My favorite part of my job is most definitely that I get paid to break things.

As a kid I had a playroom that was filled with legos. Legoland lived on two 8′x4′ sheets of plywood, and covered them both with roads, hospitals, race tracks, and restaurants. But it would be impossible to recall all of the horrible, terrible tragedies that happened to Legoland. Every weekend there was a new disaster: a high-speed police chase that would end with the perpetrator crashing into the gas station, and the ensuing explosion would level every building within 4 base plates; a tornado that blew the truck stop clear over to the other side of the Cantina; an earthquake–perfect when Legoland exists on two sheets of plywood–would split the town in half. Every weekend Legoland would get completely destroyed, leaving just an assorted pile of legos strewn across sixty-four square feet of what once was a happy little town. I would spend the next week reconstructing each building in true make-believe fashion, construction vehicles and all, just to repeat it all again come Saturday. The perpetrator was always the same guy, too, in the red helmet and the little blue dune buggy. You’d think that the Legolanders would revoke his driving privileges after the twenty-sixth time.

“Find something you love doing, and find someone that will pay you to do it.”

I break things. And, they pay me for it.