Some useful tips for Casey:
Most jobs, I came to the conclusion, were ridiculous — and if I worked at them long enough, I would become ridiculous, too. My bosses knew that I didn't want to be there; they didn't want me there, either. In the two months after that I'd discovered that I wasn't cut out for mowing grass, pouring coffee, tossing pizza, unloading trucks, customer service, shoveling dog food into bags, or — what started the tailspin — serving deep-fried bricks of suet to my distended countrymen.
I did, however, have a 1996 Integra GS-R, finished in the most ebony of color schemes and with which I sure as hell wasn't going to part. That's how, for the next three weeks, it was mi casa es mi coche. I've been there and didn't get my eggs scrambled, and there's no reason why you can't, either. But rather than survive by your wits alone, take a minute to run over the following tips so you don't make some of the same, dumb mistakes that I did...
Hat tip to Wagga for the sweet find!