It's the same thing, day in and day out. Drive the sandcrawler through the desert...look for droids...clean up the droids...try to sell the droids to inbred yokals who don't know the difference between an R2 unit and a 1982 K-mart toaster oven. And then they have to haggle over the price. "What? you think I'm doing this for free?" I ask them. "You think I like being out here in in this 120 degree heat so I can make you feel better about getting a great deal?" And those Skywalkers are the worst. Always secretly stuffing gum in the droids before they buy them so they can complain when they blow a fuse then demand an "upgrade" for a better one. Gods, they piss me off.
It's not like my co-workers are any great prize to be around either. When they're not jumping around screaming "OO-Teen-EE!" (what ever the hell that means) , they're driving the sandcrawler off "gnarly sand ramps" and grabbing air. Of course who is it that has to dig out the wheels when we get stuck? I do. They forget that this is a buisness. We're Jawas! What else are we going to do? There's only so much dressing up as a clown for kids birthday parties I can stand.