title: Dishwasher: One Man's Quest to Wash Dishes in All Fifty States (P.S.)
author:  Pete Jordan 
description: For 12 years, Jordan (aka Dishwasher Pete) tramped about the U.S. washing dishes. Despite a survey of 740 occupations in which "dishwasher ranked #735," Jordan, then in his mid-30s, sees the inherent benefits of the job: downtime in between meals, free food (and beer), being able to quit at a moment's notice and an abundance of similar opportunities all over the country. The writing is lucid and earnest, and Jordan's passion for dishwashing and, even more so, for blowing-in-the-wind traveling, is infectious. As his quest extends from one year to the next, and he questions the worthiness of his goal to "bust suds" in all 50 states, he demonstrates an ability to convey his deepest fears without losing the upbeat, fun tone that pervades the entire memoir. What does hurt this rather lengthy book's pacing is that every dishwashing job (save a few) is pretty much the same, and the descriptions can get as repetitive as a wash cycle. Still, Jordan's knowledge of famous dishwashers (Gerald Ford, Little Richard, etc.) and dishwashers' roles in creating unions adds a substance that juxtaposes nicely with the author's slacker lifestyle. <i>(May)</i> <br />Copyright  Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
zlib_text: BADD MEDICINE
  JASINDA WILDER
  
  CONTENTS
  Chapter 1
  Chapter 2
  Chapter 3
  Chapter 4
  Chapter 5
  Chapter 6
  Chapter 7
  Chapter 8
  Chapter 9
  Chapter 10
  Chapter 11
  Chapter 12
  Chapter 13
  Epilogue
  Also by Jasinda Wilder
  
  1
  RAMSEY
  HERE I AM stuck washing fucking dishes. Again. Of all the shitty jobs in the damn place, why do I
  always get stuck washing the dishes? I’m part owner of Badd Kitty Saloon—I should be tending bar
  or placing orders, but no, I’m in the back corner of the goddamn kitchen, clouded in steam, spraying
  dirty dishes, and operating the dishwasher.
  Fuck this.
  I cursed under my breath, grumbling and complaining in an unending monologue, but fifteen
  minutes later I was finally caught up. The bar had been busy all day and I was hoping things were
  letting up.
  “Fuckin’ finally,” I growled as I slammed the door shut on the last load in the dishwasher.
  And then, of course, Matty, our busser, arrived with another tub full of dishes in from the dining
  room.
  “Are you motherfuckin’ kidding me rig