I’ve had many jobs thoughout my life and man I’ve gotta tell ya, the worst job I have ever had in my life was working on a sandwich bar in this certain Dining Facility I used to work in. I hated that job with the white hot passion in 1000 burning suns :mad: Although I didn’t have it long (thank god), doing that work was the most despising thing I’ve ever done. I have absolutly no idea why I hated it so, I just did for some strange reason. I was happier working outside in the ice and snow scrubbing out slop cans while working there. What was your worst job?
Ooops! Please disregard this post. Someone else beat me to it :o
Moderators: If you would kindly do the honors of closing this thread, I’d really appreciate it 
Donut shop overnight baker. Which in itself wouldn’t have been too bad, but at 18 and extreeeeamly naive, I was unwittingly an unofficial “temp” for a baker who was on his honeymoon, but thought I had a permanent summer job. Got paid less than mimimum wage and was “fired” after really doing what I thought was an exemplary job, after three weeks. It didn’t dawn on me until years later why my “firing” coincided exactly with the return of the honeymooning baker.
Great, hot fresh whole-wheat donuts, though! I still haven’t lost my taste for them.
You really. don’t. want. to know. Trust me. :eek:
worst job i had was working at a tatoo and body piercing place. It was an awsome job, but theres something disturbing about piercing people who were young. Young girls of 16 would come in with their parents and ask to get pierced, and its not our place to mention theyre a tad young. That and the men who would come in with a name in a heart tatooed on their arm ie: ‘‘Marie-Eve’’ in a heart and they would ask us to change the name to ‘’ Samantha’’. I mean, how wrong is that!!?
I took a job once as a dishwasher at a country club. They had a banquet hall there and I would be working in the kitchen. I assumed it would be something like working in a restaurant.
I showed up for work, and the boss was in a tizzy, because the entire kitchen staff had walked out, and ohmyghod, get IN there, get the DISHES clean! We’ve got a CATERED AFFAIR in four hours!
I went into the kitchen to see what I could do.
It was a disaster.
For one thing, it was not a commercial kitchen. It did have one commercial-sized oven suitable for roasting something large, but the griddle was the size of a postage stamp, the sink was the same kind you have in YOUR kitchen (instead of the quadruple-sized double-deep versions at your local steakhouse), and the dishwasher… was the same kind you have in your kitchen. Worse, actually, since there were no racks and no soap or chemicals for it.
There were dirty dishes everywhere. Place was a disaster. I later found that the “kitchen staff” consisted of one cook and one dishwasher, who had prepared this humungous feast the previous evening, and then quit when told they were expected to stay until all the dishes were clean… for a dinner that ended somewhere around midnight.
This entire kitchen, filthy with dishes from a major dinner for 100 people, had been marinating in its own filth since the previous night, and I wasn’t even getting started on it until two in the afternoon.
I asked who was expected to make dinner tonight. I was told the affair would be catered; all I had to do was have dishes ready to eat off of. I asked if any other dishwashers would be coming in. The boss looked at me funny and said, “The kitchen has one dishwasher and one cook. You are the dishwasher. Get to work.”
“Is there any soap for the dishwashing machine?” I asked. “Where’s all the supplies? Is there another sink? What–”
“LOOK,” snarled the exasperated little man in the suit. “Do you want the job or not? Get your ass in there and get to work, and no excuses!”
I went in the kitchen. I loaded most of the dishes onto a rolly-cart and took them outside and began hosing them off, for sheer lack of any other visible alternative; I couldn’t use the sink, because it was too full of filthy dishes.
About then, it occurred to me that I did not much care for being spoken to in that manner. How dare he?
It also occurred to me that I’d wasted about an hour of the four hours until the banquet, hosing off dishes and trying to put the kitchen in order. I went back in, put everything more or less the way I’d found it, and left, without bothering to inform anyone.
Cost me all of five bucks pay, I suppose. It occurred to me to go in and demand it, but I never quite got around to it…
That other thread is simply about job titles, not the jobs themselves
Worst job I ever had was working at the hot dog shop on an Air Force Base. I was on the job 2 days before they left me alone - on a Saturday. Having no clue what I was supposed to do, I had to open the store, and handle lunch, all by myself. I was 16 at the time. And in tears for most of it. It was horrible, I had to go around the back of the little cubby that made up the kitchen, and cry between hotdogs. It was terrible. I lasted 2 weeks, and couldn’t take another second. And vowed never to work in food service again.
Other than being a recruit in the US Navy? Either telemarketer for a home improvement company or door-to-door encyclopedia sales.
I’ve had a lot of BAD jobs. I was going to immediatly chime in with Radio Shack, but I actually had a worse one. Actually, the two are both so bad, its almost a dead-heat. That would be the rent-to-own furniture business.
The Shack was awful. Ultra-low pay, management by intimidation, long hours with no breaks/relief, constant transfers and “mandatory training” sessions. Total and complete bullshit. I hated it. I don’t even want to talk about it anymore. I usually never admit that I ever worked there. There is a website called “radioshacksucks” that will give you a good idea of what is was like. I have only spent a few minutes reading stuff there, but it seemed pretty right on as to the evil vibe of the Shack. The “Golden Shower” stories are worth a read. :rolleyes: I look back on those days and wonder how I survived, and more importantly, why I stayed as long as I did.
The RTO business was equally as awful. You had to do cold calling, deliver crappy furniture and stereo equipment to the worst places in town, then harrass deadbeats who don’t pay the bill. Three big negitives. I didn’t stick around too long in that fetid position.
Too horrible to think about these places further! :eek:
One summer, I worked in the shipping department of a candy factory. I was literally a fudge packer.
Corn detassler. Yep, I’m from Indiana. Now that I look back, I’m surprised I lasted the 2 weeks I did.
Forgot one: initial processing of grant applications at the National Endowment for the Arts. Not only was it menial labor (three stickers had to be placed on every application folder) but I had to work with a woman who had the most awful cough. I think it was the NEA’s way of trying to get rid of me. I got myself transferred to that office from the mail/supply room but the work wasn’t at all what I had expected. I was supposed to be an assistant to the computer troubleshooter but he had a lot of downtime. So they found something else for me to do during those period. Having to work with Ms. Hacker was the worst part. Bleah.
Now there’s a job I can’t do… I can’t even shuck corn now - too many incidents with creepy crawlies with “farm fresh corn”. I know that it’s natural but still… :shudder:
Worst job was probably one I took as a filler before moving interstate. It was advertised as a receptionist position but was actually handling phone complaints and irate customers. I walked out after 5 days, extremely depressing job.
Catering the National Holstein Cow Owners Convention, outdoors, in the rain, serving (steaks, what else) to a bunch of very rowdy and apparently very drunk cattle farmers from all over the country who thought that due to my white shirt, black shorts uniform and the rain, we were hosting an impromptu wet t-shirt contests and finding my then 17 year old boobies to be more appetizing than the steaks.
Although I did come out of it with good tip money.
Not a job as such, no not me! I was a victim of my own enthusiasm for private enterprise.
Went and bought a second-hand pulpwood truck and took me and my truck and my chainsaw to the woods seeking fame and fortune in cutting trees down and hauling the logs to the woodyard. Did this off and on for three years.
There’s one good thing comes from being a pulpwooder: No matter what job you may have after that, no matter how bad it is, you can always truthfully state: “Well, this ain’t as bad as cuttin’ pulpwood.”
Lessee:
Dishwasher, Ryan’s Family Steakhouse: Eight hours a night on my feet, washing nasty scum off plates. Cleaning the bathrooms at the end of the shift was the high point of my day.
Delivery driver: Thanks to Reagan, I made less than minimum wage and was expected to make up for it in tips. I mostly delivered to college students and rich people, both of whom don’t tip worth a shit. Even worse, there were MAGGOTS in the LAUNDRY BIN and the owner of the store once borrowed $20 from me. I never got it back and later learned that it was probably for cocaine. I lost that job after I had the sheer audacity to be angry because a paycheck bounced (and that wasn’t the first time it happened) the week I had planned to go visit my parents for the weekend. To be fair, though, the owner of that place made the only meatloaf I have ever liked.
Garbage Man: Ever been sprayed with water that’s been sitting in the bottom of a dumpster for about a week? It’s not pleasant.
As with others, I’ve had more than one that I wouldn’t go back to. Probably the worst was working as a door-to-door salesman for a short-lived consumer discount outfit named Club America.
They had great sales materials and great promises. Incredible restaurant and travel discounts. A traveling tailor who made cheap custom clothes. All kinds of other discounts.
The pitch started with an entertainment survey, where you gathered info on your target’s spending habits. You then demonstrated to him or her how much they’d be saving on there own admitted spending habits. It’d be stupid to not take advantage of the offer.
And then we closed with the Negative Take-away. We’re only going to be in this area tonight, so do it now or forever pay higher prices. You snooze, you lose.
We had a lot of people come through our “center,” and most took the three day training and lasted about two nights out. Unfortunately, I sold a few memberships right off the bat, and that served to keep me trying for a while.
Besides door-to-door sales being a sucky existence at best, the main problem was that the club did not deliver. I met more than one irate member who was willing to give me a flying lesson from a fourth floor apartment walkway.
No thanks. Baling hay was a far better deal.
It’s probably a tossup between the car wash and the carpet cleaning company. The carpet cleaning probably wins out because it was in the days before the giant water-sucking vacuums. All done on hands and knees with sponges and brushes. And the boss was an asshole, just to make things even more unpleasant.
I had a lot of terrible jobs when I was younger. I think bad bosses are worse than bad jobs, but that’s a whole different thread.
I would have to say my worst job was working at an aluminum foundry. You spend all day in a sweltering hot massive room filled with smoke, dust, loud noises and heavy machinery. You wheel around a vat of molten aluminum running on a rail from the ceiling, you have to hurry, and you have to dodge the big machines driving around at random. The molten aluminum usually splashes out a bit as you run around, you had to be careful, it burns right through your pants and leaves you with a burn tattoo. You quickly pour the aluminum into the clay molds laying on the ground and they immediately catch fire and send a plume of odd colored smoke into your face. When you are done with the pour, you go back, put out the fires, and flip each mold over. Then you start the whole process over again, carrying 40 pound molds, one at a time, from one side of the smokey room to the other side, preparing for the next pour.
Sounds like fun eh?