I feel that there are three interpretations available to me here.

1. There is a zero missing from the end of my salary.

Sadly, unlikely.

2. I work for a vibrant company full of fun, intelligent, lively tightarses.

I've toyed with this one a bit. I have a horrible, sinking feeling that it's not far from the truth, and an even more horrible, chunk-of-concrete-tied-to-my-shoes feeling that it's because there just isn't much money available to offer. This would leave me with two possible courses of action: look for a new job, or see if I can outlast the two people who currently outrank me in my department. I haven't decided yet.

3. I misinterpreted my job description at the outset.

Dear Marzipan,
Management is pleased to offer you a salary of $Peanuts in your new role with Books O'Reilly as Full-Time Monkey. This role may involve, but is not limited to, picking lice off the senior editor, prodding our office equipment and flinging poo over cubicle walls.

OK, I admit it. I still like my job. But don't tell the PMS fairy.

As I sit here typing, there is a jazz radio station playing in the background, because for all my musical ignorance I happen to enjoy a bit of good jazz.

The particular style of jazz varies throughout the day; at present, being nearly 11pm, it's pretty much in the lounge/elevator music range. I know that as a genre, jazz does tend to borrow from popular music, but I think Jazz has just outdone itself: despite the syncopated timing (and the distinct impression of standing in a lift to the Ladies' Section of some 1960s department store), I managed to work out that the familiar tune being saxed to the max and snare-drummed into oblivion in my living room was in fact Come As You Are by Nirvana. Well done, Jazz. Bravo.