All Iain Levison really wants is a steady paycheck, cable television, and the possibility of a date on Saturday night. But after blowing $40,000 on an English degree, he can’t find the first, can’t afford the second, and can’t even imagine what woman would consent to the third. So he embarks on a time-honored American tradition: scoring a few dead-end jobs until something better comes along. The problem is, it never does. A Working Stiff's Manifesto is a laugh-out-loud memoir of one man’s quest to stay afloat. From the North Carolina piedmont to the Alaskan waters, Levison’s odyssey takes him on a cross-country tour of wage labor: gofer, oil deliveryman, mover, fish cutter, restaurant manager, cable thief, each job more mind-numbing than the last. A Working Stiff's Manifesto will resonate with anyone who has ever suffered a demeaning job, worn a name badge, or felt the tyranny of the time clock. "Bracing, hilarious and dead on." — The New York Times Book Review “[Levison’s] slacker ethos and deadpan delivery make reading Manifesto a job well worth taking.”— Entertainment Weekly “There is a naked, pitiless power in [Levison’s] work that makes [ Manifesto ] more valuable than the usual journal of the down-and-out in America.” —USA Today “Levison writes tight, punchy prose, with deadpan humor and a mixture of savvy about and sympathy for his fellow working stiffs.” —The Wall Street Journal All Iain Levison really wants is a steady paycheck, cable television, and the possibility of a date on Saturday night. But after blowing $40,000 on an English degree, he can?t find the first, can?t afford the second, and can?t even imagine what woman would consent to the third. So he embarks on a time-honored American tradition: scoring a few dead-end jobs until something better comes along. The problem is, it never does. A Working Stiff's Manifesto is a laugh-out-loud memoir of one man?s quest to stay afloat. From the North Carolina piedmont to the Alaskan waters, Levison?s odyssey takes him on a cross-country tour of wage labor: gofer, oil deliveryman, mover, fish cutter, restaurant manager, cable thief, each job more mind-numbing than the last. A Working Stiff's Manifesto will resonate with anyone who has ever suffered a demeaning job, worn a name badge, or felt the tyranny of the time clock. ison really wants is a steady paycheck, cable television, and the possibility of a date on Saturday night. But after blowing $40,000 on an English degree, he can’t find the first, can’t afford the second, and can’t even imagine what woman would consent to the third. So he embarks on a time-honored American tradition: scoring a few dead-end jobs until something better comes along. The problem is, it never does. A Working Stiff's Manifesto is a laugh-out-loud memoir of one man’s quest to stay afloat. From the North Carolina piedmont to the Alaskan waters, Levison’s odyssey takes him on a cross-country tour of wage labor: gofer, oil deliveryman, mover, fish cutter, restaurant manager, cable thief, each job more mind-numbing than the last. A Working Stiff's Manifesto will resonate with anyone who has ever suffered a demeaning job, worn a name badge, or felt the tyranny of the time clock. Becoming an Associate It's Sunday morning and I am scanning the classifieds. There are two types of jobs in here–jobs I’m not qualified for and jobs I don't want. I'm considering both. There are pages and pages of the first type–jobs I will never get. Must know this, must know that. Must be experienced in this and that, for at least six years, and be fluent in Chinese, and be able to fly a jet through antiaircraft fire, and have SIX YEAS experience in open-heart surgery. Starting salary $32,000. Fax your resume to Beverly. Who is Beverly, I wonder, and what does she know that I don't? She knows she's getting a paycheck, for starters. She can't do any of the things required for the job, I’m sure, or she would be doing them, instead of fielding phone calls. If I knew Beverly on a personal level, could I get a job doing something at her company? Is that why they don't put Beverly's last name in there, to discourage would-be stalker like me from schmoozing up to her in a bar? From finding out details of her personal life and bumping into her on the subway, after waiting or four hours, then asking her out for a drink; then, after a night of passionate sex, offhandedly wonder if they were hiring for anything down at her firm? I continue on down the column, earning more and more about skills I don't have, about training I will never get, about jobs needed in fields I never even knew existed. Sometimes the Jobs-I-Can't-Do sections contain a hidden morsel, thought. The words "WILL TRAIN" always trigger a Pavlovian slobbering in any qualified bullshit artist. If they're going to train you, what difference does it make what you used to do? "COMPUTER PROGRAMMER, WILL TRAIN." I know what a computer is. It's one of those TV things with a ty