Skip to comments.VANITY: Worse Job you ever had and still didn't "Occupy" anything.
Posted on 10/15/2011 7:31:06 AM PDT by JNRoberts
Watching these narcissists on Wall St. who think I should pay for their college loans, etc. I got to thinking, how come I never occupied or blamed anyone else for my lot in life even when I had the worse most humiliating job known to mankind. A door to door salesman for Trane Air Conditioning.
(Excerpt) Read more at youtube.com ...
I’ll bet it was!
Prisoners had more rights and certainly MANY more creature comforts.
I wonder how surprised Sonny would be if he were alive today to find out he has a son.
I was a forced union member, too. Same deal. Did that for 8 years. Buncha pukes.
Eat Beef/Drink Milk!
Worse? Many fit that description, but here’s my worst:
Placing knife blade blanks on a tray that banged against an oven, moving them along about 10 inches per minute. They fell into a vat of crude oil.
Then I would manually remove the blades from the vat of hot crude oil and stack them neatly.
The room was over 100 degrees most of the time. The clanging was very loud. The furnace was louder. I always went home covered with crude oil and we had to eat lunch on the job because the furnace never stopped.
Oh yeah, $1.65 an hour!
I've had a lot of jobs over the decades. More than one that I disliked enough not to show up again after the first day. I had one that I never came back from the lunch break on day one.
If I was Sr. Program Manager for a Fortune 500 company, that would head my list as the worst job of my life. It's good that there are people who enjoy and are good at that sort of thing.
In this nasty scene, we groped for chickens legs as they stood, blind and helpless in the dim red light. As we grabbed three full grown chickens in each hand, they struggled and beat their wings in an attempt to get free. Rarely, as you lifted the struggling birds above your head to pass them to the person on the truck who put them in the cages, you could feel/hear a leg bone snap.
The chickens weighed about 8 pounds each, so even this scrawny farmboy’s muscles were soon burning and aching with the effort of lifting nearly 50 pounds of struggling chicken above my head to pass to the truck loader every minute or so.
The combination of brutally physical work in the debilitating heat and noxious conditions made this the worst job ever for me.
The beauty of these nasty jobs is that they teach you to want something better.
I hauled timbers inside the pipeline wearing a heavy shirt buttoned to the top, rubber gloves that reached to my elbows and head protection. My face was slathered with a heavy protective salve to help prevent creosote burns that didn't work all that well. Outdoor temperatures reached nearly 100F. daily, and at least 120 degrees inside where I was.
On the plus side the job paid very well for the time and the grub was good and plentiful. While I groused about the work I was glad to have it.
Kudos to you for your optimism. Thanks for reminding me why I love this place.
>>>BUT as bad as it was, I was damn glad to have the job, and considered myself luckier than most. >>>>
You have an attitude of gratitude.
The Occupiers have an attitude of entitlements. Freebies. Give me what I want or I will threaten you. As they chant all about Love. What a bunch of frauds.
Basically, as a janitor at a SUBSIDIZED HOUSING PROJECT at age 16 to help my parents pay the mortgage because my father, while still employed, he didn’t get paid for a year because the company he worked for wasn’t making any money. He stuck with his company until it turned around in the early 80’s. My mother had a measly secretary’s salary. We never asked for welfare and never missed a payment on the house.
I enlisted in the Army at age 17, came back, paid for college with National Guard income and also paid my parents’ utilities while I lived in the house. I was “rich”! I have only taken loans to buy cars or homes. I have never carried a credit card balance.
I volunteered for Active Duty as often as I could and my civilian employer always supported me. I retired at age 39 and have stuck with my civilian employer through the Obama depression, taking a 20% paycut. I also run a second business which pays for the house which will be paid for in 5 years.
And when I pay off my house I’m going to buy a freakin’ sailboat whether the marxists like it or not.
I was one of the elves in the mall Christmas Santa setup one year. I had to wrangle the crying and puking children and their irate parents.
I needed the money for Christmas presents, ironically LOL.
Never had a job I didn’t like (guess I’m lucky):
Lawn Care (mowed lawns) (about the same years) $1-$2 a lawn
Bowling Score Keeper (10 through 16) about $4 a night - $60-$80 a month
Summer Hire Cal Div Forestry - Firefighter - 17 and 18 years old - $300 a month or so (HARD work)
Newspaper Mailroom and District Advisor - $2.50 to $4 an hour (1973 to 1976)
Night accountant at Coca Cola - $4 an hour plus deep discount on Coke product (1976 - 1977)
Air Force Weather 1977-97 - Career
Weather Observer in Galena, Alaska 97-2006 ($35 an hour plus room and board)
Pick up clerk/garden dept at Orchard Supply Hardware - $8 an hour (really loved this job but had to leave when wife became disabled)
Weather Observer in King Salmon, Alaska 2008 - 2010 ($30 an hour plus room and board
Current - Meteorological tech, National Weather Service, King Salmon Alaska - GS-10
Min. wage @ that time was 2.10/hr (1974-75) at that time I think. Oilfield trucks can get mighty dirty and they have many, many grease fittings!
Too many “at that times”....Doh!
I did that in the late 60's (I was 10 years old then) and the early 70's on my Uncle's farm. 50 cents per hour.
I would be at the farm at 5:15 am, open the Milk House and prep. At 5:30 we would start letting the cows in. Done by 8:30 AM and then join the crew out in the field to bail hay.
At 5:15 PM I would be back at the Milk House to start the milking process all over again and then home by 9:30 PM.
Like I said, 50 cents pet hour but at that age and time I was in heaven with all that cash.
My Worst Job
I was 16 years old. I was hired as a Bus-Boy for a steak house which was close to home in suburbia, Long Island. That doesn't sound so bad, you say...
Well, let me tell you. My hours were 4:30 pm till When-ever. The whenever was when the Russian owner told me I could go home. For starters, I would have to prepare to go to work. That meant I would come home from school and iron my outfit, which included a crisp white shirt, black dress pants, vest, and tie.
When I arrived at the restaurant I was second to lowest man on the totem pole. The only one lower was the Mexican (alien) dishwasher. He washed everything by hand. He didn't speak a lick of English.
My hourly rate was something far less than minimum wage. I was told the waiters would tip me at the end of the night. They would, but, I assure you, they gave me very little. They were all thieves. I had to fill the water for strangers and empty their ash trays.
Not so bad, you say? Well, I had to hear every complaint the stranger-customers had. It was my job to report back to the chef. The chef was a pot smoking nut job. He once told me to go down into the basement to get him a live lobster? When I didn't move fast enough he, literally, kicked me in the ass!
Still not so bad? When the last diner left the building, it was my job to clean up. That meant every table (there were about 20 tables). I had to throw out the garbage into the dumpster. Now, here's the best part...I had to vacuum the entire diningg room!
Most times, I would get home by 4:00 am and have to go to school in a few hours. It was the job from hell!
Lastly, the owner had me do something strange every night that I didn't realize was extremely dangerous until after I quit... Can you guess what it was? I doubt it. Right before we would leave for the night (usually around 4:00 am, the obnoxious Ruskie would hand me his keys and have me go out into the dark to start his Mercedes. It seemed innocent enough to me until I thought about it about a year later.
P.S., I lasted at that dump for about two weeks. I quit and never looked back. I always felt that job was an eye opener for me and I have never forgotten the lessons learned from that experience.
Cleaning the bathrooms and scraping chewing gum off the dance floor of a waterfront disco (The Mad Hatter) in Boston for $2.00 an hour.
Bicycle Messenger (straight 50/50 commission)
Lead Singer and manager of a traditional Blues Band touring New England before Blues became popular again. (the Door and perhaps tips)
Cleaning people’s houses.
Trying to sell skin care products by giving people free facials, and then having them not buy anything.
Selling Timeshares in a Florida Resort that was 22MILES from the Beach!
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