I used to work in a factory, a barstool manufactory. My job was to inspect the color of every third barstool that came down the line. I was a color-control monitor, of which there were three. One day, we would make sure that the red barstools were indeed red. The next, we would make sure that the black barstools were indeed black. And, on the third day–that most difficult of days–we made sure that the plaid barstools were indeed plaid–not black, not red. My co-workers were real pros. We called them “Red” and “Blackie”…although I was never sure which one was which. They called me “Tom,” which wasn’t my name, but it was close enough.
The next day, I was fired. I guess I should have mentioned that I was colorblind.
The sad and bitter end.