Best Dad Evar on Career

We catch up with our hero on a break from his job. He stands outside the door of a quiet warehouse, a corrugated metal structure with only the smallest of windows and the occasional door in a two story high building that is a bland tan color. The parking lot Best Dad Evar stands in is similarly quiet with only a few cars and delivery trucks to suggest how many people work inside. He's enjoying a bit of fresh air and natural light, though he's a bit annoyed because a truck (no doubt filled with pallets of "product") has just passed in front of him, spewing filthy smelling black smoke from its exhaust pipes into his general aura.

Best Dad hears a voice, with which he's now familiar, "Best Dad Evar, what are your thoughts on the word 'career'?" the narrator asks, taking our hero's mind away from the stink.
Best Dad Evar snorts with disgust. "Career, what career? I drive a forklift. I work in a warehouse."
"But Best Dad Evar, you have a degree in Economics, what happened?"
"Well, a degree in Economics doesn't pay the bills. It doesn't buy diapers. It doesn't make your car payment or pay for groceries. It certainly doesn't pay medical insurance premiums. As it turns out, driving a forklift and moving boxes around in a warehouse does." He smirks.
"Still, shouldn't you be able to find something that pays the bills that uses your degree or your previous job skills more?"
"You mean, like my last job as a loan officer for a mortgage company?"
"Oh..."
"Yeah, oh. Not too many good jobs for us, are there?"
"No, apparently not."
"But an old boss got me this job here after the shit hit the fan in the mortgage biz, so here I am."
"Not exactly what you had planned."
"No, not at all. Maybe some day I'll be able to find a job where I can use those skills again. But for now we're surviving, and that's got to be enough."

"Weren't you expecting to 'make a difference in the world' when you got your degree Best Dad?"
"Yeah, but that was a long time ago when I was young and idealistic."
"You don't fool me, Best Dad Evar, I know you still think you could 'change the world'."
"Yeah, I guess," he says, his head hanging in shame. "It's just that I'm so tired and I don't feel like I have time to *do* anything. Once I get home from my job I have a few hours to be with my kids each night. Those hours are often jam-packed and stressful so afterwards I'm completely worn out. Weekends are typically filled with chores and maybe a few hours of relaxation. When am I going to do something so big it will 'change the world'?"
"But Best Dad, I hear about parents who are changing the world every day, despite their busy schedules, why can't you do what they're doing?"
"I guess I'm just not as good a person as those folks." Best Dad Evar says with a fiery look in his eyes. Is this anger directed at our narrator or himself? One can only guess.

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Meet Best Dad Evar

We meet our hero in his living room. The only light in the room emanates from a small table lamp and the flickering of the television. Best Dad Evar reclines on a couch that has seen better days, its cushions sagging, its arms misshapen and hard. He is dressed in a loose, faded t-shirt and unfortunate sweatpants with loose threads framing the hems and waistband. Best Dad Evar has lost most of the hair on his head, and what hair is left is peppered with gray. His eyes are mostly closed - no, scratch that, his eyes are closed. The drama on the television is not stimulating enough to overcome his most common feeling: exhaustion.

"Best Dad Evar!"
"Wuh...?" Best Dad Evar replies, startled, but still half asleep. He looks around suspiciously, but languidly. He's slightly annoyed. He pretty much always looks slightly annoyed.
"How did you come to be known as 'Best Dad Evar'?"
"What are you talking about? No one calls me that. And who are you?"
"I'm your narrator. I'm like Jeff Probst on Survivor. I see everything and I'll call you on everything you do or even think."
"Oh, shit." Best Dad Evar shakes his head, trying to clear it or to wake up. He thinks he's been dreaming. Maybe he is.

Best Dad Evar grunts as he gets up off the coach. He always grunts or groans or squeaks or says "ouch!" when he moves from sitting to standing. He wanders into the kitchen to get a drink of water. "Damn it!" he says quietly.
"What's wrong Best Dad Evar?"
"I forgot to wash the dishes again." He stares at the sink and the piles of dishes for a long moment. "Guess I better do them now. Better than in the morning when everything's crazy." Best Dad Evar often talks to himself. He believes he's doing that now, sort of.

"Best Dad Evar!?" Best Dad Evar scoffs. "Where did you get the idea that anyone calls me that?"
"Your daughter called you that this afternoon."
"She did? When?"
"This afternoon. I believe she was sitting in the living room watching television."
"Ah, that explains it. I said 'yes'. That's just about the only time she says anything nice to me: when I say 'yes' to something she wants."
"Oh, come on, that can't be true."
"Maybe I'm exaggerating. But why don't you call me 'Worst Dad Evar'? I'm sure she's called me that at least as many times. And certainly with far more emotion and conviction than when she's called me 'Best Dad'." His voice dips to a low grumble, "Just wait till I say 'no', Mr. All-Seeing Narrator... then you'll know." Best Dad Evar muses all this as he scrubs the plastic plates and sippy cups. Next are the pots and pans, each one associated with a different person in his small family.
"How many dinners were cooked here tonight?"
"Exactly." Best Dad Evar says with a wry smile, drying his hands finally with a towel.

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