- Yesterday was the fifth anniversary of my retirement from the business of being a Good Fellow. I use the word “business” advisedly. Until five years ago, if the city directory had told the truth, it would have listed after my name, as my real occupation, something like, “General Attender to Things,” or “Pinch Hitter,” or “Fine Old Scout.” I hope I am entitled in some measure to these designations even to-day. But I have quit being an accommodator and nothing else.
- and nothing else.
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Dude. "My uncle is a bank president but I decided to work in a warehouse on the spur of the moment to be accommodating." This is an essay about a dude who fucks over the people he knows for the people he doesn't. That's not "accommodating." That's "disloyalty."Whatever vague plans I had for my life had centered around the bank in a Middle-Western city of which my mother’s brother was president. It had been generally understood that as soon as I was through college Uncle Frank would have a job for me. However, my roommate was insistent. And so, to be a good fellow, I drifted into a business to which twenty-four hours before I had never given a thought.