7:35 am: The alarm rings on my iPhone, which I have acquired with money earned from jobs I have stolen. I hit snooze. Job stealing can wait five more minutes.

7:47 am: I wake up as the alarm goes off again. This time I get up and take a shower.

7:58 am: I leave the bathroom. Awkwardly see my roommate as he waits for me to be done. Why is he up this early? He is an actor; he doesn’t have a job. I know this because I have stolen his job too.

7:59 – 8:05 am: I get dressed for my job, which I have stolen.

8:05 am: Grab a bag of Colombian Juan Valdez coffee, making sure those American coffee-makers don’t get jobs.

8:06 am: Pour coffee beans into French press. I make my own coffee, thus taking jobs away from baristas all over the nation.

8:10 – 8:15 am: Race to subway station as I put on my coat with a piece of Nature’s Own 12 Grain toast hanging out my mouth like the haphazard, yet endearing job-stealing ruffian I am.

8:15 am: Take the subway, and in that way single-handedly dismantle Detroit’s economy and bring down the auto industry.

8:37 am: Give a WHOLE DOLLAR to panhandler on the train. I have so much money due to stolen jobs.

8:39 am: I arrive at my office where I am to perform my stolen job as a trilingual writer with insights on the Latin American market. On my way in, I see the one American trilingual writer with insights on the Latin American market whose job I stole. He is asking for money in the street. What am I to do? I’m just an incorrigible, Latino scoundrel adding more jobs to his satchel of stolen jobs.

8:45 am: Charm and entertain my co-workers with a funny occurrence that happened to me in the past twenty-four hours. This way, I make sure they are not looking at their phones and thus are inadvertently helping me bring down hundreds of startups that rely on eyeballs on their apps. Job stealing, there’s an app for that!

9:00 am: I work at my stolen job.

9:15 am – 10:15 am: Facebook break. This is when I go to Facebook to check how many of my American Facebook friends still have jobs and device and concept outrageous plans on how to steal them from them. i.e.: with a giant claw, with a crane, seducing them at a casino and running away with their wallets and their jobs in the middle of the night.

10:15 am – 11:45 am: I get called to a meeting with a client.

11:45 am – 1:50 pm: For three hours the client and I devise ways to write a commercial that makes a political statement about refugees/border walls. I say those ideas make no sense if the company doesn’t actively try to improve the situation of refugees/those affected by border walls in the meeting, and my company loses the client. Ha-ha, bye-bye, jobs.

1:55 pm: I go to lunch at a NYC-restaurant with immigrant wait staff. Nothing tastes like job-stealing feels!

2:35 pm: Back at my desk, I work at my stolen job while I plot to place more stolen job bricks on the foundation of my stolen job castle.

5:48 pm: It’s been over three hours since I last looked at the clock. Time sure does fly when you’re doing what you love. i.e.: stealing jobs.

5:55 pm: My boss, Mr. Rutterford calls me to his office. He tells me since we lost that tire company client, I’m getting laid off. Thank god I have a trove of stolen jobs to choose from in my secret stolen job lair.

6:00 pm: As I empty my desk, I go through my pockets to see if I have any good stolen jobs in them. No dice, only community manager positions…

6:05 pm: I indulge in a little office peccadillo (I did just get laid off) and go on Amazon. I buy a Kindle Paperwhite. This causes three small bookstores in Allentown, PA to shut down. That’s another couple of job marbles into the hungry, hungry hippo that I have become driven by my mad appetite for job-stealing.

7:00 pm: I leave my work. Sad I shan’t come back, but eager to see which stolen job I’ll do tomorrow. On my way out I press the button on the elevator myself just to make sure they don’t even think of hiring an elevator operator.

7:07 pm: Ride the subway home. The subway runs on electricity, which comes from a hydroelectric plant. All the coal miners in the Rust Belt lose their jobs forever. LOL, what even are jobs?

7:29 pm: I enter my apartment. I walk down the secret passageway I built myself, thus ensuring no American construction workers could work on it, and into my secret job vault. There, surrounded by all my stolen jobs, I whisper to myself: “I do it for the thrill.”