Downside #36

You're held responsible for everything

As soon as anyone finds out you're a writer, well, welcome to the world of culpability, my friend. It doesn't matter if all you've actually written was the blurb on the back of the company's inhouse polo club newsletter; long-term travellers in particular will remember the minutiae of every single cent the price was out on that Iranian whorehouse they tried to download their emal in way back in 1902, and dammit, they want answers. You can try explaining all you like that the author of that book was dyslexic, alcoholic, delusional, bald, a compulsive liar, communist and member of the Bush family; you can point out that he's been dead since before they were Bjorn; you can even ring up his widow/widower/sixteen illegible children and make them confess it was all their fault, but at the end of the day you're the one on the spot and you're the one who has to carry their can. The buck stops here, buddy boy, and the only thing you can do is smile consolingly, apologise on behalf of the entire authoring community, and secretly tip a street kid $1 to throw the moaning bastard's bags in the nearest sewer.