Crap Jobs — We've All Had Them, Haven't We?
	found on Idler magazine written by MAYORBOB, edited by George (Plastic) [ read unedited ] posted Thu 8 May 11:16am
		"Idler magazine is compiling a promising list of crap jobs for everyone who has ever held one," MAYORBOB writes. "Due to the fact that Idler is a bit Britcentric, the jobs they're listing, while quite revolting — ranging from morgue cadaver stuffer (er, that's orifice stuffer) to phone sex operator (with the office smelling of spunk) right through to koala bear honey filler (sweet, but sticky work) — might be a bit too refined for non-British tastes.

	"Besides, Idler may have missed a few jobs. And after all, here at Plastic we recycle the web and serve the world. What makes a crap job a crap job anyhow? Is it what you're expected to do to earn the paycheck? Is it the fact that your boss might be the southern end of a northbound mule? Are they dead-end positions or can you learn something meaningful from them? Here's your chance to share the worst job you've ever had or heard about."

[ more plastic... ]    

show almost all: 139 commentsmost: 29 commentsbest: 13 comments by oldest first (ignore threads) newest first highest scores first oldest first newest first (ignore threads)

1.  Graduate Student   by savagesquirrel       at Thu 8 May 11:33am score of 1     Living the life right now. The university makes sure that you just have enough to survive and since I'm in an union I can't work more than 10 hours outside of T.A.ing duties. You do a bunch of research where others take all the credit and you get an honourable mention. They expect you to teach and mark parts of classes where you get maximum of 1/6 what the professors do. In the end I should on the top rung, at least that's the goal. It's the necessary steps that you have to climb which suck. Maybe if I would quit posting on Plastic and actually do some work I wouldn't be in this position as long and wouldn't have anything to complain about. Maybe ???. Eh, it's time for an old-fashioned hippie ass-whomping!   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

11.  Re: Graduate Student   by MissAimee       at Thu 8 May 1:52pm score of 1   in reply to comment 1     Erm, Sorry to rain on your parade, but... been there; done that; not anywhere near the worst job in the world. Being a graduate student (for me) consisted of: A) drinking beer until 2 am B) Sleeping until 11:30 C) Teaching class for an hour D) grading some papers E)going to class for 3 hours. Later, rinse, repeat. Now I sit in a cramped office, staring at a computer screen for 9 hours a day. I feel sorry for the shit-shovelers, not the overworked academics... www.hell-vetica.com   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   13.  Some folks need to get out more   by sglover910       at Thu 8 May 2:03pm score of 1   in reply to comment 11     I feel sorry for the shit-shovelers, not the overworked academics... Dead on. Complaining about the grueling slavepit of academia always makes me think of the word 'cloistered'. An argument isn't merely nay-sayings and contradictions! M. Python   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   32.  Re: Graduate Student   by marduk_kur       at Thu 8 May 3:57pm score of 1   in reply to comment 11     I think perhaps that the previous poster was a grad student in an engineering or science program. I suspect that you were not? Sad lad, he really couldn't handle starting from scratch on the very first level. But he died the death of a warrior.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   56.  Re: Graduate Student   by empressrenee       at Fri 9 May 2:02am score of 1.5 intriguing   in reply to comment 11     "I feel sorry for the shit-shovelers" Ok while you might not agree I rather enjoyed shoveling shit for a living. Get up clean 45 stalls go home.... get paid under the table can work part time somewhere else and I got paid ok. Plus, I got to work with horses! Worse job by now is this job. Although working for Petco came in a close second. The army wouldn't be too bad if you got promoted by ability and not how many points you can earn. Every notice if your doing your job you don't have time to earn points....hmmm I know not the worse job out there but they worse I have ever had.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   35.  Re: Graduate Student   by MissAimee       at Thu 8 May 4:22pm score of 2.5 astute   in reply to comment 32     Well, no; to be perfectly honest, I was an English major. But my twin brother was a graduate student in an engineering program, and while it was more time intensive than my sleep-all-day English program, it was in no way on par with mucking out stalls or flipping burgers. Not that my brother's hole-digging project wasn't a lot of shitty work, but it was a means to an end. In Academia you trade off some demoralizing/monotonous assistant work for mental/professional stimulation. In fast food, there is no trade off. It's just demoralizing and monotonous. www.hell-vetica.com   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   42.  Re: Graduate Student   by marduk_kur       at Thu 8 May 8:13pm score of 1   in reply to comment 35     In Academia you trade off some demoralizing/monotonous assistant work for mental/professional stimulation. In fast food, there is no trade off. It's just demoralizing and monotonous. On that point we certainly agree. Sad lad, he really couldn't handle starting from scratch on the very first level. But he died the death of a warrior.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   99.  Re: Graduate Student   by hawkestein       at Fri 9 May 12:36pm score of 1   in reply to comment 32     I think perhaps that the previous poster was a grad student in an engineering or science program. C'mon, we grad students in science and engineering have it way easier than grad students in the humanities (I was an EE grad student, now I'm a CS grad student). It's a lot easier for us to get funding, since there's much more grant money out there for science and engineering profs (I don't even know where humanities profs get their funding from). Also, science/engineering profs need grad students (i.e. cheap labour) much more than humanities profs do. And I'll take grading engineering homework over English/history/philosophy papers any day (though grading people's programming assignment may be almost as bad). Actually, I've been lucky and have either been on a fellowship or had a research assistantship ever since I've been a grad student. But I worked as a TA for two semesters when I was a senior, so I do know what it's like. I would never, ever complain about being a grad student. It sure beats work.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

2.  Burger King   by cancelbot       at Thu 8 May 11:44am score of 3.5 informative     The worst job I ever had, hands down, was at the Burger King in Kerrville, Texas. There was a pall of bad vibes hanging over this place, mingling with the greasy, noxious smoke belching from the roof. In the 1980s, a mentally disabled worker bought a shotgun at the Wal-Mart next door on his lunch hour, then used it to vaporize the boss who had constantly tormented and humiliated him. Management didn't take the hint; the kitchen was covered with hand-lettered, badly misspelled signs announcing things like "you got time to lean, you got time to clean." 10-hour shifts, sans break, were standard. Actually, I take that back; I could take a 5-minute break once per shift, but I couldn't leave the kitchen. There have to be only a few places on Earth hotter than the inside of a Burger King kitchen during summer in Texas. I also had to pay full price for any food or drinks. Closing the restaurant was when the real fun started. I would stand on a rickety wooden ladder and use a putty knife to chip the day's congealed grease from the oven's vent hood. Then came "doing waste." If we fucked up someone's order and they brought it back, we had to throw it into a special trash can. "Doing waste" meant making an inventory of that trash can's contents. You were not allowed to, in management's words, "waste gloves" while performing this task. Thinking back on it now, I have no idea how I lasted two months in that pit. But Kerrville is not known for its booming job market, and you take what you can get. Happily, though, the state health department shut the restaurant down a few years ago, and the last time I was there, the building was still vacant. They hate us, we hate them. We can't win.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

16.  Re: Burger King   by norcalwindows       at Thu 8 May 2:10pm score of 1.5 funny   in reply to comment 2     The worst job I ever had, hands down, was at the Burger King in Kerrville, Texas. There was a pall of bad vibes hanging over this place, mingling with the greasy, noxious smoke belching from the roof. Some people know how to make the most of their fast food jobs without your kind of sniveling and whining...you know, good vibes mingling with good smoke...   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   102.  Re: Burger King   by Greg_Ace       at Fri 9 May 12:50pm score of 1   in reply to comment 16     Yeah, but now that poor guy's probably bustin' rocks in a chain gang. That's got to be much worse than working a drive-thru window. Reason notwithstanding, the universe continued unabated.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   104.  Re: Burger King   by norcalwindows       at Fri 9 May 1:39pm score of 1   in reply to comment 102     Yeah, not much of a future in believing you can get away with something like that for very long...the "Extra Biscuits" part is pretty funny though. You should have seen some of the other stories that came up when I googled 'fast food horror stories'...enough to make you say 'please' and 'thank you' and 'how are you tonight' whenever you are at the drive-through.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   47.  Re: Burger King   by Djerrid       at Thu 8 May 9:57pm score of 3 informative   in reply to comment 2     I saw something on PBS that might make you feel a bit better. Eric Bonnot, the General Manager of Burger King in Britian, decided to work for a week as a grunt at one of the busiest BKs on the Isle, complete with a documentary crew watching his every (mis)step. In short: No, he couldn't hack it. They had to hire extra staff to make up for his ineptitude. And yes, he had to clean the toilet stalls and "do waste", sans gloves. And if only we all had this opportunity: Mara has worked at the Liverpool Burger King location for 7 months, and trains Bonnot to broil Whoppers. She earns $5.44 an hour in her job, and presses Bonnot to learn what his CEO salary is. After learning that Bonnot's annual salary is nearly $143,000, Mara asks the GM if he would consider a cut in his own pay to increase the wages of workers on the lowest rungs of the Burger King ladder. In an obviously awkward moment, Bonnot can only reply: "I work very long hours." "So do we," Mara tensely replies. "Sometimes when you're on ground level you feel like you're so far away from management, from the people who can actually make a difference." 'In cases of major discrepancy, it's always reality that's got it wrong.' -Douglas Adams   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   71.  Re: Burger King   by timnet       at Fri 9 May 8:24am score of 1   in reply to comment 2     Grease was one of the worst parts of my summer in fast food. I had the "honor" every morning of taking out the pail from the grease trap, wheeling it toward the dumpster, where I dumped it into some grate. A large amount of it backsplashed onto my pantlegs once, and the smell never, ever came out of them. Ick. The scary thing about my summer at Wendy's is that, after working there for a couple of months, the turnover was so great that when I left I was one of the most senior members of the crew. I kept the hat (which I wasn't supposed to) and used it for years after as motivation to remind myself how hard I worked to get through college and how much it was all worth it. "I feel like I wouldn't like me if I met me." -- Tegan and Sara   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   134.  Re: Burger King   by oscitant       at Sat 10 May 1:25pm score of 1   in reply to comment 71     Grease was one of the worst parts of my summer in fast food. I had the "honor" every morning of taking out the pail from the grease trap, wheeling it toward the dumpster, where I dumped it into some grate. A large amount of it backsplashed onto my pantlegs once, and the smell never, ever came out of them. Ick. I think this is a rite of passage for all fast food workers — secret brotherhoods have been founded on less. This happened to me in my stint as a short-order breakfast cook, and as the bitter western Massachussetts winter wind cut straight through my sweat and grease soaked clothes and blew animal fat all over my pants and the only pair of shoes I had, it was one of those few moments in life, up there with the birth of your first child or the death of a loved one, where you really get a glimpse of the meaning (or lack thereof) of it all. Sometimes a tray of hot grease is the only thing that can make you get your shit together.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

3.  Hard to choose   by sglover910       at Thu 8 May 12:06pm score of 1     Spending an aimless youth in a blasted rust belt economy (Detroit area, 1980's), I had many 'opportunities' in the shit job world. For physical discomfort, monotony, and number of near-death experiences, I guess I'd have to choose the summer I spent working in a factory for an auto industry subcontractor. On the other hand, at the time the wages were good, and it was my first little insight into working class life. For idiocy, degradation and pointlessness, there was the half-day I spent working for a telemarketer — the shortest career I've ever had. For low returns and unpleasant frenziedness, any job in the restaurant trade. But I've never had to do what always appears to me to be hell on earth — being on one of those roofing crews applying tar in July. And I feel extremely lucky that I can talk about my shit jobs in the past tense. An argument isn't merely nay-sayings and contradictions! M. Python   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

8.  Re: Hard to choose   by bokeh       at Thu 8 May 1:11pm score of 3.5 compelling   in reply to comment 3     For low returns and unpleasant frenziedness, any job in the restaurant trade. I found the restaurant to be better paying than most other options for the better part of my young adulthood. That said, the best 'fuck off, I'm outta here' I ever witnessed took place in a restaurant where I worked briefly as a bartender during college. The place was one of four or five owned by the same company and they strove to present themselves as a local restaurant corporate juggernaut. They hired managers with no practical experience straight from MBA and Hotel & Restaurant Management programs. My manager was one such degreed dingbat and she drove everyone nuts with her micromanaging. One harried waiter who was due to graduate soon anyway, finally had had enough. He was being badgered in the kitchen during a busy dinner shift by Miss Thing and endured her tirade silently. He then hefted a tray with six dinners to his shoulder, walked past the table for which said dinners were originally destined, through the crowded bar, out the front door, and across the street to the city bus depot. He then, in view of everyone in the front window of the restaurant, flipped open the tray stand, set down the tray, and with a flourish lifted all of the plate lids and bid the bus patrons to dig in. And then he walked home. He was my hero for months. If there is a Universal Mind, must it be sane? --Charles Fort   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

4.  Writing   by eminem enterprises       at Thu 8 May 12:15pm score of 2 astute     1. Under deadline, where you have to completely isolate yourself from the rest of the world, often for weeks at a time. 2. Not under deadline, where nothing ever gets done but you have this gnawing sense of guilt that prevents you from enjoying anything else. And when I say "you", I mean me, of course. Everybody has a share   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

106.  Re: Writing   by helper monkey       at Fri 9 May 1:58pm score of 1   in reply to comment 4     Yes! I'm currently doing number 2 (on the list--I'm not using a potty 'puter). This will probably soon turn into number 1 (again, on the list). Actually, I guess I'm currently posting to Plastic, and feeling very guilty about it.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

5.  literally crap   by greta       at Thu 8 May 12:41pm score of 1     You want to talk crap jobs — in my teen years I spent a few summers working for a farm which was really a sort of domestic petting zoo for kids — mucking stalls, hosing out chicken coops, and in general shovelling $hit. On the other hand, it was more fun and more rewarding than my brief but demoralizing stint as a fastfood worker. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, I'm a dumbass   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

64.  Exotic crap   by Brian Jones       at Fri 9 May 6:14am score of 1   in reply to comment 5     An old girlfriend of mine used to work summers at the Bronx Zoo. And at this point, let me say you haven't really shoveled shit until you've shoveled capybara shit. Cheap crass attention-whoring plug goes here.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   74.  Re: literally crap   by timnet       at Fri 9 May 8:36am score of 4 helpful   in reply to comment 5     I have nothing but the utmost respect for people who do farmwork. One day during my junior year, when I needed money (as usual), I went with a friend to help out at a farm owned by a friend of his family. We spent the morning harvesting lettuce. You take a machete, chop it off its roots, pick it up, and throw it into a bin. It had rained that morning, and after a while handling every wet head of lettuce felt like stooping down to pick up a bowling ball to the scrawny kid I was. We worked alongside a bunch of migrant workers who did the work quickly and efficiently, laughing and joking as they did their umpteenth day in a row of backbreaking labor. When we got to the end of it, I was more sore than I ever had been. The man who ran the farm invited the friend I came with and I inside where we had pizza and a beer. Then he gave us our paycheck and a supplemental check adding up to $88. I found out on the drive home that the migrant workers probably only made the $44 check that day, although they worked circles around me. I felt horrible, and I don't just mean because I was physically sore. For someone to do that kind of work, day in and day out, and make that little — and here I was, a whiny college student getting paid twice as much to do much less. Needless to say, from that day forth, my respect for farm workers is off the charts. "I feel like I wouldn't like me if I met me." -- Tegan and Sara   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

6.  Other than being a lawyer (hands down worst job)..   by tlon_uqbar       at Thu 8 May 12:42pm score of 3 funny     In college I spent a summer working at a guest ranch in Colorado. Nominally I was the "fishing guide", but we rarely had very many guests who actually wanted to go fishing in an overstocked ranch pond, so I was pretty much a wild card worker. We all worked around 12-15 hour days, 6-7 days a week, and since I was on salary my hourly wage came in at well under minimum wage. I know it doesn't sound like a bad job — open country, horseback riding, a little fishing, sitting around the fire at night listening to the "cowboys" tell the guests the same stories I heard every week...but that will all wear off. What doesn't wear off is wearing a goddamn cowboy outfit every goddamn day no matter how hot it is and having to act like you're a cowboy to a bunch of guests who probably have more experience living the rural life than you do. You learn quick enough to answer every question you don't know the answer to (about horses, fishing, what plants can be eaten, what are we going to do about that bear coming at us) with a soft "yup" or a slight smile while you look off into the distance pensively. See, that's what people expect...and they think the quiet humility is a sign of deep wisdom, when really it's because you don't know what the fuck is going on and don't want to be found out. The worst was cleaning out the horse pens. You gotta shovel all the manure onto a flatbed trailer, then we'd take a pickup and tow the trailer full of horse shit up to the horse pasture area (the ranch was in a canyon and the horses were released up to a pasture up above when they weren't used for riding). Then one person (usually the other guy) would drive the truck and the other person (almost invariably yours truly) would stand on the flatbed with a pitchfork and toss the manure out into the fields. The problem with all this is that you're not driving on a paved road...you're not on a road at all. And the trailer you're standing on doesn't have state-of-the-art shocks either, in fact it doesn't have any shocks. So there you are, standing in the middle of a bunch of 3 day old horse shit, bouncing up and down at 15 mph trying to keep your balance while tossing the shit over the side with an old pitchfork. Unless you're a pro-surfer (we called it 'shit surfing' for lack of anything more original), you can pretty much count on falling into the manure about every 15 seconds. In full cowboy gear. During the middle of July. But as much as that sucked, I decided to do even worse and become a lawyer....now I can't look pensively off into the horizon when I have no idea what the fuck the judge is asking me. -- gh   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

26.  Re: Other than being a lawyer (hands down worst   by Gorvernaut       at Thu 8 May 3:06pm score of 3 compelling   in reply to comment 6     But as much as that sucked, I decided to do even worse and become a lawyer....   Many people like to express their opinion of lawyers when they meet one. One of the most common replies is "all lawyers are crooks." I always tell them, "actually, I prefer to think of myself as a whore."   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   40.  Down on law   by eminem enterprises       at Thu 8 May 7:02pm score of 1.5 funny   in reply to comment 6     Yup, it sux, alrighty. "Billable hour" (minute, second) has to be the most dehumanizing concept ever invented by humans. What are worse, stupid judges or smart judges? (Answer: stupid judges who think they're smart) Family law, what a fun way to spend your life. You just know all your clients are going to be happy all the time. Typical Monday morning message (x 10) — "He served the kids wieners this weekend. WEINERS!!! Criminal law — "How can you defend a client if they may be guilty" "Uh, they're all guilty". Tax law — "Oh yeah, this complicated deal is REALLY gonna screw the government out of millions of dollars. Fuckin' A!" Corporate law — "Smith, where are those directors' resolutions you were supposed to draft? Sorry Mr. Partner, sir, I keep falling asleep whenever I try to start working on them." So I became a writer (see above). Everybody has a share   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   118.  Re: Down on law   by waffle       at Fri 9 May 5:37pm score of 3.5 brilliant   in reply to comment 40     So I became a writer (see above). A friend of mine, the technical writer for our department, once complained that his job had ruined his ability to write creatively. Spending several years writing manuals had removed his ability to construct a decent narrative. Instead, he said he kept writing garbage like: Detective MacAllister entered the room. Immediately, he observed: * the victim's body strewn across the floor * blood soaking the area around the body * several pieces of overturned furniture * the victim had failed to properly halt his computer, possibly damaging file system integrity I wonder if ex-lawyers have similar problems? The mind knows only what lies near the heart. -- The Elder Edda   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   119.  Re: Down on law   by kiwiana       at Fri 9 May 6:06pm score of 1   in reply to comment 118     I can so relate to that. Speaking for myself, four years of law school and three years of practice feels like it has stifled every creative bone in my body. Not that law is not creative...just not in terms of personal expression, more like "how many different ways can we screw this guy/win this case/get round this statute." Having said that, I quite like my job about 60% of the time. Mainly because my firm is a pretty fun place to work. Anyway it beats the shit out of the jobs I did at university. Burger King drone, retail slave, telesales, you can keep it. And it pays a whole lot better :) Worst job ever? Counting cars on the motorway for some research company. Boringest two days I ever spent, leavened by a couple of thunderstorms and sunburn. open up your chi, maaan   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   129.  Re: Down on law   by stankow       at Sat 10 May 5:54am score of 1.5 novel   in reply to comment 118     Dude, don't leave us in suspense. Was the file system all right???   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   141.  Re: Down on law   by charlies       at Sat 10 May 5:32pm score of 1   in reply to comment 118     Yes. First, we give up all imagination; and any sign of creativity will be reported to the bar association disciplinary committee. Second, it is impossible to unlearn this damn numeric heading system. Third it's impossible* to write without footnotes** Fourth, after practicing law for thirty years there is nothing I want to write about. *--almost; not to be taken literally. **-or, in some cases, interliniations. We're fighting in a war we lost before the war began.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   105.  Worse yet I think was working for one...   by ckazaal       at Fri 9 May 1:42pm score of 2 succinct   in reply to comment 6     I spent eight months working as a receptionist for a personal injury lawyer, and I feel certain I'll be spending some time in Purgatory for that one. I was constantly forced to lie to his clients about his whereabouts and make assurances to them that he would call them back (HA!). When I finally quit and gave him a month's notice (I needed another two paychecks) he fired me early claiming he couldn't afford to pay me my last paycheck (though he had just bought $500K worth of office furniture and a new SUV). Then he denied he had fired me when I filed for unemployment. Guess who they believed? I still shake in fury at the thought of it.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

7.  KFC — (sniff) I miss you   by landonair       at Thu 8 May 1:02pm score of 1.5 informative     I've done my time in fast food, and I have to disagree — I loved it. I worked at a union KFC and when it wasn't busy I just sat around drinking coffee and eating free food all day. The wage was almost $10/hr, we could play any music we wanted, the managers couldn't get us to do anything we didn't want to do and there were other financial 'incentives' because their controls were so bad they couldn't prove we were stealing. Of course, you are working at KFC. I always dreaded someone asking me where I worked. God, was I rude to some customers there. I pissed off a lot of people. I thought it was funny. Especially the car salesmen. They were always so fake and arrogant I always felt I had a duty to put them in their place by being extra rude to them. Hands down worst job I've done is painting. Standing on top of a ten foot ladder in the hot sun balancing a stinky, fuming paint can while you make the same repetitious, monotonous arm movement hour after painful hour. Not to mention getting paint all over everything and having to clean it up. I'd rather go homeless then do that again. Even the thought of it makes me want to puke. "It's so easy to say things that are so idealistic without reasoning and thinking them out in the big picture"   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

10.  Unionized?!?!   by sglover910       at Thu 8 May 1:28pm score of 1   in reply to comment 7     I didn't know any fast food joint was unionized. Where and when was this? And how did they manage to organize the workers — turnover in those joints is usually pretty high, no? An argument isn't merely nay-sayings and contradictions! M. Python   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   27.  Re: Unionized?!?!   by landonair       at Thu 8 May 3:14pm score of 1   in reply to comment 10     Some KFCs in BC, Canada are unionized by the CAW (Canadian Auto Workers). Don't ask me why. "It's so easy to say things that are so idealistic without reasoning and thinking them out in the big picture"   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   18.  And I miss KFC...   by norcalwindows       at Thu 8 May 2:15pm score of 1   in reply to comment 7     Sorry to be repetitive, but...you just didn't mention exactly what other "incentives" were involved...   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   54.  just a thought..   by Utini       at Fri 9 May 12:05am score of 1.5 astute   in reply to comment 18     can the guy who sold pot through the fast food window be officially gonged now? I can't take another link to the same story. Plastics' answer to a question no one asked.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   39.  fast food was great   by cyclopatra       at Thu 8 May 6:31pm score of 2 interesting   in reply to comment 7     I made shit money, but my stint at Burger King was heaven. I was not only one of only two people on staff for whom English was a first language, I was just about the only one who could make change in my head and remember orders consistently. So being surrounded by cretins was a detractor, but as a result, I was the fastest/most reliable drive-thru person in the district, and my managers loved me. I was the person they called in at the end of the month when they needed to bring their 'service time' average down (yes, we were timed — those annoying beeps you sometimes hear at the drive-thru window are the timers telling us we're taking too long). I never finished a shift under 50secs average, and usually it was less than that (I'll admit they also gave me the hottest kitchen crew when we were hitting the end-of-the-month crunch, since I could actually push burgers out the window as fast as they could make them). Result? I got whatever I wanted that was in my managers' power. Not raises — I was already making a quarter over minimum wage, absolute riches in the eyes of the tightwad who owned the place — but extra breaks, looking the other way if I was late to work, free food (the managers got the good discounts; us peons only got 50% off), you name it. Once I came into work and told my manager, "I'm graduating next week. I won't be in for two weeks", and he said "OK" and started rearranging the schedule. I got away with things my coworkers never could, like doing my homework on the counter when it was slow or spending an evening answering the drive-thru "Kitty's House of Burgers" in a snotty English accent. A year after I left (to go to university), I went in for lunch while on summer break. My old manager gave me my food for free and told me I could have my job back any time I wanted it. I didn't have the heart to tell him I was going to school so that I wouldn't have to work at Burger King again... Cyclopatra We can't all, and some of us don't. --Eeyore   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   81.  Re: KFC — (sniff) I miss you   by irrahe       at Fri 9 May 9:37am score of 1   in reply to comment 7     wow. you've just like totally changed my opinion of unionized labor. Intergalactic Planetary   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

12.  I was a Wal-Mart cashier.   by Bocephus       at Thu 8 May 1:57pm score of 1     'Nuff said. insert Fight Club quote here to demonstrate Freethinking and Nonconformity   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

65.  Re: I was a Wal-Mart cashier.   by srose       at Fri 9 May 6:17am score of 1   in reply to comment 12     Substitute "Toys R Us" for Wal-Mart and you get me. Heard enough Disney songs to make me want to slit my wrists. If anyone wants me, I'll be in the angrydome!   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   96.  Re: I was a Wal-Mart cashier.   by bigeyes       at Fri 9 May 12:12pm score of 1   in reply to comment 65     Amen. I did a stint at Toys R Us, ugh. Only I was in the stepchild section, Kids R Us. Women with children are the most disgusting pigs on the planet when they use public restrooms, and our area was right by the restrooms. Since the folks at Toys didn't maintain the restrooms properly, as they were supposed to, we got all the complaints from people and had to leave our selling area to go find someone to take care of things. Trust me, it was too disgusting for me to do much more than change the paper towels and run like hell, and they didn't pay me enough to do that. If you've ever shopped Toys R Us you know it should be called Need Help? Watch our employees scurry for the dark corners like cockroaches when the lights come on! Yet, because most of the money is made in toys and electronics, Toys employees got regular raises, and Kids employees got promises-read ZIP. I later found out my supervisor had never kept a sales manager for more than a year or two, which is apparently how long it took most of us to figure out there was no advancement and no chance of getting the promised merit raises. The good part about the job, though, was catching the sales on clothing when my son was tiny, and watching the new parents/expectant parents shop for baby stuff...too cute. So, unlike my shitologist gig, this one at least had an upside.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

14.  I dressed up like a monkey to sell vacuum cleaners   by thetango       at Thu 8 May 2:07pm score of 1.5 funny     Really. Before I became a highly paid Linux dude, I did this. And you thought Walmart cashier was bad ....   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

15.  Two words...   by stankow       at Thu 8 May 2:09pm score of 4.5 interesting     Pig. Slaughterhouse. Much of the summer of what would have been my junior year in high school, were I not a moron, I spent working for one of my cousins in a slaughterhouse. And not one of those factory slaughterhouses that PETA hates so much, either — one of those ones that buys pigs from independent farmers and turns them into pork product. I shoveled pig shit. I herded pigs, which outweighed me by about six times, in the pens. I pushed them into the chutes. I pulled them off the trucks. After a few weeks, I wheedled my way into one of the much higher-paying jobs inside the facility, shamelessly using my "family connection." The next day, I walked into Doug's office and said, "I want my shovel back." He just nodded and told me to get back to work outside. Foul air and loud squealing have never felt so grand. Because pigs are smart. I heard it before then and figured, Yeah, right. Smart for animals, which is pretty goddamn dumb. No, pigs are smart enough to know that they are about to die. And they sound exactly like people when they start screaming. Outside, they still haven't figured it out, so they're making their usual "What the hell is going on here?" sort of squeals and grunts. But inside... Doug told me later in the summer that my reaction isn't at all uncommon. He also told me that his gravest fear was that a person would get stuck in one of the plasto vasto (roughly translated from Romany, "death makers"), and no one would realize it, because you just get used to hearing people scream.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

20.  Maryland's poultry industry   by sglover910       at Thu 8 May 2:19pm score of 1   in reply to comment 15     A while back the Washington Post had a series (unfortunately unavailable now, hence no link)about the chicken trade in Delaware and southern Maryland — where Perdue and Tyson's have their huge installations. Except for some poor blacks, immigrants are pretty much the entire working population. The jobs there have many of the delightful sounds and smells and tastes that you describe, as well as unique occupational injuries — the guys who are quickest at certain kinds of cuttings or pluckings get paid a little more, but apparently if you do that for years, you tend to ravage your hands. Kinda puts complaints about cubicle work in perspective, anyway.... An argument isn't merely nay-sayings and contradictions! M. Python   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   68.  Re: Two words...   by gparizot       at Fri 9 May 8:01am score of 1   in reply to comment 15     I'm lucky that most of my jobs have been fairly nice. Worst I ever had was laying fire ant infested sod in the Texas summer heat. But your story about the pig slaughterhouse brings back memories. My ninth grade class in Pennsylvania took a field trip to a local pig slaughterhouse. We saw every aspect of the meat processing industry. The guy who wore hip waders standing knee high in pig blood slitting the stunned pig's throats — well, it's been thirty years now since I've been there, but I remember it like it was yesterday. "Just 'cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there" - Radiohead   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   92.  Re: Two words...   by gonzocanuck       at Fri 9 May 11:46am score of 1   in reply to comment 15     One of our department managers slaughtered pigs as well. After that, he became a security guard at some jail in Winnipeg. The highlight of that career was escorting some guy who kept yelling "I just punched Burton Cummings!" Burton Cummings was part of a 70s Canadian band called The Guess Who, for those who might be wondering :-D. When you think you've had it bad, there is always someone out there who's had it much worse. I'm glad that all I had to do was wash toilets and a short stint telemarketing :-D You've got to coax him slow, that's the only way that he'll confess.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

17.  Market research.   by Anonymous Idiot       at Thu 8 May 2:12pm score of 2 funny     (Posting anonymously because I don't want anyone to know the depths to which I've sunk.) Good evening, Sir or Madam. I hope I haven't disturbed you. My name is Gaylord and I'm calling from the Angus Reid Group, the national polling and market research company. We're conducting a brief survey on people's toothpaste preferences, and I was wondering if I might have a few hours of your time to ask you interminable poorly-worded questions, most of which have no good answer beyond "I couldn't possibly care less" or "How in the hell should I know?" You will not be compensated in any way, shape, or form for the use of your time; I meanwhile will continue to earn minimum wage as I transcribe your answers and fantasize about killing you, me, the phone-room supervisor, or potentially all three. Moving along to our first question, I'm going to read a list of eighty-seven different toothpaste brands. For each brand, please describe in excruciating detail the last advertisement you saw, heard, or read for this brand, including the publication, program, or station in which the advertisement appeared, and the exact time of day or page number. The first brand is Crest... .. what's that? You want me to fuck off? Well, I'd want me to fuck off, too, sir or madam. Moving along, the next brand is Aquafresh...   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

28.  Re: Market research.   by Osomatic       at Thu 8 May 3:21pm score of 1   in reply to comment 17     I did this. It was the first job I ever got, when I was sixteen years old. The owners of the company sold themselves as a Christian survey company, meaning we got a lot of clients who were large church organizations, and the Disney channel, and such. So we spent a lot of time calling people and not just being nosy, but being nosy about their religion. ah... good times. If carrots got you drunk, rabbits would be fucked up.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   31.  Re: Market research — you missed two points   by tomaxxamot       at Thu 8 May 3:55pm score of 1   in reply to comment 17     My name is Gaylord and I'm calling from the Angus Reid Group, the national polling and market research company. "We are not selling anything." The bold was underlined in the scripts. Those were the points we were supposed to emphasize. .. what's that? You want me to fuck off? "But (Sir/Madam) the purpose of this survey is to make better tasting, more exciting toothpastes for you!" Aaah, market research. Where else can convicts on prison release programs and starving college students enjoy working together? Spread the News - the Ego has Landed.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   73.  Re: Market research — you missed two points   by waldeaux       at Fri 9 May 8:34am score of 1.5 interesting   in reply to comment 31     Telemarketers, if they call my house — are cat toys. Actually, drones of any type tend to become cat toys. If you call me, be prepared for ANYTHING. The #1 strategy is: the longer you're on the phone, the more damage I do to your business model. (If everyone kept every telemarketer on the phone for 30 minutes, it'd die as an industry within 90 days.) If I call you and you give me the runaround, offer red tape as an excuse, etc. TRUST me that your employer is not paying you enough to deal with me and you should pass me along to someone who is being paid enough to fix the situation. ;-) But once I've found a service that does well, I'm extremely loyal and will try to get them as much business as I can. (Note that this never applies to public broadcasting fundraising :-) unless it's WBUR in Boston — sorry, having a "pre-pledge drive pledge drive" is a mortal sin that cannot be forgiven!) Life is a peanut butter and liverwurst sandwich --- Me, 1977   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   78.  Re: Market research — you missed two points   by Nameless Cynic       at Fri 9 May 9:02am score of 2 scholarly   in reply to comment 73     I love telemarketers, when I have the time to play. (Note: I apologize if you are now, or have ever, worked telemarketing. But if you call my house, you have to know what you're getting into.) Had a call once where the man asked "And when was the last time you voted, sir?" "I don't vote." "Ah, I see..." "I don't support voting. Giving us the vote is the government's way of placating the masses, pretending that we have any kind of power. Voting is mind-control on a national level, and when we drag the bastards from office and line them up against the wall, I hope I have the honor of pulling the trigger!" I'd been getting gradually louder as I spoke, and wasn't sure when he hung up. There's all kinds of little games you can play. Probably the easiest is, if called by a woman, to start breathing heavier and ask "What are you wearing?" That usually ends it... Sentio aliquos togatos contra me conspirare   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   82.  Re: Market research — you missed two points   by Diversey       at Fri 9 May 9:51am score of 1   in reply to comment 78     My favorite telemarketing game is as follows: no matter who they ask for, just say, "Okay, just one second." Go to the fridge and grab a beer. See what's on TV. Go to the bathroom. Ten minutes later, pick the phone back up and say, "I'm sorry, he's not in." They've usually given up by then, but not always...   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   87.  Re: Market research — you missed two points   by morphinex       at Fri 9 May 11:21am score of 2 funny   in reply to comment 73     When the credit card companies call, I always assure them that I will apply for the card under one condition: My credit card number must be a prime number.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   112.  Re: Market research — you missed two points   by bort13       at Fri 9 May 2:58pm score of 1   in reply to comment 73     If you call me, be prepared for ANYTHING. The #1 strategy is: the longer you're on the phone, the more damage I do to your business model. (If everyone kept every telemarketer on the phone for 30 minutes, it'd die as an industry within 90 days.) This may be fun, but I equate logic like this with Brodie's logic on the Stink Palm in Mallrats . Namely, that covering your own hand in fecal residue is a small price to pay for inflicting said palm on that of your enemy. I can't see spending the time messing with a telemarketer as being fulfilling. I pay the phone company to block their calls. Works like a charm.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   115.  OT: "Prime" Rate   by Ajax       at Fri 9 May 4:35pm score of 1   in reply to comment 87     Intriguing...it shouldn't be too hard to create an algorithm that figures out every possible prime number of 16 digits or less. ("Or less?" you ask. "While filling in the initial required characters with zeroes," I explain. "0000 0000 0000 0007 is still a prime number.") It shouldn't be too hard, that is, if you get into that sort of thing. Which I don't. :) "Coca-Cola® and Armageddon® / We like it, like it, yes we do!" -- Clutch.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   117.  Re: OT: "Prime" Rate   by M. Mosher       at Fri 9 May 5:19pm score of 1   in reply to comment 115     It shouldn't be too hard, that is, if you get into that sort of thing. Which I don't. You should check out this site before saying that.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   122.  Re: OT: "Prime" Rate   by Anonymous Idiot       at Fri 9 May 7:54pm score of 0.5 helpful   in reply to comment 115     A working program in SML, a functional language. .let ...val primes = List.tabulate(9999999999999999, fn i => i + 2) ...fun iterate p l = .....case l of .......[] => p .....| x::xs => iterate (x::p) (List.filter (fn i => i mod x 0) xs) .in ...iterate [] primes .end   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   146.  Laws about telemarketing   by waldeaux       at Mon 12 May 10:45am score of 1   in reply to comment 78     While we're on the subject, can someone provide me with a concrete pointer to a law, etc. to handle the calls I get where they claim "the computer just dialed your # randomly!" Unless I'm mistaken that's illegal because any random phone # could be inside a hospital, fire or police station, or even one where the incoming call is surcharged (cell phones and many/most business lines). It would be nice to have specific info handy. Life is a peanut butter and liverwurst sandwich --- Me, 1977   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   111.  Re: Market research.   by 87C751       at Fri 9 May 2:54pm score of 1   in reply to comment 17     Oh, hell yeah! I got a call from some market research droid a few years back. He wanted to ask about local (Minneapolis) radio, and I was fresh from a 4-page rant on the depths to which this market has sunk. That was fun! On the other hand, for almost 2 years after I got that phone number, I was receiving calls for someone else (who, apparently, had missed a few payments here and there). One of the last ones went something like "Can I speak to Jamie?" "No." "Alright, then can I leave a message for him?" "No." "What time do you expect him back, then?" "I don't." "Err... why is that?" "Because he doesn't live here." "Oh, I see. When did he move?" "He never lived here." About then, I believe I heard a scream as the guy was hanging up. Et cetera   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

19.  This was truly a shit job.   by MAYORBOB       at Thu 8 May 2:17pm score of 1     Those of you who have seen Platoon may remember the detail that Charlie Sheen's character got stuck on back at base camp. Well, that job did exist and I, for one unforgetable evening, spent the hours unloading the drums under the latrines at Long Bien Replacement Depot in Vietnam. Wheeling them to a field, pouring kerosene over the contents, setting them ablaze, and trying to remember what idiotic impulse it was that told you to enlist in this man's Army in the first place. Tending to final details.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

25.  Re: This was truly a shit job.   by Gorvernaut       at Thu 8 May 2:59pm score of 1   in reply to comment 19     I, too, am a proud veteran of the shit detail. I imagine that latrine contents in a Bosnian winter are a little less pungent than in Vietnam. Still, the experience of burning shit will stay with you for-fucking-ever.   As for the smell, think burning hair, only much worse.   As for the sight, think of your worse nightmare. Hell, think of anything except your lunch, which you will promptly lose if you do.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   34.  Re: This was truly a shit job.   by Anywhere       at Thu 8 May 4:18pm score of 1   in reply to comment 19     And don't forget when there are morons who don't piss before going to take a shit so that the shitter is full of urine and takes forever to burn. As I recall, one bright light got the idea to throw some extra JP8 on the already flaming shit to try to speed up the process. I'm fairly sure his eyebrows grew back. Gateway computers are pieces of shit, and their customer service is abysmal. Ask me why if you want to hear me vent.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

21.  Six Flags Over Hell   by CaptainLiberal       at Thu 8 May 2:33pm score of 3 witty     I've had a bunch of really shitty jobs, all of which were my fault for being such a flake and routinely quitting jobs without any thing to replace them. But my first job was at Six Flags Over Texas, at the age of 15. I worked there two years, which begs the question "If it was so bad, why did you stay?". No one else was hiring 15 year olds and the next year I was just stupid. I worked food the first year and rides the next. I did so many ridiculous things that it's hard to pick the most fucked up, but I'll start in foods. I watched a girl sink her entire arm into a fry vat. She slid on the wet floor and threw her arm out to stabilize herself. It was horrific. Fried human skin looks and smells remarkably similar to pork rinds, and it doesn't go away easily. Work shut down while the ambulance came, and while it was down, we had to dump the grease (which is amazing to me, because I saw us cook in grease that contained cockroaches, melted nametags and anything else that got near the fry vats) and replace it. Normally, the grease had plenty of time to cool before you lifted the entire vat out and carried it outside. This night, because it was one of the two working vats, it had to be done hot. So, I found myself, along with another 15 year old, hauling out an incredibly heavy tub of hot grease. We didn't realize it until we were done, but the act of carrying it out had burned lines across both of our arms, so we looked like we'd just pulled some weird David Carradine move from Kung Fu. The next year, I worked rides, because it just had to be better. I spent the better part of a Texas summer standing under the same light pole, waiting for the train to come, so I could pull the safety chain across. All day. In 115 degree weather. The speaker above me was set on a 5 minute loop of broadway music. To this day, I can't hear "One, singular sensation..." without my eye twitching. I eventually quit after attending a work-related party where a person managed to spread mono to several of the employees. After passing out in my spot and hurling on some customers, the park was glad to see me go. Every dream turns into something on a T-shirt -- Shriekback   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

44.  Thanks a lot, you bastard   by pico       at Thu 8 May 8:44pm score of 1.5 funny   in reply to comment 21     I just got done eating a bag of pork rinds. I'm off to induce vomiting. Lord loves a workin' man, don't trust whitey, see a doctor and get rid of it   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

22.  Worked Next To One Of Them   by uncarved block       at Thu 8 May 2:44pm score of 2 compelling     I washed dishes in the same nursing home for ten years. I got the job to pay off some student loans, but the hours (3 pm to 9:30) were great for a bachelor, and the pay was actually pretty good for that small town-- a college town which, because it was pretty cool, had a definite labor surplus. Now, some of you might think that was pretty bad, but I never could, because the nursing aids had it far, far worse.       Imagine the most crotchety, pain in the ass old woman (over 90% of the residents were women) you've ever met, then add in Alzheimer's, or heavy medication, or sheer boredom. Now imagine having to take care of 10 or fifteen of them at the same time: getting them down to dinner they didn't want to eat, stretching muscles they would rather leave coiled, and trying to explain why they couldn't go home. I need only mention the large numbers of adult diapers consumed in passing.       And it's in passing that was the worst part of the job. Now, you may not think about it much, or ever, but all the contents of your digestive tract, from mouth to ass, are kept in your body by muscle pressure-- pressure that subsides with death. I can imagine few things worse than cleaning a freshly dead body. Most often, the aid assigned to the task left early, without any grumbling from the other staff or the management.       So why can I say my job wasn't up there? Besides the contrast, of course, there were actually decent emotional rewards. Being kind to the terminally ill is kindness unlike any other, and they appreciate it deeply. If you are young (as I was) and wanted a degree of honesty in your work (as I did), you couldn't beat that job.       Before I start sounding too righteous and wholesome, let me add that five free meals a week sure was nice, and (in a black humor) that Alzheimer's victims can be a lot of fun to talk with, as long as you're not cruel. It's even paid off now, as I have a greater capacity to deal with cranky old customers than my fellow bookstore employees.       Why bring up so many positives about a job in such a whimsical thread? As a reminder that perception has a lot to do with whether a job sucked or not. In some respects, my bookstore gig is disappointing, because very few of the customers have much intellectual curiosity. I've learned more about genre fiction than I ever wanted to know (those damn cat mysteries!), and thanks to the fact we get our stock from customer trades, will have keep learning about crap books. Nora Roberts alone releases a book every other month, and there's a list over a dozen long of rather prolific hacks I need to remember. See? I have what many would consider a great job, and yet grumble, and this after a job many would consider one of the worst. If you ever hear, "Reality is what you make it"-- well, I don't have any problem understanding the sentiment. Eschew Obfuscation Assiduously   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

57.  Best and Worst Crap Jobs   by Norman108       at Fri 9 May 2:15am score of 1   in reply to comment 22     Funny, my first years as a Nursing Assistant in the situations you describe were often rewarding, and led later in life to N. A. jobs — with Hospice — that were very rewarding indeed. While we're at it: My best crap jobs were being a dishwasher. Loved the free food, and at one fancy restaurant in Provincetown the wait staff even gave me a percentage of their tips! My worst crap job was as a day laborer, intalling insulation in a crawl space under a house. Had to stop every 15 minutes to flush the dirt, dust and insulation fiber out of my eyes, nose and throat, not to mention the dark, the claustrophobia, the spiders, etc. Pure Hell. In man's stone-dark heart there burns a fire, That burns all veils to their root and foundation. Jelauddin Rumi   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

23.  My worst job.   by Billbill       at Thu 8 May 2:54pm score of 2.5 funny     Dishwasher for a nasty, racist Greek diner owner. I was 15 and needed a job. The diner was within biking distance, so I applied. After I started, the owner asked me, "Why you want this job, it's no job for a white man!" He would dump stuff on the floor, then bitch about the mopping job I did. The last straw came during the lunch rush, when the fry cook reached under the grill and pulled out the grease tray and handed it toward me. "Wash this quick" he told me. What he didn't tell me was the end he was holding (with a rag) was out by his legs all day, and about room temperature. The end he handed me sat about one inch from flame all day. Not knowing this I grab the pan, completely burning my hand, and dropped the pan. The cook just grinned as the boss yelled at me to clean up the mess. I stomped out of there and rode home, where my mom almost fainted, then took me to a hospital. 2nd and 3rd degree burns on my fingers and palm were a little painful for the next six months. I went back a week later to get my last check. The boss started ranting that since I walked out, I would get nothing. I had taken a few pain killers that morning and was not my normal meek self. I just closed the office door and quietly explained that he would pay me, or never leave the office again. He tried to out-glare me, then reached for an envelope on his desk. The payroll company had already printed the check, he was just trying to screw me one last time. They went out of business about a year later, too many health code violations.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

24.  I worked at Arby's (Roast Beef Sandwiches).   by vorfeed       at Thu 8 May 2:55pm score of 1.5 informative     Five words. "Not more than 70% beef." Vorfeed's Black Metal Reviews   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

45.  Re: I worked at Arby's (Roast Beef Sandwiches).   by Dyolf Knip       at Thu 8 May 8:58pm score of 0.5 obnoxious   in reply to comment 24     Oooooh, I get to nitpick! I think that when read aloud one would find that to be 6 words. Dyolf Knip   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   52.  Re: I worked at Arby's (Roast Beef Sandwiches).   by vorfeed       at Thu 8 May 11:33pm score of 1.5 funny   in reply to comment 45     Oooooh, I get to nitpick! I think that when read aloud one would find that to be 6 words. I noticed that myself, when posting it. I decided to use five because Plastic is a print medium, and five is a more aesthetically pleasing number than six. Vorfeed's Black Metal Reviews   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   55.  Thank you   by Utini       at Fri 9 May 12:12am score of 1   in reply to comment 24     Arby's was the only fast food that I would go near. Thanks for crushing the dream. Plastics' answer to a question no one asked.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   83.  Re: Thank you   by vorfeed       at Fri 9 May 10:07am score of 1.5 helpful   in reply to comment 55     Arby's was the only fast food that I would go near. Thanks for crushing the dream. No problem! Wanna hear about the 78 year old lady with hairy hands who used to commonly lose her rubber gloves in the pot of Arby-Q? It made a glove-ly sandwich! *ba dum ching!* Vorfeed's Black Metal Reviews   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

29.  I Deserved a Break   by phenry       at Thu 8 May 3:37pm score of 1     Two things stand out for me now about the year I spent working at a McDonald's in high school in the late 1980s: I actually had to apply four times before they would hire me, because I had no work experience and they were the only ones who even came close to expressing an interest in hiring me. Though I showed up on time in a clean uniform every day and always did what was asked of me, I really didn't give much of a shit and wasn't too careful about hiding that fact, so I never got promoted in the year-plus I worked there, even to one of the bullshit second-tier-from-the-bottom-jobs that doesn't mean much more than an extra ten cents an hour and a new title on your name tag. Whenever I go into a fast food restaurant now, I wonder how either of those things could ever have happened. phh | Away for 3 years and still in the karma top 50! Woo hoo!   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

30.  Ditch digger lend me your ear   by gordon shumway       at Thu 8 May 3:43pm score of 3.5 brilliant     I once had a job as a ditch digger. It wasn't entirely terrible. My co-workers were a fun bunch. I had to break up a fistfight between two of them when a debate about Ted Nugent (who one of the debaters was unable to refer to without appending "aka, the motor city madman") spiraled out of control (as debates about Nugent are prone to do). One day that guy threw his shovel down, and stared at the foreman across the job site, who confusedly stared back. Slowly, everyone else stopped digging and watched. There was a long silence. Then the guy said, in an even voice, "My life is rock n' roll." He sauntered away, and the moment he was out of earshot the entire work crew laughed uncontrollably. So the next time you are quitting a job, regardless of what it is, look your boss in the eye, and say "My life is rock n' roll", and walk out proud, like a stoney Ted Nugent (aka the motor city madman) fan.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

33.  The Worst Place I've Ever Worked   by Osomatic       at Thu 8 May 4:04pm score of 3 intriguing     I worked at a company full of Scientologists. It was run using L. Ron Hubbard's business principles. (Yup, he wrote a whole treatise on how to run a company. It's something like 7 or 8 volumes long and, surprise surprise, is really expensive to buy.) The job itself was not so bad, actually — I was what was called an "expeditor" which basically translates to "gopher." I ran errands, helped out whoever needed helping out, whatever. But the people were creepy and the pitch to join the church was non-stop. Everyone always seemed on-edge, too. The conversations I overheard were either completely and bizarrely incomprehensible, or painful. I actually heard one woman tell another that she and her husband had decided to forgo a cruise vacation so that they could get some more auditing. Then they had a good chuckle over the fact that if they had a LOT more money, namely 80 grand, they could go on the Scientology cruise. This was 12 years ago. I imagine it's even more expensive now. One day the owner and the main tech guy, who had helped found the company, had some sort of a falling out. We could hear them screaming at each other throughout the building. Apparently it nearly came to blows. The church sent out... well, I'm not sure who these guys were but all my coworkers were freaked out, almost as if they were worried that they'd be found to be doing something wrong. All I know is there were three of them, wearing white lab coats with CoS symbols and carrying big square briefcases. Scientology's version of the Inquisition? Who knows, but the tech guy left with them and we never saw him again. I doubt they "disappeared" him or anything, but it was a very freaky event. His office was cleaned out (surely a huge job) a few nights later. We never saw who did that either. I was surprised to find my old employer on the web and learn they're still around — I had assumed that they'd be out of business by now. The main product was a few pieces of software for DEC computers, which I'm sure are getting farther and farther between these days, and even if not everybody who owns one and is going to buy their software has surely bought it by now. (The best-seller, by the way, was spy software for system managers. Figures.) A few months after I left I learned that the CFO (whose Hubbardized title I can't recall) had embezzled some huge, six-figure number. Apparently they survived that (what a shame) and they're in Clearwater, FL, now. I hope nobody I knew there moved with them — it was truly a creepy and toxic workplace and will remain so no matter where they're located. If carrots got you drunk, rabbits would be fucked up.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

41.  Re: The Worst Place I've Ever Worked   by thetango       at Thu 8 May 7:36pm score of 1.5 witty   in reply to comment 33     One day the owner and the main tech guy, who had helped found the company, had some sort of a falling out. We could hear them screaming at each other throughout the building. Apparently it nearly came to blows. The church sent out... well, I'm not sure who these guys were but all my coworkers were freaked out, almost as if they were worried that they'd be found to be doing something wrong. All I know is there were three of them, wearing white lab coats with CoS symbols and carrying big square briefcases. Scientology's version of the Inquisition? Who knows, but the tech guy left with them and we never saw him again. I doubt they "disappeared" him or anything, but it was a very freaky event. His office was cleaned out (surely a huge job) a few nights later. We never saw who did that either. Welcome to the Matrix.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

36.  Monterey, California — The Dream Theatre   by tomaxxamot       at Thu 8 May 4:36pm score of 3.5 novel     Anyone who lived in Monterey any time between the mid seventies and the late nineties probably remembers the area's art house theatre — I got a job there when I was eighteen or so, figuring that, since it played things like Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer and The Cook, the Thief his Wife and Her Lover it would be marginally hipper than most of the other minimum wage jobs that were available to a first year college student. My first day there was spent mostly in training. I remember fighting to keep a straight face while the concession stand's "senior" employee earnestly explained his up-selling techniques to me. Evidently, every six months the managers would determine which of their employees generated the highest average gross selling popcorn and candy. The winner would get a whopping $.10 an hour extra for their troubles. My trainer had put a lot of thought into how he would win this distinction (it probably would have been his by default since no one else lasted six months) and clued me into his process of waving the lid over the cookie tray in order to "tempt customers with the aroma of delicious cookies!" And yes, that was a verbatim quote. Things got even better after my day of training and being judged capable of closing on my own. The antique popcorn machine, purchased at auction to charm foreign-film goers with its rustic quaintness was a particular favorite of mine, since it was constructed of some type of extra-terrestrial metal that retained heat for literally hours after its usage. Every night, I'd stare at the demon-machine in dread, knowing that at the end of my shift, I'd get to choose between pissing off my boss by taking far too long to close, or giving my hands and forearms a generous supply of second degree burns while I wiped up grease with a paper towel. Being an art theatre that showed films that averaged thee-plus hours and that only had two screens was another thing that made the job a particular joy. It was explained to me after my first "sitting-transgression" that employees were expected to stand at military attention whenever a customer wasn't ordering something, and the manager loved to make spot checks to make sure that shoulders were tossed back and that the eyes were fixed, unblinking directly ahead. I gained a new appreciation for life drawing models and the Queen's honor guard after two or three weeks. The best part though, was the assistant manager, a forty-five year old woman who fancied herself a modern day Mrs. Robinson and who regularly invited the teenaged male employees to her property down the coastline for "horseback riding". It was tacitly explained that employees who declined her offer could expect to be "caught" committing some sort of fire-able offense afterwards, which is, of course, how I left after three or four weeks. After turning her offer down, I received a call the next night asking me why I wasn't working that night (because I hadn't been scheduled). I marched in, looked at the schedule and could still see smudge marks and eraser detritus from where she'd erased one employee's name and pencilled mine in. I pulled my badge off, tossed it at her and walked out the door in my best irate, put upon teenaged manner. To this day, I do everything I can to be nice to the teenaged kids working at movie theatres, taking pains to do things like walking around rather than over and through spilled popcorn (try picking that up with one of those stupid non-electric vacuums) and carrying my trash out of the theatre when I leave. Spread the News - the Ego has Landed.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

37.  Salmon Egg Stirrer   by eiger       at Thu 8 May 6:17pm score of 2.5 interesting     During University, my girlfriend of the time and I decided to head to Alaska to work in a salmon cannery. The first two weeks there we squatted in a tent in the woods until we found a job. Then we moved into the barracks with the local hippies and low lifes. The first two days we spent on 'the line'. She cut fish. I stacked them on freezer trays because I was tall. That sucked, but we were only working eight hours a day because the season had just started. About this time, we went to the office to ask a couple of questions. One of the managers noticed us and asked if we would work in 'the egg house'. He said we could move to a private room there, and we would get more hours. We of course said yes. The accomodations were certainly much better (in my old barracks room someone got knifed a few weeks later), but the job was not (although at least there was no fish gutting). My job mostly consisted of sitting in chair stirring salmon eggs with my arm. I did this sometimes for as long as 16 hours a day. With two hours of breaks, this meant that we only had six hours not working. I got to the point where I could sleep while stirring. Our workers were also a bit odd. Two were just nice kids about our age. One was a crazy middle-aged woman (she talked to herself). Two were filipinas married to local men. One was very nice. The other was nice at first but turned out to be a compulsive liar. Our boss was a Japanese- American woman who certainly did not believe in being nice to the employees. We also had three Japanese men there to sort and rate the salmon eggs. They were nice enough, but avoided talking to us like we had the plague. Another thing that still gives nightmares was the music. We had one jam box with a CD player. We could either listen to either the radio which only offered country or CDs. ONly person had brought CDs — one of the Japanese. He had brought Cindy Laupers Greatest Hits, the Carpenters Greatest Hits, and a bunch of Japanese sailor songs. By the end of my time there I could actually sing along to the sailor songs, and I had never, ever studied Japanese. The worst part was the season sucked that year, and we didn't make nearly as much money as we expected. OH well, I guess it was one of those growth experiences. Then again I thought Kerry was going to win. So, what the hell do I know?   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

38.  Golf balls   by Tashtego       at Thu 8 May 6:29pm score of 1     When I was in high school I worked in one of those cheesy 'family entertainment' centers that featured putt-putt, a driving range, batting cages, etc. Aside from the fact that I had to wear a dorky red and white striped shirt and deal with creepy church groups, it was an OK job most of the time. The one shitty part of the job, however, was picking up golf balls. Several times a night during the summer, I would have to drive a fire-engine red International Harvester tractor with a cage around the driver's seat back and forth across the driving range to pick up all of the golf balls. On practically every pass in front of the tee line, I'd hear some stupid bastard yell, "See if you can hit him!", and I'd have to listen to the sound of the balls pinging off the cage and the excited laughter from a bunch of mouth-breathing testosterone cases trying to impress their girlfriends. Sometimes after the ball run was over, I'd catch people on the tees pointing at me and laughing. Fond memories of the place include getting off work on Friday afternoon, donning a tee shirt, and blowing large chunks of my paycheck in the game room on pinball and space invaders. Liberals apparently make huge sweeping generalizations without one iota of evidence to back them up.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

61.  Re: Golf balls   by Anonymous Idiot       at Fri 9 May 4:50am score of 0.5 compelling   in reply to comment 38     At least you had a tractor with a cage. From what I've heard, in Tanzania, the driving ranges are the "really fun" part of golf courses because of the kids hired to pick up golf balls. On foot. The golfers are mostly white (and wealthy, by local standards) and the boys collecting the balls are all black (and poor).   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   72.  Aiming at the tractor helped my game   by Brian Jones       at Fri 9 May 8:25am score of 1   in reply to comment 38     It's a small target, but not so small as a flag — and in order to hit the tractor you have to keep your shots low. If the tractor was stopped, it made for a great opportunity to work on landing approach shots softly, just beyond the sand trap. Hitting the tractor, in this case, was exactly not what I was trying to do. I'd never have learned how to hit the one-iron, the bump-n-run, the cut pitching wedge, or the knocked-down six-iron if not for the tractor. I salute you. Cheap crass attention-whoring plug goes here.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

43.  Ah Youth   by Verbalicious       at Thu 8 May 8:13pm score of 1.5 interesting     I've had more then a few- but the one that stands out was working at Morrisons Fish House on LBI in NJ for a summer. Firstly, the lady who hired us out and out lied- telling us we could make 400 dollars a week with about 40 hours of work. Being 20, that sounded great to us. And cause she was so nice, she "helped" us find a place to live too. It was myself and 3 other women and later a couple of men. What she didn't tell us was that 25 of the 40 hours would be spent in doing kitchen prep work- scraping mountains of carrots, cutting potatoes, cleaning the bathrooms and my favorite, deveining shrimp. For the uninitiated, this means plunging your hands into the ice water , hauling out a handful of shrimp, ripping off the legs and slipping a thumb under the shell to get the rest of it off. Then running the same thumb through the slit you made to get rid of the shit in the shrimp. By my estimation there were a good 5,000 shrimp I knew intimately by the end of that summer. Then they "forgot" to tell you that you were only allowed to take tables after you had finshed hours and hours of hard labor. You made about 150$ a week- just enough to buy coors light and maybe eat occassionally. Oh yeah, and pay the rent. The best part about that summer, (aside from the live in drug dealer who punched a hole in the wall, mooching boyfriends(not my own) who ate my food, drank my booze and smoked my butts) had to be the landlord- Jack lived next door and tended to "drop by" whenever one of us was just out of the shower. His coke habits, charm and endless veiled threats were truly the ne plus ultra of the shore experience. All other jobs and living situations have been heaven in comparison.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

46.  Merry Christmas   by thomp       at Thu 8 May 9:39pm score of 1.5 interesting     I made Christmas wreaths every holiday season while I was in college. Mid-October to mid-December in northern Minnesota in an unheated warehouse. The wreaths were hand-tied — not machine stamped like now — so we couldn't wear gloves. For the last month we worked with frozen balsam boughs. We had to twist wire around 50,000 pine cones. Since it was a seasonal job, we hired seasonal workers, e.g., ex-convicts, welfare tards, college kids. Almost every day I had to break up fights. My hands hurt so bad that I couldn't hold a pencil or type on a keyboard. My wife couldn't stand the smell of me, and my hands were so raw and cut up that my wife wouldn't let me touch her. Merry fucking Christmas. I hope you enjoyed your wreaths.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

48.  Other than Stankow's mine's the worst!!   by bigeyes       at Thu 8 May 10:35pm score of 3 brilliant     I changed adult diapers at a state hospital for the mentally disabled. Now, mind, this isn't ordinary shit, this is chemically induced shit from people who are fed what is essentially formula. For some reason not taking a shit is related to seizures, so if they don't go, they are forced to go. Because they are forced to go, with laxatives, enemas and suppositories used daily, the sheer force of this act is beyond description. People lying on their backs in beds will defecate with enough force to shoot the shit from their heels to their necks. The stench is godawful, and quite often the people had to be given a bed bath, have their sheets changed, new nightwear put on (because it was demeaning to put them to bed in just the diaper or diaper and tee shirt even though you had to pull a shit covered nightgown over their head to remove it!) Some of these people would have what we called blowouts several times in a shift. Then there was shitoberfest where they gave them this stuff called golightly, which should have been called colon blow. This was to clean them out before surgery, and it usually left the poor patient a quivering whimpering mess. I will never forget one poor girl who literally cried every time she went after they gave her that stuff. Not only was it smelly and disgusting, it hurt our backs, they exposed us to chemicals, floor strippers, and black mold....what a hell hole. The best part? I know people who think that's the best job they've ever had. And yeah, when I quit, I went from daily migraines to less than 1 a month. Go figger.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

89.  Re: Other than Stankow's mine's the worst!!   by luna bizarre       at Fri 9 May 11:32am score of 1   in reply to comment 48     I can relate to that job having been an aide as well, and now being a nurse. The only thing worse than dealing with the end result of golytely is having to clean up after someone with liver failure once they've reached the stage where they require huge amounts of a laxative called lactulose. Hepatic failure eventually causes a build up of toxins in the brain, that for some reason lactulose gets rid of. The side effect is explosive. We don't usually call it explosive unless it hits the wall. ~The sleep of reason produces monsters~   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   93.  Re: Other than Stankow's mine's the worst!!   by bigeyes       at Fri 9 May 11:47am score of 1   in reply to comment 89     The side effect is explosive. We don't usually call it explosive unless it hits the wall. Ugh. And the smell! I don't think anyone who hasn't experienced this can begin to imagine the acrid, eye-watering intensity of the evil reek that emanates from the place. I used to imagine I could smell it after going home and showering.....ewwwww! Never again, I'll do fast-food first.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   114.  OH, hell, I forgot the funniest part!!!!   by bigeyes       at Fri 9 May 4:23pm score of 1   in reply to comment 48     The best part of this horrific, putrid, fetid hell-hole? I got to work with fundamentalist christians who, whilst cleaning this drek, insisted on murmuring such inanities as god is good, and quoting their version of the gospel. Yeah, god wants me to wipe ass for a living because I was Hitler in a previous life, I guess. How anyone could do that job for 20 years or more, and say with a straight face god is good, I'll never understand. NEVER again.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

49.  a job ain't nothing but work...   by jbou       at Thu 8 May 10:36pm score of 1     and I had 16 jobs before I turned the age of 18, and the worst by far was working for my town on a road crew. I got stuck on the road crew because during my early teens I was too smart for my own good and got into lots of trouble, and there was a program for bad kids to work during the summer so they weren't terrorizing the town. Our job that summer was to clear State Street of all the weeds that overwhelmed all the guard rails along the 5 mile stretch of State Street that ran through my town. Now we were given the old school metal blade on a stick weed wackers, and we'd spend all day in the hot sun chopping weeds. We finally finished chopping all the weeds along the road about mid summer, and we were feeling good, but we didn't know what was next. We came to work the day after finishing the weeds to find out we had to paint every god damn guard rail we just cleared the weeds from, now that was like 100 guardrails, and we had to paint every inch of them, and we had to use a standard paintbrush. I know it wasn't disgusting work, and it didn't break our backs, but I've always found the worst work is busy work, and this job was just that, busy work. The town could have done the weed wacking and painting in two weeks with gas powered weed wackers and spray guns for the paint. Arguments have no chance against petrified training; they wear it as little as the waves wear a cliff.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

50.  How do you explain the military?   by Nameless Cynic       at Thu 8 May 10:45pm score of 1     Many years ago, having graduated high school and not much else, I went to programming school. Learned the cutting edge of computers at the time (FORTRAN, COBOL, advanced BASIC, etc.), and learned that, as a whole, programmers didn't live a lifestyle I wanted to emulate. (If I'd only known... hell, if I'd just known enough to keep up with COBOL through the 1999-2000 COBOL programmer boom). Having determined that programming wasn't my life's goal, I tended bar for a while. Still being a vapid youth, when I tried to move on, I had to sue my boss for my last paycheck. (It's just amazing. You give 2 weeks notice. At 1 week and 6 days, you get fired and end up taking him to small claims court for that last check. Go figure.) At that point, I figured that I never wanted to work for bar owners again. Oddly, I'm looking into it as a second career at the moment... So I worked fast food for a time, until I'd sued my boss (small claims court) for that last paycheck. And then I joined the Air Force. I'd only planned to be AF for one term. I'd get the college benefits and get out. But, after 4 years, I had a wife and 2 kids, and health benefits seemed like a good plan. My job in the military covers a lot of ground. It's had it's good points and a lot of bad. Go figure. I think the worst part was a TDY to a training base in Germany. Had to dig a regulation foxhole (and live in it). The regulation foxhole is chest-high to a normal person, 2 M-16s wide and 2 helmets deep. We dug. Sentio aliquos togatos contra me conspirare   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

53.  Sue?   by jbou       at Thu 8 May 11:37pm score of 1   in reply to comment 50     With your track record do you think you might have to sue uncle sam for your last paycheck when you decide to leave the service? Arguments have no chance against petrified training; they wear it as little as the waves wear a cliff.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   76.  Re: How do you explain the military?   by Nameless Cynic       at Fri 9 May 8:38am score of 1.5 interesting   in reply to comment 50     (Don't know what the hell happened to the rest of that post... Let's just take up where I left off) I think the worst part was a TDY to a training base in Germany. Had to dig a regulation foxhole (and live in it). The regulation foxhole is chest-high to a normal person, 2 M-16s long and 2 helmets deep. We dug the full sized hole, except that, just as we got deep enough, we hit ground water. Lost 1/3 of our depth putting a plank floor in on top of the water. Now understand this was the middle of winter in Sembach, Germany. So there we are, for 3 days, half-crouched on top of a block of ice, with frozen slime coating the walls around us. It wasn't a foxhole, it was a butthole. The only good part was the adjoining "room" we built on. Called it "the coffin." Completely enclosed, longer than I was tall, about 3 feet wide. Just big enough for one person, one arctic sleeping bag, and more wood to keep you off the dirt. Not the most comfortable "bed" in the world, but kind of inviting after a shift in the hole. I was digging reddish clay out of odd parts of my body for days after that. But at least there weren't any bugs. (Winter, after all.) Another, similar training TDY (that means "Temporary DutY" in mil-speak) to Little Rock, Arkansas in the summer, was the most bugs I had to deal with at one time. I used all the tricks: bug spray, flea collars rolled the bottom of my pants (right where they blouse at the boots), nylons (there's a cute thought — full uniform, camo paint, rifle, but he's wearing nylons. Yeah, screw you, too. It works), bug juice rubbed into my hair like styling gel, and I took sulphur tablets twice a day. The guy with me laughed for the whole trip, until, at the end, I pointed out that I had gotten one chigger and a spider bite, while he looked like some kind of mutant connect-the-dots puzzle in bright red. (Sulphur tablets, by the way, makes your sweat smell seriously rank. But I got used to it. The people around me probably didn't...) Sentio aliquos togatos contra me conspirare   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

51.  Asbestos, tar, fiberglass and 100 degrees   by M. Mosher       at Thu 8 May 11:26pm score of 2 compelling     The summer of 1978 between freshman and sophmore years in college I worked for Johns Manville in Fort Worth, Texas making composite roofing shingles. The shingles were made in long rolls that were later cut up into the small 36" by 12" pieces. The base of each roll was fiberglass and as the fiberglass sheet went through the rollers some would come off and fly into the air where we would breathe it and absorb it into our skin, and it would irritate and itch. Farther down the line a hot tar/sand mixture would be applied to the fiberglass base and, while still hot, various colored sands were sprinkled on to give the shingle its desired hue. Fort Worth summers in an un-airconditioned factory are bad enough but the furnaces to melt the tar made them hellish. One day, one of the hoppers got filled with tar but no sand. The hoppers were about 50 feet tall and perhaps 15 feet in diameter. To fix the problem without stopping the line the foreman dumped the entire contents of the hopper onto the factory floor. A room perhaps 100 feet by 50 feet was filled 8 inches deep with black sticky tar. My job was to use a jack hammer with a spade attachment to break off chunks and throw them in the dumpster. The sweat soaked, fiberglass saturated clothes, the sticky 130 degree tar, the noise of the plant, and the noise and vibration of the jack hammer all combined to make it the worst job I ever had. Amazingly, and perhaps this is testimony to the vigor and enthusiasm of youth, I and my 2 companions devised a way of using a forklift to pry pallet-sized chunks off the floor and finish the job in a week instead of the month it would have taken. There is something about the passage of time that allows the pain and suffering to recede to a manageable conscious memory while only fondness remains in the heart. Strange, but I know that was the worst job of my life and yet I look back at it with appreciation.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

58.  My secret shame   by chatsubo       at Fri 9 May 3:10am score of 1     one word — telesales. Even worst than that, I was good at it. Still this morning, trying to write a Press Release about our new range of Fair Trade wines ('quality for you, justice for them!'), with a hangover the size of Jupiter, isn't shaping up to be one of my greatest moments, either. Ah fuck it, I'm going down the pub. Every man is guilty of all the good he did not do   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

75.  Inside Sales for Initech   by SickBoy       at Fri 9 May 8:38am score of 1   in reply to comment 58     I did inside sales (tele-sales) for 3 different companies. By far the worst one was Cablexpress in Syracuse, NY. If you've seen the movie "Office Space," I was Peter Gibbons. Cablexpress was Initech... I never did quite get over the feeling of wanting to pummel my old sales manager about the head & shoulders with a heavy, blunt object until he was dead... Any man with a michrophone can tell you what he loves the most.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

59.  Turkeys   by Arkestra       at Fri 9 May 3:30am score of 2 helpful     This is the ikkiest one I know (as opposed to just plain disturbing like Stankow's, or vomit-inducing like bigeyes's one). Turkeys are bred so large nowadays that they find it very difficult to reproduce naturally. Also, it's not a very efficient way to do things at the best of times. So somebody on the farm has to caress those big old birds and collect the proceeds. Apparently the task will generally fall to a specialist employee with expertise in the field of turkey fondling. Yuk! That having been said, I'm sure there are people out there who would pay for the opportunity... Down pokey quaint streets in Cambridge / Cycles our distant spastic heritage   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

98.  Re: Turkeys   by gonzocanuck       at Fri 9 May 12:36pm score of 2 brilliant   in reply to comment 59     heh! I recall a story in a Rolling Stone collection about a man who's job it was to collect rooster semen for what I think was an agricultural study. The output of each rooster was measured as they aged. The rooster fondler (for back of a better term — guess "cock stroker" would be fitting) grew attached to one particular rooster. As their output decreased, the roosters were culled from the study. The guy hated to think that this rooster he was so fond of would have to be culled. he took a little extra semen from the others now and then to add to the vial, sparing his friend for a little longer. You've got to coax him slow, that's the only way that he'll confess.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   142.  Found the title   by gonzocanuck       at Sat 10 May 11:36pm score of 1   in reply to comment 98     For those interested, the book is Rolling Stone: 25 Years of Journalism on the Edge. Unfortunately my copy is still packed away, I was hoping to get the article name. It's an excellent, heavy anthology of modern journalism — a very good read :-) You've got to coax him slow, that's the only way that he'll confess.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   100.  Horses   by sglover910       at Fri 9 May 12:44pm score of 1.5 funny   in reply to comment 59     I knew a guy who had a similar job with horses. He said it gave him a whole new appreciation for Murphy's Oil Soap. He didn't like the work much, but it was a stable job. An argument isn't merely nay-sayings and contradictions! M. Python   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   132.  Re: Horses   by Arkestra       at Sat 10 May 11:50am score of 1   in reply to comment 100     I'd rather do horses than turkeys. Don't know why though. Less fiddly? Down pokey quaint streets in Cambridge / Cycles our distant spastic heritage   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   144.  Re: Horses   by throwawayhack       at Sun 11 May 11:37am score of 1   in reply to comment 132     I'd rather do horses than turkeys. Thanks for sharing :)   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

62.  Salad and that   by zammo       at Fri 9 May 5:00am score of 1     Hmmm. Close contender would have to be cutting up the crudites that you buy prepackaged in supermarkets. Hungover, standing in five-odd inches of freezing, chlorine-y water in a pair of Converse, surrounded by the most guilded sons and daughters of Norfolk (American readers, I underdstand that Norfolk is roughly analogous to Iowa). Probably not as bad, however as working in Australian mortgage company's call centre. The USP of said company was that it gave mortgages to people who really, really couldn't get them anywhere else. Some of them were just unfortunately saddled with poor credit ratings, others were scary folk indeed. The mortgages had a mysterious component called a redraw (if you overpaid your mortgage, you could draw out the excess later if you needed it). However, the salespeople, as salespeople are wont to do, were fond of talking this up so that a number the poor bewildered customers were convinced the minute they began their repayments there'd be a vast fortune waiting for them. I spent most of my time fielding calls to irate, semi-literate Aussies who were on day release as of that afternoon. The words 'Youse've stuffed up my loan. I need my redraw to bail my cousin out of jail!' are engraved on my memory forever. Probably nothing beats waiting tables in NYC, with half-a-dozen hispanic chefs. My limited Spanish led to numerous entertaining charades-style explanations: "Five words! Five words! They want their fucking pizza!" Yoda es fuertissimo. El puede vencer a Count Dooku. Pero Jesus es aun mas fuerte. El tiene muchos poderes.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

63.  I've been lucky.   by Cerebus       at Fri 9 May 6:08am score of 1     I never really had a crap job. I taught myself photography so I could work as a photo equipment salesman through high school and avoid fast food service hell. That was fun; lots of neat toys to play with. After that I worked as a framer in a craft store for a year or so. That was also fun, and surprisingly creative. Then it was back to photo/video sales in college. More fun toys; they get better every year. Then I was a sysadmin for an ISP. This was pure geek fun. If you've never known the joy of creating a Freenix top-100 USENET service from nothing, I doubt I can explain it to you. The perks were also fun; as long as I was within easy reach (pager and cell phone) and my daily tasks were complete (which took about 2 hours/day), my boss not only didn't care what I did with my time, he didn't care where I was. It was like being unemployed, but with a comfortable paycheck. Now I'm a system security consultant. This is more geek fun, but at a more abstract level. So, not a crap job in the lot. Of course, I started out from the beginning trying to avoid them. So maybe it's not luck after all. -- Cerebus   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

66.  I was in a cult   by wagamama       at Fri 9 May 6:51am score of 2.5 brilliant     Or, as they preferred to be called, "A touring Christian Theatrical Group." We worked in groups of four, touring specific areas in decrepit Dodge vans. My second five-month tour, in Indiana, was the worst. The Unit leader was a teensy bit insane, seeing visions and slumping into catatonic stupors. The second-in-command had heard God speak to her from a snowbank in Denver — telling her that He wanted her to marry the unit leader. I was eighteen, terribly naive, and just stupid enough to believe all the cult-control messages coming from the home office in California. "No one will ever love you as much as we do." "If God called you here, why would he want you to go anywhere else?" And the biggest mind-warper of all: "If you see a problem, you ARE the problem." I still have nightmares about it — I dream that I'm back in the group, and I have to go 'on tour' again — it's all a mistake, but no-one will listen. They just keep saying, "You're back now, you're safe." And in my dreams, I keep trying to say, "I don't want to be safe — I want out." But the words won't come, and I'm stuck, and I can never, ever leave. Pretentious? Watashi?   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

128.  Hey, me too!   by landonair       at Fri 9 May 11:13pm score of 1.5 informative   in reply to comment 66     As hard as it may be to believe that anyone else could be so naive (as I did until now) you are not the only one. Yes, I too was in a cult. When I was 19 my friend introduced me to this guy who was touring North America doing public speaking for Y.E.S. (Youth for Environmental Sanity). He was an excellent speaker, charismatic and very good at convincing people to his point of view. He also happened to try and "initiate" everyone he knew into this cult, which meant you learned a style of meditation, had to give up meat, drugs and alcohol and were supposed to meditate three hours a day. You were then told that some guy in India named Thakar Singh (always referred to as "Master") was God and would save your soul. It was explained that the world had a lineage of spiritual leaders, Jesus was one, Buddha was one, the 10 Sikh gurus were all one, and at this point in time, Thakar Singh was one. You were supposed to get extra afterlife brownie points for initiating people, so he initiated everyone he could: his parents, his teachers, his sister, and unfortunately for me, his friends. We held public talks all over BC where we would put up posters all over town advertising a free public talk on meditation. We would then initiate all the people that showed up. This cult's particular mindfucks: -The whole world is Negativity, any worldly activity other then meditating is evil, therefore your parents are evil, all media is evil, school is evil, etc etc. -Sleep is evil, you should try and meditate all night. -It wasn't a cult, it was a verifiable science, because the 'inner light and sound' of meditation can be directly experienced firsthand. But, your 'inner experiences' can never be shared with anyone else. Of course, no one ever saw or heard anything, which meant they were too caught up in the 'Negativity of the world' and had to try harder: give up more worldly pleasures (which means everything but meditating), meditate more and do more 'selfless service' (ie. free labor) for the Master. They have a huge farm in the mountains of southern Oregon which I went to a couple times. The daily routine was meditate, eat breakfast, work your ass off tending the grape vineyard or other produce, chop firewood, build barns, etc., meditate, dinner, then some group chanting where people spazzed about because they were 'possessed' and being cleansed of negativity. Now that I think about it, it was pretty fucking eerie. In the mountains in the middle of nowhere at night with a bunch of cult members who thought they were possessed by devils. Jesus! At one point the guy who initiated everyone thought he was both one of the world's most Godly souls, yet possessed by one of the world's most evil demons. In retrospect, I think he had delusions of grandeur. The thing is, he's EXTREMELY intelligent, quick and the funniest person I've ever met. Eventually, at the same time he and I both realized we were in a cult and gave it up. He saw a psychologist for a while. Unlike the poster above, I never had any nightmares or anything. I hardly ever even think about it. I still think it might all be repressed in my subconscious or something, ready to explode in a horrific flashback some day. Or not. "It's so easy to say things that are so idealistic without reasoning and thinking them out in the big picture"   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

67.  The Road-Kill Picker-Upper's Tale   by Brian Jones       at Fri 9 May 7:25am score of 1     I believe I've told this tale before, so bear with me — and don't read what's about to follow if you're eating. July 3, 1986 was a Thursday — the start of a three-day weekend. Some time that evening, an unknown motorist in the hamlet of Jackson Corners, New York had the distinct misfortune to strike and kill an adult female whitetail deer weighing about 120 pounds. History tells us no more about the fate of this driver. But the dead deer's Frodoesque journeys were just beginning... The carcass lay there until late in the morning of Monday, July 7 — at which point it was encountered by a public works crew, for whom I was the summer "intern" specializing in the retrieval and disposal of deceased animals. Our job was to fetch the dead deer, load it into our truck and bring it back to the lime pit at the local substation. Having worked together for years, members of the work crew had developed a keen sense of timing, especially when it came to the timing of lunch breaks. And wouldn't you know it, the work crew chief's watch said 11:55 — and damned if any of us were going to haul a three-days-dead deer 20 miles, not five minutes before lunch. Our work resumed at 1:00, after an uneventful repast consisting of a lukewarm diet Coke and a bologna sandwich of questionable provenance. Time for another command decision from the crew chief. Since we were due at 2:00 to help another crew in maintaining safe traffic flow at a construction zone, the decision was made to move the deer a couple hundred yards down the road — into the neighboring county, as the linked map indicates. The dead deer thus became Somebody Else's Problem. Or so we thought...for the carcass reappeared on our side of the county line the very next morning. The game was on, the gauntlet thrown down before us. By the orange reflective strips on our vests, such an insult could not go unanswered! We returned serve brilliantly, by scooping up the carcass and depositing it in a mudhole on the other side of the county line — but only an hour later the mud-encrusted dead deer was back on our side! Perhaps it was the summertime heat playing tricks on us, but the crew chief swore he could see a smile on the deer's face (the part that wasn't maggot-eaten, anyway). Once again, we dashed across the county line to dump our decaying deer — and then came the thunderstorm, a true gully-washer with lightning that cracked the very cobblestones of the Taconic Parkway. Surely the deer had found its final resting place at last. Surely, we were wrong. Bright and early the next morning, there were the festering remains of Odocoileus virginianus, still damp from the previous night's precipitation. Again, we donned our gloves to hoist the carcass — when one of its legs came off in my hand. Defeat. Humiliation. Nasty greenish spooge, too. We were left with no choice but to bury the disintegrating carcass in the ditch where it was found, like Fenster. There was much drinking and brooding that night. Cheap crass attention-whoring plug goes here.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

88.  So, YOU'RE the one...   by minusp       at Fri 9 May 11:27am score of 1.5 funny   in reply to comment 67     Actually, I do remember more than one such story from along the Taconic...   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

69.  My Summer at the Super Food Center   by tdahnsn       at Fri 9 May 8:13am score of 1.5 compelling     I worked one summer in a 24-hour grocery store. There are some strange things that happen in a grocery store, but the strangest by far normally happen after hours. In a 24-hour store they can either happen late at night (which would make sense) or in the middle of the afternoon (which is what we did). We'll start in the produce department. In most grocery stores the produce department is managed by somebody who really knows something about fresh produce and likes vegetables. We had Manuel. What Manny lacked in appreciation for fresh produce he made up for in ways of dealing with rotting vegetable manner. Such as bringing one of the rolling dumpsters into the store and simply collecting all manner of things too rotten to be sold in the dumpster. Empty, the dumpster didn't quite have the same weight or smell. Full, it was heavy enough to not be able to be moved by hand, smelly enough to give a faint odor to the entire department, and — as a special bonus — not waterproof. The liquid was a mixture of juices, fermented juices, and the products of decomposition. These covered the floor of the stock room, right up to the built up layers of towels which prevented the precious fluids from escaping into sight. Summer brings some special things to South Florida. The fluid brought us flies, maggots, mosquitoes, 2 varieties of roaches, and a number of rodents. I remember one exciting afternoon when one of the rats decided to tour the produce department in full view of our customers. We would have gone out to catch Phil the Rat, but the stench of the back area of produce was such that we had a standing rule not to leave the back area — we would hand off loaded pallette jacks to our "floor team". Instead we shuffled through the maggots and continued loading the next pallette. And then I moved to dairy. What could be more wholesome than milk and cheese and butter and other dairy products? Rancid butter, spoiled milk, and molding cheese! Again, a clever manager for the department (whom I never actually met or saw) had brought a dumpster into unrefrigerated portion of the back area adjacent to the loading dock. Milk, cheese, and butter do not respond well to heat and the dumpsters were, as normal, not waterproof. The upside was the dark enclosed cold storage area behind the milk and juice case. You could hang out in there for hours and no one ever notices the stench of marijuana and tobacco. Grocery stock was a strange little empire, too. We stored stock on the tops of the shelves which had all the foods. In theory, the cases should have been stored right above where their contents would be when the cases were opened. That would have been sensible and efficient. Instead, we drove the forklift around the store at all hours of the day doing constant stock. Crowded with customers and shopping carts and 900 year old grandmothers and unattended children, the aisles were our race tracks. But let's say you've got the fork lift in Aisle 7 and the thing you need is on top of Aisle 8. It's faster to get one of the other stockers up the ladder and to toss you the boxes across the aisle, over the head of customers. Sick bastards thought it was a show, like Monkey Jungle, while we're just trying to keep the stock rotated and available. I never got a chance to work meat or bakery. I avoided front because of my obvious authority issues. A few months later the chain went bankrupt. The quarter I worked there that one store had hundreds of thousands of dollars in "shrinkage", meaning theft. You account for the spilt milk and the rotted fruit, but theft is a whole different matter. I suspect that the huge shrinkage the store had was not due to shoplifting, despite the manager's claims. The large trucks which were pulled up late at night and loaded with palettes of goods probably had a lot more to do with it. It might have also explained the manager's sportscar and lifestyle. Why? What's the most callous thing you've said today?   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

77.  Anybody Notice?   by gparizot       at Fri 9 May 8:43am score of 1     We always have submissions (usually voted down in the subQ) that ask us to share who we are, what we believe in, etc. It may not have been the intent of this story, but I think, after reading many of the comments from our "regulars", that I now know them far better than I would have if they had intentionally tried to tell me. An excellent discussion. Thanks. "Just 'cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there" - Radiohead   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

103.  Re: Anybody Notice?   by CaptainLiberal       at Fri 9 May 1:24pm score of 1   in reply to comment 77     I always vote for the "tell us about yourself" threads because a) they always sprawl into the hundreds of posts and traffic is good and b) there's always at least a few truly hilarious comments and a bunch of opportunities to get to know our fellow Plasticians better. Every dream turns into something on a T-shirt -- Shriekback   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

79.  Well, it's not so much a BAD JOB...   by waldeaux       at Fri 9 May 9:03am score of 1     ... as some of the bewildering experiences that came with it. It was a bi-coastal job. Mostly in Boston, sometimes in LA. But when in LA I was expected to work 24/7 for up to a month. "Comp time?" the boss had never heard of it. "Off time?" on that WORK TRIP? Yeah — right. I was SCREAMED at if I went out for dinner, or took the weekend off. Or entertained friends in town. In 6 years I received ONE merit raise of 2% and I was reminded that "this was a BIG increase". In Boston, it wasn't much better since phone calls at home could come anytime, night or day. Holidays didn't exist — I got called during Thanksgiving dinner one year. The final straw broke when I was called on Xmas Eve and screamed at because I couldn't send an overnight FedEx with papers that were misplaced at the other end. (FedEx doesn't deliver on Xmas — or it didn't then). A friend got me an interview at a startup, and I took it along with the 40% pay raise, benefits (vacation, medical, etc.). The actual WORK was OK. But the environment was intolerable. It's taken me several years to get used to working somewhere where people a NICE and actually care about how you are doing. Life is a peanut butter and liverwurst sandwich --- Me, 1977   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

85.  Re: Well, it's not so much a BAD JOB...   by stet       at Fri 9 May 10:58am score of 1   in reply to comment 79     What did you do exactly? Drive over-the-road? "All of the juice had been sucked out/ Before Mel Bay taught us children to play"   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

84.  Fast Food....(shudder)   by rmurf62       at Fri 9 May 10:55am score of 2 interesting     Funny how many people list fast food as their worst job... The only job I've been fired from: Long John Silver's in Iowa City, IA, in the summer break from college. The seafood is coated with a "special" batter, which contains some sort of miracle polymer which seals the fish & keeps it moist, also acting as a heat shield. (If we burned our skin, we were told the first thing to do was to cover the burn with some batter.) We were instructed in the proper method of frying: dip fish and your hand in the batter, coating each. Dip the fish and your hand in the 300+ degree frying oil, gently releasing. This kept the batter coating the seafood, producing pristine, photogenic product. With the normal self-preservation insticts that any normal 20-year-old would have, I just couldn't dunk the fish properly — I'd drop it in at the last minute, blowing all the batter off the fish and producing consistently defective product, which led to my dismissal. God bless American Fast Food. YYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGH!   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

107.  He's a surprisingly high-tech swashbuckler   by signal to noise       at Fri 9 May 2:07pm score of 1   in reply to comment 84     I can't begin to express how happy I am at the prospect of making a "miracle polymer" part of my dining experience. I've worked with fryers and can't imagine the conditioning it would take me to repeatedly plunge my hand into the oil. Bet I would've been fired before you. "Oh good, my dog found the chainsaw."   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

86.  The Cream of the Crap Jobs   by luna bizarre       at Fri 9 May 11:11am score of 1.5 interesting     I have had a lot. From flipping burgers at a greasy spoon truckstop cafe, working in dish pits, telemarketing (on commission — ugh), telephone market research, door to door sales (that lasted all of one day), as well as being a booking girl. Three of the worst jobs had to have been the market research (ever call someone to do a survey on car insurance while they're wanking to porn?), the booking girl job and being a care aide. For those that don't know, a booking girl books appointments for escorts for 20$ an appointment, under the table. The downside is that the girls are only selling themselves for drugs or to feed their kids (it seems so wrong — they were nice girls). Anyway, the escort service was owned by the triads and after my first week of working there, someone had set a bomb off in the garage of the agency (gang thing?)and shot up the back of the building. Needless to say, I felt that being broke and not making rent was much better than getting blown up, or getting in over my head with the wrong people. The booking girl job was the last really crappy job I ever had to take, other than Resident Care Aide at the worst extended care facility in Vancouver. While I was an RCA, I was chased by a demented knife weilding wheelchair bound resident with a crush on me, I had a leg bag explode on me (leg bags are inconspicuous urinary drainage devices), I was spat at, screamed at, and generally treated like shit by my residents (and the evil part is, you have to grin and bear it — in EC, you are after all, in their home). Needless to say, I finished school, got my RN and now? I still hate my job and somedays it is literally crappier than others, but I love being able to actually see myself making a difference with my work. ~The sleep of reason produces monsters~   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

90.  Chicken Puncher   by eyebrow606       at Fri 9 May 11:38am score of 1     I was a "chicken puncher" for a day, and believe me, I was surprised I lasted that one whole day. It was a poultry farm, and a chicken puncher's job was to grab live chickens by the neck, and literally punch them through the openings of very small cages. These cages could possibly accommodate one or two chickens, but we were admonished to pack them as full as possible, and not to worry if the chickens lived or died. I would estimate that a typical cage ended up holding at least 8-12 chickens when fully packed. These cages were stacked onto the semi trucks, so that ultimately, there were thousands upon thousands of chickens, many of them indeed dead, on the back of the truck. It was sick work, and I never went back. Quit cogitating, Steinmetz!   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

101.  Re: Chicken Puncher   by gonzocanuck       at Fri 9 May 12:46pm score of 1   in reply to comment 90     Ugh. I know...nothing is worse than when you see chickens fall out of these cages or off the trucks...although I can guess that getting run over by a car is a far better death :\ You've got to coax him slow, that's the only way that he'll confess.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

91.  Best Job   by Nephthys       at Fri 9 May 11:45am score of 1     I haven't had any stupendously crap jobs, just run of the mill crap — 1/2 day as a bagger at a grocery store, 2 days as a cocktail waitress, my time as a helpdesk and NOC monkey. I have had my share of interesting co-workers — like the SMBD guy that liked to go into gorey details of his weekend adventures... I want to share my best job. Model Home Hostess for Semi-custom homes. Back in the housing and economic boom in Denver in the 80's, model home companies hired people without real estate licences to man their model home communities during the week. My job was to show the homes and answer basic questions and then refer prospective buyers to the licenced agents who staffed on weekends. Since very few people looked at homes during the day on weekdays I spent my time reading, smoking, watching tv, and having friends over in huge, gorgeous homes. Blizzards were the best as I would lock up the communitee, crawl into bed and sleep. I was paid to do what I would do normally. I only had one really bad day. There was a man who went on a crime spree in the neighborhood. He stabbed a few people, kidnapped a woman, stole a few cars, and made a general terror of the area for the day. I got a call from the main office in the morning advising me to lockup and to keep my panic button on me at all times. (Panic buttons were standard issue as there were a rash of real estate agent rapes.) I was not allowed to leave. I quickly locked up. Planted myself and my panic button in front of the tv and hid out for the better part of the day. Cake or Death? Cake, please.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

94.  Washing maggots off baked potatoes...   by JackH       at Fri 9 May 11:52am score of 1     Picture it: Georgia 1992. Senior year in high school. I worked for a local steakhouse. It was the only one in town at the time, so it got a lot of business — I think it was a former Golden Corral that had been converted. I worked my way up from busboy to salad guy to making rolls and baked potatoes. I could never get the yeast rolls even, so some of them turned out as small as communion wafers and other as large as small loaves of bread. So my boss — a sixty-something dirty old man who harassed just about every semi-attractive female employee there, including my then-girlfriend — moved me to baked potato duty. It seems harmless — wrap potatoes out of the box in foil and put them on pans to be cooked later. Well, turns out that those Idaho potatoes weren't as fresh as one might hope. About one box in four had its very own population of maggots. So, naturally, I'd throw them away. My boss didn't like that. He told me to simply wash the maggots off the potato under the sink and wrap it up like a normal potato. Some of these potatoes were halfway decayed and eaten through, too. Moral of the story: be very, very careful with your baked potatoes at restaurants. "If you demonstrate a personality deficit in comparison to the likes of John Kerry, you've got major problems" - Anon   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

95.  Coupon Days   by mrwarmth       at Fri 9 May 12:00pm score of 1     There are two ways a job can be crap: either because of the actual work itself, or because of the people you have to work with, regardless of the job. In the first category I'd have to list my stint working in the coupon division of the First National Bank of CHicago. I worked in a small, stuffy windowless room clipping investor coupons. All day. The air was so full of coupon dust, that I was sneezing and coughing all day. It was the kind of work that if you knew with certainty you would have to do that job for the rest of your life, you would immediately turn to a life of crime. In the second category, I had a job once where my boss was a hysterical, paranoid mess. She was like Captain Queeg on acid. She was very abusive and unethical, so even though I loved the work, I left because of her. I recall she was totally shocked when I told her I was quitting, which is typical of abusive, narcissistic people. It was greatly satisfying for me to learn she was fired three months later. (I'm surprised at how often people will put up with abusive bosses, even when they have other options available to them. I think acquiescing to an abusive boss is just encouraging them to continue, since if nothing bad happens to them as a result of being abusive, they have no reason ever to change.) By the way, research shows over and over again that the number one reason people quit their jobs is that their boss is a jerk. -Niall Where is Ratko Mladic?   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

133.  Why people put up with crap bosses   by Arkestra       at Sat 10 May 12:12pm score of 1   in reply to comment 95     After a while people just start entering denial, or they have to face the fact that they're being managed by an idiot, which ain't good for the old self-esteem. So they end up persuading themselves the boss isn't so bad after all, they're not really getting shat on every day, etc. I once had a job in a team of scientists who wrote computer programs. It was a newly assembled team after a reorganisation, with a newly appointed boss. He was crap at IT, mediocre at the science, and flat out awful as a team leader/general manager. He survived by stealing other people's work, setting subordinates against each other, sweet-talking those above him in the hierarchy, and generally persuading himself that the world was the way he wanted it to be (he had a somewhat flexible relationship with the truth). Sadly, we probably all know the type. Shortly after the guy was appointed, when it became clear how the land lay, I got the team together (8 of us in all) and said that we needed to stage a minor mutiny and demand his removal as our boss. There were clear alternative managers who would have been better choices. I am still convinced we could have made this work. But only 4 people in the team were prepared to stand up and be counted (including me). So I went to work elsewhere, that worked out fine, the boss is still there, and the people still working for him are not happy. But it was in their power to change things, and they didn't have the guts to take a small risk of being fired for a good chance of radically improving their working environment. Interestingly, it was the people with children, who one would have thought would have taken a safer route, who were up for the mutiny. Good on 'em! But once it became clear I couldn't change things, I had no choice but to leave that team, or I would have ended up losing perspective on how bad the situation was. Down pokey quaint streets in Cambridge / Cycles our distant spastic heritage   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   139.  Re: Why people put up with crap bosses   by mrwarmth       at Sat 10 May 2:45pm score of 1   in reply to comment 133     That's exactly the right attitude to have. -Niall Where is Ratko Mladic?   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

109.  My crap jobs:   by onid70       at Fri 9 May 2:17pm score of 1     Data entry for Ameritech/SBC in Chicago: I lasted 2 weeks. On my first day: 9am--I met my supervisor and three of my co-workers. One co-worker was giving the supervisor a manicure the other 2 were eating breakfast. They gave me 3 telephone installation contracts to enter. 11am-- After being done with the 3 contracts at about 10:15 and spending the rest of the time on the internet I went back to my supervisors desk to see about more work. My supervisor and 3 co-workers were still at her desk in a heated debate about where they were going for lunch. As far as I could tell none of them had moved since the morning. I was yelled at for "trying to make them look bad" and I was told that those were the only contracts that I would get for 2 days and that I shouldn't try to burn myself out. For the rest of the 2 weeks slowly my co-workers began to hate me. I was called a faggot and various other names at first for actually trying to do work and various "pranks" were played on me. The last straw was when the supervisor "turned off" my key card and I couldn't get into the building. When I talked to the security guard he phoned her but she "wasn't at her desk" for about two hours. When I was finally allowed back upstairs I was yelled at for being late. I walked out that day stopping at everyone's desk telling them to F--k off. This was during the summer when they were on the front page of all of the chicago daily newspapers for not getting around to phone installations for months at a time. Cabinet making: They had a vacuum device that sucked up all of the dust from cutting the wood and it would be deposited into a metal drum that was emptied once a month. The person telling me what to do told me that before I started cutting the wood I had to empty the drum and handed me a shovel. A small shovel. It was a joke but I was young, stubborn and a little stupid added to the fact that this guy left me there for a few hours. It took me awhile but I emptied the thing and as I was rolling the now empty drum back to its place under the pipe where the dust comes from I ran into the person who told me to do the job. He called me a f--ing moron and informed me that it was a joke and proceeded to gather other co-workers to laugh at me. Then we all heard a whooshing sound...a lot of dust came from the pipe but the drum to catch it was not hooked up to the pipe. There was dust EVERYWHERE and I told the guy that it was now his turn to clean up...and I walked out to the sound of his co-workers laughing at him. I can think of a lot of others but I've went on too long as it is..............   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

113.  encyclopedia sales   by profpeach       at Fri 9 May 3:48pm score of 1     And I did it twice. Once in the Bronx and Brooklyn and about a year later in Virginia. The best thing about the NYC job, is that I was on a team with a bunch of other 18-24 year olds and after we'd been dropped off in our "neighborhood", we'd meet up to play handball.   That was the summer I started drinking coffee and smoking. I think I might have made three sales over both jobs. I say to them, "Tell that to the lizard people, pal." - rantor   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

116.  Double-Edged   by keta       at Fri 9 May 4:35pm score of 1     I was a commercial fisherman on the west coast of BC for 15 years. I worked in many different fisheries, as everything from a greenhorn deckhand to a skipper. Long hours, often incredibly difficult conditions, and the constant knowledge that a mistake could be fatal made me both despondent and exhilarated. I don't miss catching, cleaning, washing, glazing, and stacking 5-600 pink salmon in an 18 hour workday. All while it's blowing 30 knots and it takes as much effort to stay vertical as any other chore. And literally having to stand on your hands the next morning because that's the only way you can get your fingers to flex. I do miss being on the ocean. And I do miss the very deep satisfaction of working as hard as you're physically able (and that tops out at far above what you would guess going into it). It's funny, but my most vibrant memories of fishing are either of being incredibly beat up, pissed at the skipper/crew, miserable about being away from family and friends — or of being awed by the majesty of the ocean and its denizens. Finally, the lack of any sort of "life," and a yearning to test myself on other fronts brought me back to shore. But the salt still runs through my veins. own your words...   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

120.  Oh, you mean the worst job?   by Anonymous SidVicious       at Fri 9 May 6:32pm score of 1     "Jizzmopper" (Um ok, I don't even remember where I heard this, er, colourful title for the individual who gets to clean up the floor of a XXX-theatre, but come on, I dare you to think of a dirtier job that somebody's gotta do. Oh, the spellchecker doesn't know what to make of this)   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

145.  Re: Oh, you mean the worst job?   by gonzocanuck       at Mon 12 May 8:52am score of 1   in reply to comment 120     ugh. How about crime clean up people? It can't be fun scraping someone's brains off the ceiling :\ You've got to coax him slow, that's the only way that he'll confess.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

121.  i've had a few.   by postbear       at Fri 9 May 7:01pm score of 1     most recently, i was a bartender at a predominately gay men's fetish club. i worked there for about five and a half years, and during that time had no wage increases, no performance reviews, and gradually watched the owner sink the business into a shadow of its former worth. in the time i was there the bar had four general managers and countless assistant managers come and go. the best staff, unrewarded for solid work, progressively grew more frustrated and quit, and everyone understood except for the idiot owner. he's a former bartender, and has the tendency to swagger about and remind the staff that he knows exactly how the business runs, though he hasn't poured a beer in ten years. he's also a recovering coke addict and alcoholic, though his recovery is questionable, since a number of the staff were witness to his indulgences. when faced with a decision about the business, he unfailingly made the wrong choice, yet always blamed the staff for the fallout — apparently every error in the bar business happens because of poor implementation of sound ideas. we were frequently called upon to break the law (not a big deal in the trade, to a point), but, when nailed by the police or liquor inspectors, the employees were always blamed. as stupid policies became the standard at the bar, regular customers began staying away and spending less when they did come in. to compensate for the alarmingly low sales, prices were raised and portions were reduced — what better way to lure back your regulars than to serve them the same draught they had last week, only in a smaller glass and at a 25% increase in price? of course, this just meant that sales slowed even further, which led the owner to implement more idiotic changes in a desperate attempt to lure in a new crop of customers who might, it was hoped, become the new regular clientele. by the time i left, this enterprise had failed miserably. i can list hundreds of huge errors the owner made without having to task my memory: instead of rewarding employees, he actually cut wages for his management team (forcing most of them to quit shortly thereafter, one of them leaving with a few other staff members to go work at the bar in which the owner had been a bartender, and which he hated passionately); renovations to the bar went on without staff input being welcomed, to the point that all the bartenders were left without any room to make the drinks they were serving; people with widely known substance abuse problems were hired, promoted, given keys to the premises, the combination to the safe, time unmonitored in the stockroom and access to the bank account; staff would regularly not be told of changes in routine or policy, and would be told by customers that the owner or the current gm had revised procedures. finally, a few months ago, i walked in to start my shift after the bar had been closed for yet another ten day period because of liquor license infractions. the gm pulled me aside and told me that the owner had just called to tell him to inform me that i'd been fired. he'd emailed (from his far-off, sunny winter home) the bar and had a lawyer draw up the papers without telling his own manager, and had sprung it on everyone as a surprise. to top it all off, i was informed by the manager of the reason i'd been dismissed — over five years ago, when i'd first started working at the bar, i'd bumped into the owner and a friend of his while walking down the street with a co-worker. we'd seen the owner at the last moment, and he complained bitterly to several people that he felt that we'd snubbed him. during the rest of my career there, i'd been reminded of that story by every member of the management team because the owner still carried the grudge. my co-workers were also told by customers, not management, that i'd been fired. right now i'm looking for legal ways to exact revenge on this asshole, working part-time in a much more relaxed environment, and reflecting upon how happy i am that i no longer have the worst boss for whom i've ever worked.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

131.  Re: i've had a few.   by Angelica PRICK-les       at Sat 10 May 10:10am score of 1   in reply to comment 121     Odd how so many alcoholics think they can run a bar anywhere but into the ground, isn't it? You dumb bastards! Angelica PRICK-les :p   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]   135.  Re: i've had a few.   by postbear       at Sat 10 May 1:42pm score of 1   in reply to comment 131     i've worked in a few bars over the years, and they were almost all owned and operated by alcoholics or recovering alcoholics. not being an addict, it was quite amusing for me to watch some of these people have ongoing raging debates with bottles of scotch.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

123.  This thread has turned into a testimonial, but...   by Andrew Dice Clay       at Fri 9 May 8:00pm score of 1     ADULT VIDEO BOOTH JANITOR! I can't believe that no one has mentioned that yet! Then again. I'm deprived and obviously visit the wrong type of sites (i.e. plastic.com).   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

124.  Re: This thread has turned into a testimonial,   by Anonymous SidVicious       at Fri 9 May 8:24pm score of 1   in reply to comment 123     Um, how to put this? Check #120, my like-minded friend ;)   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

125.  (un)merry maid   by miz lisa       at Fri 9 May 8:47pm score of 1     one summer in college i was a merry maid — and it sucked...cleaning the crap off strangers' toilets in the sweltering heat is something i wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy — well, maybe i would.... the book "nickle & dimed" by Barbara Ehrenreich offers some great insights on crap jobs and the people who can barely scrape by working them...   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

138.  Re: (un)merry maid   by postbear       at Sat 10 May 1:54pm score of 1   in reply to comment 125     working by studs terkel should be mentioned, too. also, the martin sprouse edited sabotage in the american workplace is full of tales of disgruntled workers in awful jobs.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

126.  Want a real crappy job...   by subsailor       at Fri 9 May 11:03pm score of 1.5 interesting     Join the military. There are some good jobs there, some bad, some indifferent. But no matter what, you start at the bottom, and at least in the Navy you have to put up with being the "NUB" (non-useful body). On a submarine this translates to: 1. Mess-cranking (kitchen duty...12+ hour days cleaning up after the crew and cooks, and in your 12 hours off you have tons of qualifications to work on...fall behind and you go "dink", thus have to put in 2-4 hours after work studying...and in port you work 6-7 days a week, same hours, and same quals/dink study). 2. Getting the worst assignments for cleaning/maintenance/general work in your division...yes, low man on the totem pole cleans the nastiest bilges, the crapper, and gets the shit jobs. 3. Oh, yeah...on top of all that...quals. In my field that equates to 11 different qualification cards to work on simultaneously while doing all the other NUB stuff. Lest you think that going officer makes it better...let's just say that many enlisted sailor remarks that the officers have it worse, in many ways, when they are the junior guy in the wardroom. The ensign(s) will always get the crappy duty days in port (can you say Saturday and Sunday), the worst watch rotation at sea, and carry the most workload in the wardroom. And enlisted guys move up the food chain on a sub fairly quickly (in a year or two you are a mid-grade guy, fully qualified and not hassled anymore). Junior officers (JO's) are in some sort of qualification program (and getting hammered for it) their whole initial sea tour (2-3 years). All of the above is in a setting with average 12-14 hour workdays in port (or more), 3 or 4 section in port duty (meaning you stay aboard for a 24 hour day every 3rd or 4th day...and usually spend most of that 24 hours awake and standing watch/working/cleaning...and yes, that included weekends). At sea it's a rotating 18 hour cycle (6 hours on watch, 6 hours of work/quals/training/drills, 6 hours of "rest" which is often taken up by more training/drills/work...typical to get 2-4 hours of sleep in a 24 hour day). My last underway period was 88 days long, and I've spent as long as 268 days (9 months) deployed (average deployment is scheduled for 180 days, 6 mos.). LA class boats don't have enough bunks for the crew, so junior guys "hot rack" (3 guys share 2 racks...one is always up on watch/at work) and/or sleep in makeshift bunks in the torpedo room (right beside torpedoes/missiles...and the TR is a workspace, so it's not quiet or dark). Memories of my junior days make me glad I've moved up the chain...at least I get my own rack and I'm long done with quals :) "Peace through superior firepower."   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

127.  Last Summer,   by Nexzus       at Fri 9 May 11:06pm score of 1     I read the True Confessions of A Porn Store Clerk, and I must say that it was one of the funniest things I had ever read. If the VP is such a VIP should we keep the PC on the QT? Cause if it gets to the VC, he could be MIA, then we'd go on KP   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

130.  scab   by orionoir       at Sat 10 May 6:58am score of 1     my career, see also, from bad to worse, american colloq., indicating a sorry southerly spiral into psychotic smithereens; sung to this tune without the words: once i built a railroad, i made it run, made it race against time, once i built a railroad; now it's done... brother can you spare a working copy of ms-office? i worked five years in an absurdly overpaid fancy-schmancy programming position, but then i had some trouble with my feet, eg, they needed be walking. so then i was a "consultant," which is like a temp who gets paid a bit more, except, unlike a temp, you're main purpose is to be thrown into and take the fall for situations in which all hell is about to break loose. lord knows, i've seen projects that make the space shuttle look downright chilly. the higher the rate, the lower the circle of hell. the worst assignment of them all was not necessarily the biggest meltdown or the most humiliating doa release, no, it was at [liability-shy] inc., a reinsurance holding company that was in the process of selling itself off in a bleak and lazy firesale, like, what if you had a bake-sale and no-one came? anyhow, to get their financials in shape, they had just fired two-thirds of their systems dept. of course, their systems immediately began to fail hither and yon... so they hired a whole bunch of people such as myself, eg, code whores for whom nothing is sacred, men and women with absolutely no pride in a job well-done, keyboard jocks willing to recklessly serve up slop, people who know that if it almost works once, hey, that's good enough, cut it, ship it, that's a wrap. the problem was that one-third of the systems people remained. for some reason, they didn't take kindly to us scabs. and it wasn't just the nasty, barely-audible comments (did she just call me a cock-sucking weasil, or am i imagining things again?), no, the mean stuff i could live with (although that time they stuck a little sign in a birthday cake saying, 'NOT 4 consultants', that did kindv hurt my feelings) — but the sabotage was a killer. you'd reach the end of your day with that error-handler finally doing what it was supposed to, and the next morning it would be failing. it seemed like somebody was rolling back parts of my work to random dates in the past, but with a head like mine, you never do know. it was comforting to know that the other consultants were getting fucked, too. paranoia loves company. right about this time there was a big workplace bloodbath at the state lottery headquaters, an office building c ten miles from where we were. stuff like that doesn't really happen much in this state, i mean, this is new england, land of steady habits. as the news dribbled out, it turned out that the shooter's resume had gone on at length about his marksmanship, love of guns, and unorthodox beliefs (aliens living in his teeth, etc.) we all got a laugh out of this, you know, those state workers, what will they think of next. at the time, it seemed clever to change my windows background to a picture of an ak-47. i've never been a gun person, but i found gazing at the nasty piece of metal comforting, even soothing. somehow the birthday cake didn't matter anymore. what is the land speed record for being fired? i was on my lunch break, down in sub-basement number seven, eating a lowfat blueberry yogurt with a plastic spoon, when two security guys informed me that i was to come with them. amazingly, there was an exit to the outside world even at this depth, a rifling cement chimney with a patch of blue sky visible at the top. when we emerged to the day, there was a box of my pitiful personal belongings, including one of the company's own staplers, to which i had taped my name. i'm so happy i can't stop crying -- sting, fr. "lithium sunset"   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

137.  The pig sniffer   by oscitant       at Sat 10 May 1:52pm score of 1     A friend of my father once worked as a pig sniffer. What's that, you say? A pig farm can be a truly terrible-smelling place, so there are EPA regulations about exactly how malodorous a farm can be. How do you measure the smelliness? You get some college kid to drive around the countryside and decide how far away from the farm you have to be before the smell is no longer totally repulsive.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

140.  Worst Job...... ever   by Puzzeled       at Sat 10 May 5:10pm score of 1     My first job was working at a cucumber packing plant. It was terrible. I was 14, and a young budding individualist. In rural Upstate New York there were no other jobs out there, so I got a job from the local monopoly owner, they specified in fruit and vegetable selling. The majority of the people there were Mexican migrant workers, which wasnt bad, excepting that no one besides me spoke english. But anyhow back to the story... The job itself intailed not to strenuous work, sorting cucumbers by size into seperate boxes. But what they dont tell you are the chemicals they dip the cucumbers in before they get sorted. That and wearing rubber gloves can get you fired. So here I am a 14 year old girl with long pretty nails and delicate hands. After rubbing my hands on a plastic grainy production line my nails were all but nonexistant. That with the chemicals involved I had seriously burned nubs left on both of my hands after the first week. But I was determined to stay there, to prove to my parents that I could work, and do something for myself. So I stayed there, the next week, this exceedingly good looking man from Florida started working there, he spoke english, and we talked. I eventually devoloped an unhealthy crush on this man, which eventually led me to having to quit the job after he offered me a ride home, and kissed me at the door. Well for like 5 minutes as I floated to the door I was elated. My parents were not. He was 28, needless to say I never saw or heard from him or the boss ever again... My paycheck was mailed to me. No one gets too old to learn a new way of being stupid.   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]

143.  yeesh   by jjgiddes       at Sun 11 May 2:33am score of 1     Anybody reading by now? No? Good, because I need to vent a little. First job ever, at 15 — leaving aside the politics of the issue for a second — was as a clerk in the mailroom of the Bakersfield National Gun Rights Association. Our boss was at least predictable; once a week, he would come out of his office to yell at us and berate us for how we were messing up. Highlights also included receiving a letter in the afternoon from a woman who had had her neighbor and his entire family shot up by a shotgun-toting psycho — all nice and legal. Another nice incident was the receipt of an envelope stuffed full of... literature from a group of Neo-Nazis off in the hills. Cartoons that I thought only existed in history books when they talked about Jim Crow. Violent imagery. The gun issue was settled for me for a long time after that. (My views have since changed a little.) My next job was working in fast food — food service is something I figure everyone should be required to do at some time. I burned my hand in the bun toaster one day — still have the faint scar. And, because I was such the tortured nerd, some people from my peer group (I'd hesitate to call them friends) came by, stopped up the sinks and the toilets in the bathroom, and turned the water on full blast. They sat inside the restaurant and laughed while I mopped. Fuckers. Fast forward to my Silicon Valley career: my first job was at a company in Palo Alto (since deceased) where the CEO lied to us the entire time about the health of the company — so much so that our payroll checks bounced near the end. The actual end came with a Chapter 7 filing. No, not the more humane Chapter 11: Chapter 7, the nuclear bomb of finance where state regulators come by and put padlocks on the doors and start valuing company assets. There were a couple of decent jobs in between (I tend to think of work like Mr. Cranky thinks about movies — the better jobs are only "almost tolerable"), but there was a job at a "rich media" company in San Mateo that set the gold standard for horrible management. 1) used "aggressive accounting" practices before it was cool 2) when the bubble was just beginning to pop, managers would come around and lead entire staff present in humiliating chants of "REVENUE!!" — in an environment where non-work-related activity was penalized 3) as people were working weekends and late nights (there was even a threat to make us come in on Christmas), more humiliating tactics: having employees engage in hula hoop contests. HULA HOOP CONTESTS. Play-Doh modeling contests. (Again, these tended to take people away from work — to therefore meet those elusive REVENUE! goals, yet these were mandatory.) 4) I probably should've taken this as a signal for the future of this misguided career choice that I've made for myself, but us QA people were regularly given the shaft — by engineers whose morale was so low to begin with that they didn't care about unit testing or even writing good code; by managers who didn't understand why it wasn't good policy to have only one engineer on a project, or why testing wasn't served by giving people unrealistically short deadlines. 5) They laid all of Engineering off the day after the Christmas party. Now, there's my present job at a SF dotcom. It's what's become SOP in the Valley now: load your employees with arbitrary decisions, abrasive, hostile management style, and arrogant heavyhandedness until the more disgruntled employees quit, even including managers. What's very important here is not to hire anybody to replace anyone leaving: apportion the duties amongst the remaining employees (even if it's not within their job description), and give no one raises for two years (since I've been with the company 2 years, well, there you go). Blackmail those with kids or H1-B visas. We hired a permanent employee a while ago to replace someone who had actually essential engineering knowledge. This person was actually very lucky — he left after two months because he couldn't stand the management style and he got an offer of guaranteed employment with a startup for a year. So, the Bay Area economy limps along, slowly getting better inch by inch. My wife and I are still hurting, though — I'm desperately hoping she gets a job soon so I can leave like the rest of the lucky ones. There are rumors that executives at my company are incredibly overcompensated — this, in addition to the bare fact that we've been fucked over on our options, is real cause for concern about the company's future health... and I'd rather hit the ground running. "You've got the brain of a four-year-old boy, and I bet he was glad to get rid of it." -- Groucho Marx   [ ...reply just to this | comment on the story... | next new ]