A woman and I were waiting for an elevator on the 24th floor of a downtown building when a bicycle messenger came bustling around a corner whistling some tune.
"It's nice to hear someone whistling," the woman said to him. "I certainly don't feel like it."
"Having a bad day?" the messenger asked.
"I hate my job."
"You ought to do something you like."
"I don't think I'd like to make that my profession."
Thursday, February 29, 1996
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