Pajiba

The Natatorium -- our city's pool/gym/indoor track/indoor water slide. I was the bitch who had to clean the locker rooms, which meant literally cleaning shit off the floor and having to look at old man balls. I had to check the ph and chlorine levels in the pool, so my eyes and skin were always burning. I had to wipe off the exercise equipment a dozen times a day. By the end of the day I smelled like either cleaning fluids, chlorine, shit or some odd combination of all three. I didn't get paid for shit and I wasn't permited to do anything to occupy my time when it was slow, so I was always mind-numbingly bored.

On the upside? I was in high-school and the pool was filled with half-naked, wet 16 year old girls all day long. Sooooooo, yeah I worked there for years.

STEAKS, Larson, STEAKS

Yes, of course I've eaten at Bonanza. Sure, it was twenty-five years ago, but I liked it! How sophisticated are a ten year old's tastes anyway?

"Sales Coordinator" for a company that sold software to contractors.

My dream job on paper turned out to be for a guy whose management techniques appeared to have been learned from Stalin. He formally complained to HR that I didn't respect him because I didn't cower in fear when he yelled at me. He refused to allow coverage for contraceptive pills in our health plan and had a raging tantrum whenever any female exec became pregnant yelling at HR that no more women were to be hired ever. He would scream at me daily that I was a "fucking waste of his time and did a fucking shitty job" and then asked me to assist HR in writing the formal justification (use of abusive language) for firing an employee who had the temerity to write "how the hell can you run the stock into the ground" in an email. Shall I go on?
I should also mention that this was a Fortune 500 company and everybody mentioned here was an experienced professional. HR never lifted a finger to censure him or curb his bahvior in any way.

Worst job? Nothing beats the soul-suck of temping. Spend eight hours a day doing work that should be done by somebody else who is a. sick or injured, b. out of town doing something fun or good for their career, or c. looking to pawn their work off on an underemployed stiff with no other options, i.e. you. Few things inspire more misanthropy than the revelation that you are doing the work of people who not only should be doing it their goddamn selves, but that they also have job security and benefits like health insurance, while your sorry ass has to fork over hundreds of dollars in COBRA payments every month just for the privilege of not having a pre-existing condition.

Once I was assigned a job at my old university(which I was informed would be only clerical work)and I was told to leave work early, go to a costume shop, rent a pirate costume, and wear it to work the next morning to publicize a lecture one of the Underwater Science professors was going to give on the pirate ship he'd just excavated. I got the boots, pantaloons, jacket, hat, saber, the whole nine yards, and was sent out the next day to hand out flyers to unsuspecting university students. Interestingly, because it was mid-February, a lot of students thought I was George Washington, I guess because of Presidents' Day.

The kicker: I had to go drop off flyers around the Anthropology Department, my old major, and parade in front of all my professors. Walking punchline? Yes. Yes I was.

Kennel attendant at the local vet's. I was responsible for cleaning out the cages, walking and feeding the dogs, and sometimes bathing the dogs. Some of which were bigger than me. I never got bitten and I never had a dog run off on me or anything like that, but dear god, the whole back room smelled like wet dog and shit and it was really sad seeing both the sick animals back there and the dogs and cats that were constantly being boarded or had been abandoned. They were pretty much stuck living in tiny cages, getting walks and attention twice a day from a high schooler who barely had time to get the bare basics done, let alone give all the animals the kind of attention they deserved.

Two words: Commercial Laundry.
You would not believe how restaurant tablecloths and napkins become ungodly filthy, vile, stinking piles of rotted, moldy food that fester for days before being returned to the laundry. They smell like death and the odor clings to you and your memory. You cram them into giant industrial washing machines and then fight the wet, tangled mess out of the machine and stick it in an industrial dryer.
You do this, over and over, for twelve hour shifts with a thirty minute lunch break.
Awesome.
But it's not ALL napkins and tablecloths!
You also get towels, bed linens and bathrobes from hotels and hospitals. God only knows what you're handling there.
Yeah, three months of that and I went back to college.

And then there was the first job I had out of college, working for a Chinese-owned homebuilder.

My Chinese boss there was a yeller, too -- he yelled at everyone that crossed his path, from me to everyone in our department to the guys out in the field to the subcontractors who worked for us and couldn't say anything about it because they wanted to keep our business.

He used to drag the entire department into meetings that lasted hours so that he could embarrass those who didn't do their work on time. Instead of firing them, he would make us all go around the table and give a minute-by-minute account of what we'd worked on that day -- all so that he could publicly yell at the one guy who actually hadn't done his job.

One day, in one of those meetings, he asked me to run down my day. I recited all of the things I'd worked on and how long I'd spent on them and ended with, "And then I spent two hours in this meeting."

Everyone started snickering and he just about blew his top. The funny thing is that I hadn't meant it as a jab -- I just wanted to give an accurate account of how my time was being spent, and a good deal of it was being wasted in these meetings.

After that, everyone took up the call and added "spent two hours in this meeting" to their list of accomplishments for the day.

A few months later, I got headhunted and took a new job for twice the money (boy, they were totally shafting me and I didn't even know it) and just a fraction of the yelling.

-A nanny for rich New Yorkers who have too much money and decide to have children to use as fashion accessories. Working 50+ hour weeks for insanely rich people who required me to wear a uniform of black and white because it matched the house, never put the infant down (even while cooking or in the bathroom) because they were doing Attachment Parenting, asked me what birth control I was using because they didn't want me to get pregnant and leave, and travel with their family over Christmas and New Year's while the parents went out partying every night and I stayed with three children in a bungalow who told me they had had a total of twelve nannies before me and they had a different one for the week, weekend and holidays. The money wasn't worth it.

-Working at a farm-themed birthday party place and having to dress up like a giant pink pig with a head I talked out of. Inside the building was fine, but I was expected to hand out flyers on the street. I'm a 5'4 woman and apparently people think men are the ones who do the job because I'd get shoved and punched on the sidewalk by fully grown men and I had no peripheral vision because my "head" would shift.

-Hostessing/bussing tables in New York during brunch in one of the biggest cities in the world. Brunch is life to these people, and if there's a wait then God help you.

-Working retail in high school at Old Navy, Levi Strauss and Osh Kosh B'Gosh. Feet hurt, never wanted to fold, and you could never sit down.

Hey, Adam, I used to sub, too, and you're right: it's God-awful. It's so bad I can't even crack any jokes about it.

I subbed a total of five times (although one of those jobs was a two-week stint) in Long Beach (in all of the ghettoest schools). For three years afterwards, I still had recurring nightmares about screaming at the top of my lungs at an unruly class of middle-schoolers to no effect.

*shudders*

My job right now, unfortunately.
I am an intern in pediatrics at the county hospital, and all day long I see tons of abused kids. Plus, the call sucks. I fell asleep standing up against the nurse's station counter last night.
Anyone who wants to argue that a tired doctor is safer than switching between doctors with shorter shifts is an idiot.
I know it will get better, but some days just seem like an eternity.

I think I was lucky growing up though, I worked in retail but it wasnever as bad as some of these horror stories!

When I worked for MHMR (Mental Health and Mental Retardation) - I worked with people who were developmentally disabled and with behavioral problems. Some were profoundly disabled and some were just mildly disabled but with serious behavior problems (some were prone to hurting themselves while others were prone to hurting others). Ask me how awesome it was when one of my charges gave me a black eye and multiple bite-shaped bruises (would have been actual bites if not for my thick shirt) the day before valentines day one year. This was of course after myself and another staff member had driven him and several other high functioning residents to ANOTHER CITY to go to a basketball game as a special treat.

After that glamorous job, did you become a vegetarian, cewing?

Seriously. I would think dealing with all of that dead flesh would put you off of eating meat.

Have you ever been in a mascot suit? It's a mental depravity. It's a psychological mind-fuck the likes of a sensory deprivation tank. It's a bizarre psychedelic trip. It's a freeing, moving, gripping experience. It's nirvana. It's hell.

I was the Easter bunny at our mall. A beacon of truth, and joy to the youth of the world. A symbol of sacrifice, rebirth, and second chances. The one who ushers us from the doldrums of the winter to the quiet, joyful anxiety of the spring. This was a responsibility I, and foolishly I might add, I thought I could handle.

But a mascot suit, oh lord a task greater than believed. There are mental effects, physical effects, and once you come out the other side, well, I'm not sure I'm the same...

First you lose your face. Once you put on the mask, you as you know it ceases to exist to the outside world. Gone is the face you know. You're left only with a physical identity, one you don't personalize with, but is the only viewable communication you have to the outside world. In place, you become, a cowboy bear; a baseball-headed humanoid; a 9 ft tall rabbit, who sneaks into your house and leaves eggs, and jelly beans.

Next comes the radical shift in interaction, i.e. communication. You have no voice and no facial expression. You are left only with body language, accented by your new, alien body. People approach, and you can wave, cover your mouth screen in a faux laugh, or place your hands on your hips in disproval. There is also shake the finger, the "thinker" (a hand on the chin, elbow on the knee maneuver.), the shoulder shrug, and skip to my loo. Don't ask.

The suit is also hot, hot, holy fucking christ, sweating buckets hot. After two weeks, 5 employees, the other four being excessively overweight, trailer-wives, and only two costumes, this excessive heat began to produce an odor.

It was 30 days of hell, at a great wage for a teenager doing something because it would be hilarious to talk about later. It's not funny now. It hurt. It hurt me. I'm different now.

I once left a perfectly good job to make a few extra bucks at a competitor. I became a manager in a claims office,responsible for 7 "people". I used quotation marks because I had 2 regular employees, 2 temps, and 3 empty desks but 7 inventories of work. They dragged their feet on hiring anyone else and left me to do all the extra work.

I would work from 7am to 5pm every day, then go home to exercise and eat, only to return at 7:30p and work to midnight every night. The only thing that kept me going was a small TV with a VCR that we used for training videos. I could tape my shows and listen to them while I worked. When my boss discovered this, however, she began to lock the TV in her office every night.

I received no performace evaluation for a year. However, when I went on vacation for a week, my boss elected to write my review the same week and put me on written warning for the work that had accumulated on my desk and the 3 empty desks WHILE I HAD BEEN ON VACATION.

The lettuce on this sh*t sandwich is that I met a woman there who became my wife.....and who subsequently tormented me for the next 10 years! At least, both job and ex are a long ways away now and life is pretty good these days.

My career path has led me through a virtual minefield of jobs that the UN would classify as inhumane. It wasn't out of some personal masochistic need for occupational abuse so much as if I needed a a job and all that was on the menu was lousy, I might as well pick the ones that paid the best- if for no other reason than to put something in my pocket while I looked for the next one.

Tops on the list would have to go to the summer of cleaning out port-a-potties. However bad you might have as a preconceived notion regarding this job, it cannot possibly hold a candle to the reality. I'm not sure what was worse- having the stink of human waste that had been festering in the hot August heat permeate every cell of your body, or the blue dyed chemical that was supposed to neutralize it but instead made your sinuses involuntarily open up all the way while you attempt to clean in out with a crusty wet-vac. I also found that not only were men like Stevie Wonder with Parkinson's when it came to hitting the mark, it seems women are afflicted with the same problem (either that or they all insist on "hovering" while trying to use these things).

The two worst occasions included the aftermath of a ribfest where thanks to a group effort it looked like Jabba the Hutt was squatting in there and the second was just after a NASCAR race where every last one had been filled and then tipped over. I quit right after that. On the plus side, I have no qualms about cleaning my own bathroom and I can change any diaper like a battle tested veteran.

PS- Mike Rowe is a little Nancy.

Lonestar steakhouse and saloon. I saw things in that kitchen that I thought happened American restaurants. NEVER. EVER. EVER eat there. EVER.

The last job I did (working as a data entry clerk at an electrical contractor's firm) was the straw the broke the camel's back, and convinced me to go back to further education in the hopes of breaking the tedious/infuriating/soul-crushing cycle of odious office work I had found myself in. Here's an example of one of the blogs I wrote while working there:

"It'll come as no surprise to most of you to learn that some of my coworkers (well, alright, all of them with the exception of two) get on my nerves from time to time. But one of them in particular manages to wind me up on a constant basis, and usually without even being in the room. The reason is, this person is loud. Really loud. And she absolutely will not stop talking - ever. I'm amazed she gets any work done. Shit, I'm amazed she even finds time to draw breath. Every moment with her in the building is a long, unbroken stream of words, words produced at deafening volumes, words connected only tangentially to any apparent thought process, randomly jitterbugging from topic to topic in a bewildering display of verbal gymnastics. If she's not talking, she's making loud whooping noises. If she's not doing that, she's laughing raucously, an ear-splitting screech that sounds like a blend of the Wicked Witch of the West and your auntie that gets drunk on brandy at Christmas and sets about offending everyone within earshot. If she's not chattering, whooping or cackling, she'll sometimes be (literally) jumping up and down on the spot, sometimes clapping, anything as long as it makes a noise.

It's as though she's compelled by some subconscious urge to make her presence blatantly known at all times, lest she fade away like smoke into the ether. She is the enemy of silence, the nemesis of calm. And she's utterly unaware of how incredibly irritating it all is, too. I mean, I've been known to get carried away on subjects I'm passionate about, and continue talking just past the point where anyone is interested. The difference is, I can usually spot the signs that I'm beginning to bore my audience, and at that point, cut myself short or change the subject. This co-worker, however, doesn't have that level of awareness. She will just blather on and on and on, until all around (because her voice literally carries around the entire ground floor of the building, so even if you're not directly involved in the conversation, you're still subjected to at least her side of it - which will consist of 90% of the dialogue anyway) are fantasising about stabbing her in the throat with a biro just to make it stop.

While I've been writing the last three paragraphs, she's yelled 'HELLLLOOO!' at someone in another room who couldn't answer her because they were on the phone, said the name 'Harold Lloyd' so many times that despite not knowing who Harold is, I still want to punch the fucker in the balls, blathered on about Red Dwarf and old children's TV programmes, clapped, whooped, and finally, just this second, strode out of the room (I'm convinced that she only wears high heels because then even her footsteps will make a noise ten times louder than anyone else's)."

Sorry for the double-post, but seriously, I hated that fucking place. Here's another one of my blogs from there:

"Here's a small list of things that I would rather be doing right now than sitting at work, solemnly punching holes in periodic inspection reports and placing them in ring-binders;

- Repeatedly and energetically slamming my testicles in a drawer.

- Sitting in a small, featureless cell with all the walls painted black, tripping balls on LSD, with nothing but a powerful strobe light and a copy of 'The Birdy Song' playing on repeat for company.

- Tapdancing blindfolded on a Kosovan minefield.

- Being given an energetic full-body massage by Mike Tyson, using a cheese-grater.

- Watching the '2 Girls, 1 Cup' video on the internet again (if you don't know what that is, believe me - you're one of the lucky, unscarred few. Don't bother to Google it - you live a happier existence for remaining ignorant)

- Manually stimulating a bull's genitals for the purposes of artificial insemination.

- Being eaten alive by a colony of fire ants.

- Watching 'Alone In The Dark' (yes, it's that bad).

- Acting as O.J. Simpson's defence lawyer (and keeping a straight face the whole time)."

I did a three month stint working custom framing at a Michaels that I'm convinced has knocked years off my life. Don't get me wrong: I loved working framing. I took immense pride in my work, especially when I had to join the frames myself, cut the mats and glass, and mount everything properly. I loved working with open minded customers who wanted their art not only properly protective but attractive as well.

No, the problem was two-fold: a bitchy co-worker and the customers who took their rage at the world out at me.

First, the bitchy co-worker is why I quit. She was mad that when the store was opening, I was asked to be the manager of the framing department by the corporate instructor with no prior experience. She began changing my orders so they never fit together properly, and when that stopped working, would re-open my frame jobs to damage the artwork and junk up the mats so I would be yelled at. She eventually threw a bottle of a powerful solvent onto my work clothes, physically laid her hands on me, and screamed at me until I cried. I never walked back into that Michaels again. The bitch is still working there, and she's done that to many of my friends who picked up work in the framing department for extra money in a creative job.

Second, the customers from hell. One bitch told me I should have never been born because I didn't have the proper off-white colored mat for her black art work. Another told me I was, without a doubt, the single worst person in history because she handed me a torn photograph, signed off on the note saying the photo was torn, then told my manager I forged her signature and never pointed out the damage. Bitch, your picture was torn right in half when you put it on the counter. Get it together. These are the nicer vicious customers. Some would get violent; others would throw things; still others would destroy my tools.

Even with all that, I dream of opening my own custom frame shop with affordable, sustainable framing materials at a budget price. I know: I'm crazy.

Delurking again to mention that I am currently sitting at my desk at my possibly worst job ever.

Luckily it's a 10 month fellowship and I just hit the 1/2 way mark. I work roughly 10-12 hours a day, teach middle schoolers (about 90 at a time for 2-3 hours a day) and then get verbally berated by my boss. He has told me that I have no heart for this job and am utterly useless, even though I'm always doing damage control for him, because he is a grade A douchebag and no one wants to work with him. So I'm sitting alone, in this office building, while he's been in the office for a total of 30 minutes. I also rarely get lunch breaks, when I do take an hour lunch, I'm told I'm unprofessional and insubordinate.

Bottom line, I really don't think things can get worst than this job. It is the epitome of thankless jobs. (Especially when the local paper has this huge article about all the fantastic work he's doing, and yet doesn't mention me or the other person in the office at all.) I'm just being a bitter self-righteous bitch because his 6 year old son told me that his daddy thinks we (myself and the 1 other employee) don't do any work. I'm too young for this shit.

Travel coordinator for The Ricki Lake show. I've never had to work with such rude, ignorant, and dysfunctional people before in my life... and don't get me started on the guests ;).

Seriously, the things you create are just extensions of yourself, and those producers created such a vile product. It's a long story, but I ended up being fired because of an illiterate super model.

Let's see...While I'm sure it doesn't sound as bad on the surface as some of these, I once worked a summer in the basement of a large accounting firm, reorganizing their filing system. The basement has a really nice big sign reminding you to put on your mask, since the air wasn't "clean". I got a dust mask, but I'm fairly certain that lovely sign didn't mean a dust mask, but a full-on respirator. I worked 8 hours a day in there, and I would get severe headaches that never went away, even on weekends. I didn't get the smell out of my hair until about 4 days after I quit, and I ended up throwing out any clothes I had worn to work, since even repeated washings with all kinds of detergent wouldn't get rid of the smell.

For a completely different kind of unpleasantness, I once worked (temping!) at a residential detox facility- the kind you get court-ordered to go to. No one was there willingly, and I had to lock myself in my office every day.

i worked at a group home with mentally retard adults. interesting, difficult at times, but i definitely learned some skills in dealing with corporate america.

the low point though: taking the retarded folks bowling, and getting the lowest score, and having them all point and laugh at me.

ok, maybe it's not the worst job. i'm laughing now just thinking about it!

J Stride, I would love to hear that story!

The only thing that kept My Summer Working at a Daycare Center from being the worst job ever (kids peeing on the floor! Kids fighting/hitting/biting each other! Having to stand outside in the heat while they played!) was the absolute love and adoration I got from the kids.

That said, a kid did scratch me so hard she drew blood once. That wasn't a good day.

In high school I got a job with a company that described it initially as "chemical reclamation". Basically I would drive a truck to various vets and farms and pick up dead animals for processing. I one time dropped a big ball of frozen cats unloading the truck and spent the next two or three hours picking up kitty bits.

Worst job though for me was when I was deployed on a carrier and I got stabbed by my command to deliver Red Cross notices to my division after Katrina hit. I will never forgive or forget the spineless pieces of shit that dropped that job on the lap of a fucking E-5.

Haha Bar and Grill for four months followed by (name unmentionable due to crimes comitted there ) for Six months
Haha was like Sarah's own experiences, I started out shuffling heavy piles of plates back and forth despite having a cracked wrist which while not splinted was heavily and visibly strapped. One part of the restaurant was built into an old Dock building. THE ONE WHERE THEY USED TO PUT THE SLAVES IN BETWEEN TRANSPORT TO AMERICA AND SALE IN ENGLAND.
The bar part of the bar wasn't a pre existing building; some genius threw up two glass walls and an aluminium ceiling between two brick sided walls which had previously served as a wind funnel for the sheltered dock, so the boats wouldnt rock too much while moored. Since I was great on bar, I was constantly assigned there, desipte the uniform rules disallowing any kind of vest or sweater under your work shirt, and my suffering with anaemia, which makes me highly sensitive and susceptible to cold, and my repeated requests to be MOVED OFF BAR. We had what amounted to arctic winds blowing through the place in the winter and for a lot of the summer ( it is britain) and I wasn't even allowed to wear a cardigan.
I was injured probably a half dozen times there, small ones, but ones that left permanent scars. The dish room was the worst, the floor was constantly, CONSTANTLY slick with grease, which we would have to walk through while carrying piles of plates and glasses. Thanks to more uniform requirements, we couldnt wear most kinds of shoe leaving us with ballet pumps or canvas plimsolls which would soak the grease up like a sponge, meaning most nights when i went home I had to remove my shoes and socks and wash my feet of dirty grease from countless meals, downstairs, before even heading upstairs (carpet plus no shoes rule)
One day, a chef was almost killed when wiring in an metal oven came lose. He touched the oven and got electrocuted. I was convinced the manager, Lisa, hated me. Like, had a specific dislike of me personally, then dismissed it as me being paranoid.
Eventually, I landed a sweet(or so I thought...) job in an office. As I was leaving HaHa, the rest of the staff(who where actually lovely people) came up and said their goodbyes, then told me they couldnt believe the grace with which i'd handled Lisa. I was confused until they pointed out they'd ALL noticed her pointed and sourceless hatred of me, but had admired how i'd ignored it and just gotten on with work.
Then came (name unmentionable due to crimes comitted there..by me)
This joint should have been a sweet gig. I was 22 and being paid 1000 a month (I still live at home so no rent etc) to work completely alone 9-5 in an office/store from monday to friday. I, admittedly, spent a lot of my time there on the internet, drinking the coffee and not working.
The only frequent work I did have to do was the occasional printing job.
Depending on the job, I stole the shit out of their money. Like, for real, I probably got a grand or more in cash from jobs they couldnt trace due to the machinery used. That's why I wont name the joint.
Both the bosses, a frighteningly ugly couple with an inexplicably adorable kid, where fucking awful time keepers. I mean really terrible. So occasionally, had a habit of assigning long winded and difficult tasks with a fraction of the time required. I'd be asked to compile a list of EVERY eco friendly school in the UK. Then, go back through the list and find the names of EVERY INDIVIDUAL HEAD MASTER AND ALL THE POSSIBLE CONTACT INFORMATION FOR EACH SCHOOL.
In a week.
Or planning the christmas party for monday, including entertainment, and being told about it on the friday, late afternoon.
I executed said party and was left, alone, the next day, to clear up the food and booze.

The office was freezing and had an inadequate heating system, but I wasnt allowed to keep my coat on or bring some form of heating with me to work, and the boss once dared to ask why I didnt take medication for my anaemia. I all but smacked her and had to fight not to yell YOU CANT FEEL THE COLD BECAUSE YOU'RE A FATTY FAT FATTY. I wasn't allowed to lock the door despite the CRACK DENS not five minutes down the road. Instead I was told to fix the doorbell to tone when someone came in, in case I was out of sight.

My first day, the office laptop died a death. I offered my own, temporarily, so we could work, and was told to use my personal e-mail address to send messages too and from the factory, until I could get on the work system. Then I was yelled at for being on my hotmail account. Before I got given my new one. Once, I hit my head and was concussed, but when I phoned my boss to ask if I could close early and go to the hospital, she acted like i'd said i was taking a week off to shit in her Grandmas mouth.
The end came when over a 12 day period I was called on to plan two major events, one an exhibition/bbq to celebrate green day (it was an eco friendly printing company)
I was told of the BBQ, once again, on the monday, to execute for the friday. I had to get artists to display work, and secure a chef who'd work for CASH TAKEN ON THE DAY, an amount we couldnt guarantee.
In the end I charmed a chef from a local 4 star hotel, a man who'd been on a TV cooking show and won the highest score ever, then basically begged a handful of artists to provide work. Most of those who promised too, didnt turn up and I ended up, an hour before the event, running around the city to any and all artistic location and begging people to loan us something.
This on a day when that morning I'd failed my driving test, due to nothing more than stress from the job.
I had told my boss I had to leave that day 5.30 to catch a train, on the monday when she told me about the event, and she had the gall to yell at me for not giving her much notice. Once again, come the following monday I was left alone to clean up the stinking three day old rotten food(It was the middle of a hot summer)
The following thursday we did it all again, and once again, I near enough had a stroke trying to organise everything for a networking event.
The wednesday following I was fired for not satisfying my bosses needs.
The store has been closed ever since, six months and counting.

Oh BTW, Pajibites, Nieve TOTALLY used to be a Madam for a Strip Club AND I'M NOT LYING EVEN A TINY BIT

At an assembly line in a BMW factory. Not only was this every kind of boring, but I also had to work in shifts, which left me bone tired after the 6 weeks I had to work there. I swore to myself that I'd never take on a job again that'd have working in shifts.

Working food service for a very popular theme park in Ohio the summer after graduating high school. They'd have me stand at a Dippin' Dots stand for 15 hours straight with one 45 minute break all day, in 95 degree heat. Every time the sun set behind the stand the back of my legs would burn.

oh, so many crappy jobs, so many bad memories:

-the job at Carls Jr. (like McDonalds) where I worked midnight cleanup and the managers would sit in their cars outside and watch to see if it looked like we were playing any music while we scrubbed out the salad bar...it was like the plot of Footloose! If we danced or looked like we were enjoying ourselves AT ALL we were fired.

-the summer as a maid in college, where I was informed that it took me 3 minutes longer than the rest of the maids to clean a room. I explained that being 5 feet tall, I couldn't lean over to make a queen or king bed, I had to scamper around to each side. Stony silence and disbelief was my reward. I was timed every day. No stress there.

-but the worst job ever was in my chosen profession, as a corporate librarian. I took a job that I was told would give me greater responsibility. What is was, was TWO jobs combined into one. Each job had equal weight, and frequently the two positions collided and I had to decide which job to do first. No matter what I chose to do, I was told it was the wrong choice. They also lied to me about my hours, I ended up working 10 hour days, no overtime, and no matter how much I did, I was hauled into the chief admin office weekly to be berated for "not meeting the exacting standards of the firm". I lasted three months, and developed an anxiety disorder I am still dealing with 5 years later. Oh, and 5 years later, they still haven't found a person to fill that job more than six months at a time. Exacting standards my ass.

Selling plastic flip-flops during the summer. And putting them on people's feet. Eww.

While we're on the subject of shit jobs, I'd just like to announce that tomorrow is my last day at my latest shit job- a clerk at a large law firm. I'm kind of anxious because I don't have anything else lined up yet, but to hell with it, I'm done with helping banks foreclose on churches and pill-popping, bitchy paralegals who have less education than me.

Hopefully within the next few months me and my Little Degree That Could will show underemployment what it feels like to be anally raped. Drinks all around!

The loss of anonymity due to the recent Pajiba-Facebook collision prevents me from being open about this one. But if you ever meet me in person, buy me a beer, and I'll tell you all about it. I'll enjoy reading the above stories, though.

Hi worst jobs Hoo-yeah

After uni I worked in Nando's. I never made it out of the trainer t-shirt as I was only working there for 6 months to save up because I was studying abroad, as a result the wierd looking assistant manager wouldnt let me become a full employee. Like I cared it was the same pay either way. For some reason I got stuck on toilet cleaning duty for a whole month, the final straw came when I went into the mens toilets and some dude had had diarrhea in a URINAL! I had to clean that shit up. I wore about 15 bin bags and threw bleach at the situation from the doorway. After that I told my boss not to ever put me on toilets again.

Worked in a cafe doing 50 hours a week Mon to Fri and was teaching drama to kids on saturdays so I had one day a week to have a life. I did 2 hours in the mornings making the food, 8 hours serving it in a cafe with no air con and a kitchen smaller than soap dish. I was made an unofficial manager and was basically left in charge oh and tax was being taken out of pay check but was going into the owners pockets then they started just taking random amounts of money out of our paychecks and blamed it on account problems. The last straw was when the day great uncle died and the owner kicked off on me for not being 'Here' enough during the day and not smiling enough at the three customers we had, I held my piece and told myself she would be on hol in a day or two, finally she and her boyf, the co-owner, went to Italy and left no contact details and any instructions leaving me and the two other girls who worked there to deal with everthing then when they got back I was screamed at for...well I still dont know anyway I told her she should have at least left a contact number or put someone in charge she told me to shut up, I asked her what was going on with my tax and she said 'We are a small business and need to cut corners' I quit on the spot, I dont have time to list the rest of the crap I put up with before I reached the end of my tether, it was just...awful.

I worked in retail and it was gah, awful plus I had a nightmare boss and she was insane! and incredibly racist towards my co-worker a british-jamacian girl who suffered from juvenile arthritis, and whenever her joints flared up made her do the most awful, fiddly jobs that she just couldnt do! I always swapped with her and we would get in trouble but Jeez the girl couldnt use her fingers!

Worked in an office for a raging alcoholic who had the police called on him more than once due to his anger issues and violence owards the office. He screamed at me once and was so angry I thought he would actually hit me. Then there was his assistant who was an evil, snide, liberal, wannabe 'deep emo goth' tit who was take out all her boyfriend frustations on me and attempt to cuss me out but thanks to her misplaced tongue bar just lisped a lot. She went out of her way to make me miserable (lying about jobs she wanted done, deleting things I had done, constantly changing her mind and blaming me, blaming me if anything in the office went wrong) The job was fairly high powered and stressful and at the time I had just moved to a new city, didnt know anyone very well and was struggling with money, but then it got so bad and stressful that a small, tiny, bothered me once a year if that, heart murmur I have always had turned into a full on stressed caused arythmia that I still have to take medication to control. I can sometimes have the attacks up to five times a day (my heart skips beats)and I get panic induced attacks, sometimes its like having a heart attack. I dont feel stressed according to my doc I get 'physical manifestations of stress'

Yes I did manage a Hostess Bar (stripper) Ok I might have been a Madam-But I never danced or stripped. I did have to watch the nude dancers and make sure the guys didnt touch the girls. Plus I had to sell ridunkulously priced champagne to the guys that ended up down the drain....I can elaborate on the secrets of stippers at a later date. It was an ok job but my boss had a stroke and took early retirement plus he was an old perv and my day office was a sex shop backroom with all the kinky shit.

oh and I did a daytime chat show that was on the same channel as a night time sex show so I had my fair share of guys trying to masturbate down the phone only to be told 'this is a daytime chat show if you want sex talk call the night girls their show starts at 10pm' My onscreen name was CeCe and I always ended up getting asked advice by transvestites.

I had two worst jobs ever. The worst one physically was when I was 16 years old and I waited tables at Shoney's Big Boy. It was a lot like Sarah's experience with Bonanza, with terrible scheduling, lousy tips, and psychotic cooks. I quit there when I wrecked my car going home after a marathon shift on Black Friday. I wasn't injured, but the car was totaled and I had no transportation to work and back. I was only there about 3 months, but it left me with an abiding respect for wait staff. That's some of the hardest work I have ever done. Needless to say, I tip well.

The other worst job was after I became an RN. I had worked for several years on a cardiac step-down unit, which was a regular hospital floor with telemetry monitoring capacity. I thought I wanted to be a crital care (ICU) nurse. So I transferred to the cardiac care unit for critical care experience. The job was a terrible fit. I think I had been on a floor too long to really adapt to the ICU environment. Also, the staff were an insular, closed little group that never accepted me. I know that sounds needy and sad on my part, but teamwork is essential in that environment. After a while, they only spoke to me when they had to about my patients. I felt like the invisible nurse. I didn't realize how much the situation weighed on me until the unit manager called me in to tell me I wasn't working out, and that I would have to transfer out of the ICU. I burst into tears and said I wanted out, and would work anywhere else in the hospital. I said I could have been a good ICU nurse, but I felt like I never got a chance. I think the bosses were relieved that I didn't fight the transfer. I transferred out to pulmonary/respiratory floor where I worked a lot harder, but was a lot happier. Several months later, I got a letter from one of the ICU nurses I had worked with apologizing for the way they had treated me. I think her apology proved to me that I wasn't crazy, that they were actively blackballing me. Ever since that experience, I have described the choice to go to the ICU as the second worst decision of my life, getting married being the worst. Yeah, I guess I'm still a little bitter.

I told you she was a Madam.

@ redhead
I too know the pain of inbound call centres. I work for a class action administration firm handling the Indian Residential School settlement in Canada.
Stories of children being raped and beaten by priests/nuns/teachers/other students are an almost daily occurrence. Sometimes I'm told I'm personally responsible for it.
I've been called everything under the sun, heard people sob into the phone describing the hell they went through as children and how it's affected their lives ever since. Some pretty heavy shit. Then they scream at me because I can't tell them how much longer the researchers will take before they make a decision.
I'm pretty jaded about what I hear and I'm pretty good at not taking it personally, but the corporate bullshit behind it all is soul-sucking.
I get paid really well though, which is why I'm still there....sigh.

Ouch, some of these stories sound really frightful and I'm just going to sound like a whiny ass.

But...worst job for me was teaching high school Spanish. This might be a great job for someone else but I LOATHED it. I had a B.A. in English with a minor in Spanish--had taken no classes in Education. So I was not only inexperienced but undereducated for the job.

I had more 9th graders than anything. Fourteen-year olds are heinous and cruel. I was only about 23 at the time and probably looked only 16 myself. They ate me alive. My two Spanish I classes (teeming with freshmen) were right before and right after lunch. I was physically ill every day at lunch from the stress of being between those classes. I also ate very little for breakfast because of being stressed about having to go to work. I lost 25 pounds that year without trying because I was so sick.

What's really sad is it's not like it was some tough inner city school. It was a suburban Baptist private school and I couldn't hack it. Also the creepy older English teacher next door kept trying to ask me out. Ugh.

I was proud that I at least made it through the whole school year and never broke down in actual tears in front of the students (though I came close). Needless to say my contract was not extended and I was fine with that (the principal advised me to try a school with smaller class sizes but I was done with teaching).

My job this summer wins. I worked at a mall kiosk that sold knee-length shorts exclusively. There were some decent athletic shorts and some cute board shorts, but overwhelmingly the stock consisted of mom shorts. So, I would sit bored for about 5 hours at a time trying not to scare off customers with eye contact since we would only sell a couple things a shift.

The only real benefit to the job was all the spare time I could spend reading books or blogs, but even that got old after a while. I hated that most customer interactions were to tell them about our restrictive return policies and that we didn't have something in stock or that they couldn't try things on. I hated the stupid mom shorts I had to wear that went above my navel. I hated my boss who would leave it up to employees to figure things out like employee shortages and scheduling conflicts and his failing business. Or that one time I had to use duct tape to tape three paper holding frames to make price displays to set ON TOP of the shorts so that I had to get up and fix everything any time any one looked at anything.

All I can say is, thank goodness for the Dress Barn ladies to talk to and the hot Israelis who sold Dead Sea lotion to look at.

Oh god, Lainiefig, if you think high-schoolers are bad...

I have a teaching assistantship for ESL. Teaching college freshmen a required ESL writing class is so incredibly soul-sucking. They've all got the attitudes of high-schoolers (none of them think they should be in the remedial class, I have had parents AND advisors trying to bully me into changing grades, there's rampant plagiarism), but because it's at university, there's the added awesomeness of pretending the students are responsible enough to look after themselves. At least in high school, I could send people to detention for skipping class all the time because they can't make my 12:30 class. Now I just have the ineffectual threat of the final grade.

I'm not sure about this being my worst job, because I actually find this work quite satisfying, but some of the fun things I've done include:
- Collecting rat brain tissue with the wrong tools. This meant we decapitated and cut open the skulls with paper scissors, and dig litle chunks of brain tissue out with a pair of forceps.
- Testing compounds that were toxic to the animals. We're obligated to euthanise them when it gets too bad, but sometimes you don't get there in time, and mice have a habit of devouring a dead comrade, starting with the face. I had a mice literally die in my hands while I was collecting the anaesthetic. Oh, and a former boss would treat them on the weekend for us, but he didn't know how to read ear tags, so you'd come in on Monday to a faceless, frozen corpse in the freezer, waiting for you to ID it.
- A time course experiment that required me to work 21 hours, spent 4 hours in a hotel room that smelt like it hadn't been cleaned since the 1980's, then return for another 7 hours. All because the f*ckwit boss lied to our clients about the equipment we had in the lab, so we had three days to do the pilot study.
- 4 month smoke study (manually exposing the mice to cigarette smoke 3 times a day). Two 16 hour cull days, on the weekend. We'd already worked 11 days straight. End of the first day, we realise the entire study hadn't worked. Turns out the animal house was contaminated and the mice had gotten infected.
-Clinical research on ex/current alcoholics. One decided that I looked like Jeff Fenech's daughter, a boxer only 8 years older than me. Then the alco tried to punch me in the middle of the reception area. Fun fact: if a code grey (aggression) call goes out, the male nurses run towards it, the clinicans run the other way.

http://agelessonly.com is an online age gap community offering support for men and women involved.

Adam,
I, too, have had the honour, nay, privilege, of supply teaching.

I am positive I didn’t teach a single kid a single thing with the exception of a very small school where I spent all day in a recording studio with some senior kids. That was the only decent day I had in four months.

I was considering writing a book about the experience, including a roll call of spectacularly stupid names, but I realised that if it ever got read, the entire country would start home schooling their children and the economy would collapse.

And Jesus, scorzi, surely attachment therapy is for the fucking parents to do. Nut jobs. Theory isn’t proven anyway.

Heather Mooney , apt, but hilarious!

lainiefig , sounds like you had a tough time girl! And a very unbalanced timetable…

Lets start with counting things. I worked for an inventory company (RGIS for any retail types that might recognize the name). Working side by side with some of the dumbest fucks to walk the earth. The job is counting things, not difficult, but there were people who on a job where they just need to scan the barcode on 15 shirts on a rack and verify the count would completely and utterly fuck it up.

Accuracy was all dependent on how demanding the store manager was. There were grocery stores in the sticks that three of us would "count" in less than three hours. Basically we would walk down the isles clicking the buttons on our machines to get a rough item number and then finish it with a single dollar value so that the total value of the isle matched the previous inventory. As long as the store manager didn't see obvious shrinkage, they didn't care.

The hours sucked. Go in after stores close and before stores open. The work was seasonal, so while I had a week in January that I was paid for 120hrs (including time and a half and pay for travel) I would have to save that money because there would be weeks in March with 8 hours. Speaking of 120hour work week. I spent 28 hours in a row in a foleys for one inventory. I did get a nap while rolled up in a rug for an hour. The job did get me to go back to school, as soon as they offered me a management position (good pay and a company car) I was out the door.

Another horrible job I only had for a week or so. Collection agency working the autodialer. I personally had outstanding credit card debt, so I sympatized with those on the other end. The worst part however was that they started us out on an alternate set of debts. People who had been leasing phones from the phone company. Basically they consisted of old people who were unaware the ATT had been broken up. People who owe hundreds of dollars for a land line phone they could purchase for $20. fucked up.

I was a credit card bill collector. Which meant I called people to tell them they were past due and try to get them to pay. Which they would have done if they had the money. I did this for 2.5 years, and collected on people who were 2 payments behind to 6 months behind, on the verge of charging off.
It was miserable. I was way too nice for that job-growing up poor will do that to you. I was basically a zombie for 2.5 years, and not the kind you guys tend to think are awesome.
My current job is pretty miserable, too, although not in the same sense. I currently have a job that 1. I don't understand most of the time, 2. is not at all within my skill set, 3. wasn't the job I posted for (it changed 6 months in), and 4. is the exact opposite of anything I would ever be interested in. Plus everyone I work with is hateful, my bosses are passive/aggressive and moody, and it's the most miserable working environment I've ever worked in.
Don't get me wrong...I could have been laid off like many people here were over the last year, so I'm grateful to have a job at all right now. However, I'm so miserable at this job that it's getting harder and harder to get up and go to work every day. I'm afraid it's going to bleed over into my personal life and turn me into the zombie I was years ago. I'm currently looking.

Okay, I just spent an hour going over all of these and...I say Jason wins! And if that's a made up story I swear to god it's an awesome one!

Me and four beardy wierdies
Hey, how did you know my new band name?

Yeah, I second those who have said this thread makes them grateful for what they have. I complain about my job occasionally (I have a degree in Theatre, so naturally I work in the Oil & Gas industry pushing paper!), but nothing really holds up. It is just day-to-day bullshit.

Overall, thanks everybody for the hefty dose of schadenfreude!

Brie, thats EVERY waitressing job. They are exempt from minimum wage laws. Never did I once get a paycheck for anything other than $0, no matter what restaurant it was I was working at.

Three-way tie:
I had all of these jobs AT THE SAME TIME when I was in high school in the early 90's.
1. Jewelry counter attendant at WalMart. There was this one bitch who kept bringing in broken chains that we didn't sell and the manager kept giving her cash refunds. Then he'd yell at me b/c there were too many refunds and I should have given her an exchange- which was impossible because we didn't sell that shit! The day I quit, she came in for the usual bullshit. I told her it was my last day and when she asked why, I said "Customers like you." That felt good.
2. Post-construction clean-up. I had to clean up all the dust, paint drips, wood scraps, everything left by the construction crew before the tenant could move in. I was always missing spots like the tops of doors or light switches in closets and so I'd get yelled at. $50/day.
3. I sat with a lady who had advanced Alzheimer's. We'd go from her telling me the same story forty times to her freaking out and trying to call the cops because she'd forget who I was and thought I was trying to rob/kill her. She did that about 10 times a day. By the end, I really wanted to kill her. Somehow, when her cousin the nun came to visit, she'd be as normal as could be. That was also $50 a day and totally not worth it.
4. During this time I was also a tour guide at a plantation home. Although it wasn't as bad as 1-3 above, this is the one I still have nightmares about. I dream about the boss-bitch calling me and yelling at me because I was on the schedule and didn't show up because I didn't know I was on the schedule. (Their favorite thing to do was to change the schedule and not tell you. Then, raise all kinds of hell when you didn't show up.) I got fired for asking crazy boss bitch for a Tylenol. Then, she called me a few weeks later because I was on the schedule and why wasn't I there?

I'm so glad someone FINALLY mentioned Brie's waitress complaint. I think the average waiter wage in TX is $2.13 - how's about everywhere else?

I did all of this in a uniform that consisted of a halter tuxedo shirt, cummerbund, and G-string.

..........where could I buy myself these items, havalina?

Yikes, Snuggiepants, my year of teaching was a cake walk compared to that. I bow before your more horrific story. My kids were just extremely spoiled suburbanite brats. (I remember one telling me that his maid bought him a cell phone--and cell phones were still very rare in most high schools at that time.) I also made $19,000 on that job.

Havalina! I managed a joint like that!! The whole watering down the drink, pouring the champagne down the sink, listening to sleazy creeps propositioning me for sex even after I made up the foulest, most disgusting sex disease could think of and said I had it was depressing. Oh and a boss who was a complete perv but it was fun I was totally a madam. Watching the dances to make sure the girls were safe was wierd though.

Dang, Jelinas, for a sec there, when you said:

One day, she took me into the back to yell at me. I was making eye contact in an attempt to be respectful when she suddenly screamed, "STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!!!"

In my mind I immediately heard ...

bow CHICKA bow BOW ...

but, alas, your story stopped short of my happy ending! How dare you.

@ banana
Oh its all very real. That place was MAD. The shit that went on there on a daily basis was beyond belief. After my first two week trip out with the boat we had to come back due to a massive storm. The boats were 11 deep in the tiny harbour. No sleep for four days ment that I passed out in the Thule bar during my first drink only to be woken up to be told that we had to go looking for some missing guy's from other boats. 3 were found alive, pissed up and face down in various dark street corners and door ways. We found two dead bodies of guy's who fell between the tied up boats in the harbour. We knew one of them but the other guy was never identified. One of the funnier days was when the ginger Beardie Wierdie came into the bar with an old World War 2 grenade that he found on the beach (WW2 grenades and sea mines wash up all the time from the Scapa flow.He was so chuffed by his find). After we played a quick game of hot potato with it (it was dropped more than once with all of us doing animated explosions like school boys). It was left on the bar between us as our drinks took priority. When all of a sudden it furiously started fizzing and crackling. Cue shocked faces all round and five idiots rammed up against a door pushing furiously when it need to be pulled. We eventually piled out onto the street and the grenade fizzed out. We returned to the bar and a very pissed of barmaid (who just stood there cleaning glasses the whole time)because it stank and leaked green and yellew shit all over her clean counter!!!
The other worst job was when I left the boat to earn some money so that I could escape from the place. This was at a salmon factory. Due to my time on the boat I got to avoid being one of the drones on the line who sucked out the guts from the freshly killed salmon. I was given the much respected job of a KILLER (yes that was the official title). Me and six other would be escapees manned the killing station. Our tools were tiny knives,the victims were live but stunned (nobody told them that they were stunned) salmon. For ten hours a day were up to our elbows in icy sea water,you got splashed,thumped and bled on by the 3,000 salmon that we killed a day. Salt water and salmon blood stings the crap out of your eyes and when it gets into your mouth thats all you can taste for the day. When the pump would break our boss would stand at the bottom of the stairs and shout abuse and throw salmon heads at us cos there was no way he was going to get close to 7 very cold,beat up and armed people who wanted out of the island at almost any cost. We all got fired one day when one of us (still not saying who Mr Police man) threw a fucking huge salmon at him from a hieght of 4m and duly knocking the ugly Scottish bastard out cold. The one cool thing about that job though is that I get to have the title KILLER on my cv and right before it says 4 years in the military, it has raised more than one eyebrow in interviews.

Mid 1980's. Receptionist. I told the boss to keep his hands off me (his wife and babies were often in the next room). The boss told me I wasn't going to get a raise because I wouldn't put out. I lined up another job (it was a recession) and quit.

Boss asked why I was quitting. I said I'd asked him to keep his hands off and he didn't. Boss said he'd give me a good recommendation but he'd have to say that I only gave 36 hours' notice.

Yep. That's generosity.

It was the mid-80's, I was teenager and quite alone, so that was that. Now, I'd've probably owned him. His business banker was a friend of my family.

Seriously? Don't misunderstand what I mean, I agree with you partially, but when you make a statement like this you really have to be prepared to back it up.

I think I first came across your blog via a link on Twitter.. Love the stuff I have seen so far and will absolutely revisit to read more afterward. By the way, are you on Twitter?

Hi there, I've been lurking around your blog for a couple months. I love your article and your entire website! Keep it up!

There is obviously a lot to learn about this. I think you made some good points in your article.

I stopped watching after 3-1, and then came back to the TV to see Lambrad score the 7th Goal. Disgrace

hmmmm...i don't think I agree with what you wrote, but I like the way you express yourself in those beliefs. I'm following your feed.

Informative information and excellent posts you have!

Thank you for your article,It's well written, in depth posts like these that have aided me in becoming a good forex trader.

The present fashion climate could be a bit depressing, nevertheless this post helps us remember why we enjoy it. I've been born into the industry with my parents earning a living in the fashion trade. I’ve realized the industry is quite disjointed so I'm at present functioning on the internet site to carry everybody in concert. I am grateful to come across this post.

Turkiye gundeminden, ekonomi haberleri, politika haberleri, siyaset haberleri, magazin haberleri, spor haberleri, saglik ve yasam haberleri, kultur sanat haberleri, teknoloji haberleri ve tum bunlarin yaninda dunya haberlerinden aninda haberdar olmak icin hazirlanan, guncel ve ozgun icerige sahip online haber siteniz, haberegir.com

Squamous cell skin cancer is the most second kind of carcinoma in the world.