The average American has thirteen jobs in a lifetime. Tom Bross has had at least forty. This is Book Three, where the dust starts to settle.

You should know up front that this is the one with the happy ending—though Tom would call it more of a mostly-survived ending, which feels more honest anyway.

At ten, he was a drug mule for his hippie mother and got busted by a bike cop for riding on the wrong side of the street. Not for the drugs. The drugs were fine. At twenty, he came home from four months of backpacking through Europe to find his first love had taken up with a poet, which was rude. At thirty-something, he was creating ads for career colleges under a boss who treated office decorum as a suggestion. At fifty-something, he was getting fired by an executive who didn't appreciate his sense of humor, and by a manager who finally got around to drug-testing him.

Somewhere along the way, against his better judgment and his own loudly protesting math, he figured out what the happy ending actually was. And on his sixty-fourth birthday he received the email that every employee dreads—Team Restructuring—which turned out to be exactly what he needed, because it meant he finally had time to write the book you're holding.

Work Work Work is a memoir told one paycheck at a time, by a guy who has loved most of his jobs, hated a few of them, and finally has a clean answer to "What do you do?" Pull up a chair. Tom’s been waiting to tell you this part…