I was a 23 year old beauty, excited to have gotten a job as a mortuary/cemetery clerk at Forest Lawn Hollywood Hills Memorial Park, where the upper management were some of the worst people I've ever met and the internment services were conducted by rote – it was the McDonald’s of memorial parks: “Oh, your young daughter just died of leukemia? Fill out this paperwork and we'll call you up to the front desk when you're number is called.” I lasted there for two and a half years before quitting -- it was an intense last conversation with my soon-to-be ex-boss. "You're the only person who feels that I'm unfair," she said. "Sorry, but that's completely not true. Nobody would tell you what they think of you to your face, but they all hate you and think you're unfair and look forward to days you call in sick." Then, I was unemployed for centuries, in a little suburb called Monrovia. I was a substitute teacher, which brought ...