There is OCD-Riddled Parental Figure/Full-Time Party Pooper, who will basically spend all of his/her time telling you to turn music down, yelling at you to clean up after yourself, asking that you not invite people over, reminding you that it is a weeknight, and cleaning up around you while making exasperated sighs.
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Let me begin by saying that my employers have not particularly seduced me with my salary, whose compensatory effects are less than enthralling. Put simply, I get paid just enough to pay whatever the hell bills wind up in my mailbox, and if I’m lucky, at the end of the month, I can get the 16 year Scotch instead of the 12 year. Yes, I am into 16-year-olds; I hear that’s legal in France.