Sandy had just gotten home from working a Barmitzvah out in Long Island. It was the usual deal, four hours acting like an idiot for two hundred bucks. She’d led a conga line wearing plastic fruit on her head, dressed up like a nerd for the sock hop set and handed out maracas for people to shake as they lowered themselves for the limbo. How low can you go? Pretty low, Sandy thought. Pretty damn low. The worst, though, was the big band set. The performers had to be dressed up as musical instruments and Sandy was a xylophone, which meant she had to endure people beating her with her own mallets.