Jesus. IT’S TWENTY TEN. Where is my flying car? I’m afraid I’m going to have to give up the taxi thing here pretty quick. I love the work, for the most part, but the money and hours are killing me. I’ve been working a minimum of 60 hours a week, not counting travel time and hanging out waiting for my cab to get into the office so I can go to work, or waiting for a ride home because I’m not making enough to keep insurance and plates on my personal vehicle and I refuse to take the chance on getting busted for it. Consistently at the end of that sixty-plus hours, I’... [More]