But that has nothing to do with why Jim Porter's has the worst bar job.
You see, most Wednesdays I drive past the wooden sign out front, which features a man tipping his top hat to some dame. So sophisticated. Well, from the sign hangs a swing, on which a woman sits and waives at the passing traffic. She. Just. Sits. There. She's there, dripping with sweat, even when the sun is blazing overhead. The words "degrading" and "boring" and "sunburnt" come to mind when trying to describe what she does. I honk every time I pass, hoping she'll give me the finger. No luck, so far. I figure the only way a person could put up with such a gig would be if she was making a lot of money — though it'd still probably be the worst bar job in town — or if she was incredibly high.