I had a job in Zurich for a few months as a corporate liason. Which sounds fancy-shmancy, but all it means is that the great and mighty corporate consultant didn’t want to travel lest it perturb is delicate genius, so I got to spend 6 hours a day sitting in a nice office being yelled at by angry businessmen. Then I’d spend an hour translating everything that had be said into language that wouldn’t offend the fragile ego of The Consultant. He’d then email me his response to the concerns raised overnight, and I’d come in the next morning and spend an hour explaining what he’d said to the businessmen. Then they’d yell at me for the next six hours. Good fun.

The point to this story, if there is one, is that while I was over there, I opened myself a savings account and threw some cash into it, for no other reason than I’ve always wanted to say, “I’ll just get the funds wired over from my Swiss bank account.” Then the pizza guy is like, how long’s that gonna take? And I’m like, fuck you. That’s how long.