on my cleats and go punt a football for THIRTY MINUTES.
Thirty minutes. I’ll let that sink in a little bit.
Don’t make the mistake of thinking that I’m done when the punting ends either—then I have to go inside and pretend to lift weights so I can sit down. The coaches don’t let us sit down on the field, and I think you’ll all agree that that’s basically indentured servitude. I’m considering filing an OSHA complaint.
After all that grueling work, practice finally ends and I have to hurry up and head home at three so I can avoid traffic. Exhausting. My only relief is to sit on the couch and play games until midnight to unwind from the stress.
So when you video-game testers think you have it hard, in your air-conditioned rooms with your fancy electronics, take a minute and think about us poor NFL punters. We deal with the real shit, out in the real world. Our trenches run deep.