Sprinkles

Let me say now that I have never walked into, say, Daily Grind, and found athletes scattered around the tables, performing squat thrusts, crunches, push-ups, or counting out sets of curls. Nor have I seen seamstresses roll out bolts of cloth, cut out patterns, then whip out their sewing machines. I’ve not seen veterinarians haul in their sick canines, pull them out of portable pet carriers, and administer rabies and parvo vaccinations. There have been exactly zero potters working their wheels, zero taxidermists stuffing their bobcats, zero toxicologists using petri dishes to play checkers, zero circus performers practicing their knife throwing, zero pilots working some kind of virtual reality take-off-and-landing apparatus, and zero exotic dancers using the sugar and cream kiosk as some kind of barre. One time I saw a general practitioner trying to drum up free breast exams, but he got kicked out.

So what’s with all the so-called writers thinking that their craft is some kind of spectator sport?