I would like to do my bit for the economy by creating a new job. Perhaps it's been done already, but not here in Hillmomba.
Line-stand-in. That's the job title. I would gladly pay an individual the going minimum wage off-the-books to take my place in line.
Today's assignment would have involved the pharmacy. If there's one thing to which Mrs. Hillbilly Mom does not cotton, it is standing in line for an hour at the pharmacy after a hard day at work being on her feet morning and afternoon for parking lot duty. I felt light-headed. I got the shakes. Perhaps, like a hot-house, blue-blooded, dainty celebrity, I was dehydrated. Exhausted. At least I didn't vomit in front of the audience. Or perhaps I developed a case of hypoglycemia, what with five o'clock being a darn sight removed from my last meal of lunch at 10:53 a.m.
Line-stand-in. The working conditions are better than being a stand-in for a child actor on a daytime soap. Or a personal assistant for Mr. Pitt. Or a volunteer for the goiter-sporting former paramour of Mahatma Gandhi. Or selling computers out of a garage with Lloyd Braun.
I might just run an employment service as a branch of my proposed handbasket factory.