My greatest work-life shame is on something like this. The head of my college’s writing center, my boss, referred me to a local tribe that was writing up a history of the tribe. They wanted someone to edit their essays and get them into publishable form. I had no experience doing this kind of work, but I’d spent years helping students get their essays into turninable form, and at $6.00/hr my prices were hard to beat. I met with their point-person, got the 100 pages of essays, and sat down.
And oh my Lord. It’s not that they were full of comma splices, it’s that they were completely unintelligible. I’d have to read a sentence three times before I could figure out what the author was trying to communicate. I tried and tried to edit them softly, and then I tried to rewrite them intelligibly, and I was able to make very little headway. There was no support for me from anyone who had actually edited such documents before.
And so, my shame: I avoided the contact person, put her off, and finally moved out of state without ever saying, “I can’t do this job!” It was totally shitty of me, and I wish I could go back and fix it.