Faber sat down in his chair and clasped his hands across his lap and waited for Morris who found her seat still clutching the battery pack. When she remarked that the blame for her blunder lay squarely with the one-piece dress she was wearing, I could’ve been forgiven for believing that the ‘Between Two Ferns’ universe I’d just stepped into was quips all the way down.

After escaping the clinic where I wheezed through a pre-employment medical (push-ups, sit-ups and planks, oh my!), I hop on the number 471 bus at the ditch opposite the BP truck stop on Little Boundary Road. I’m glad to leave behind the smell of tar-seal and chicken salt from the scrunched up chip packets in the dry overgrown grass.