Worst job you ever had

Seven days a week, 12 hours a day?
Workers walking away on their breaks?
And you hated the "awful work" when you had to do it yourself?

Hey, just a random thought, but:
Maybe your company was FUCKED UP.

 

My best job was driving a forklift at Sam's Club through most of my college years, but working at Sam's Club wasn't exactly the best job for a guy named Rob.

Rob was hired the same day I was-but to be a cart wrangler. It was Christmas time, we were seasonal employees and he was not happy about going out and wrangling carts and sleds in the Nashville winter. He was kind of fuming about it, actually.

As I came into work on what was supposed to be my last day, I saw about 12 co-workers being led away in handcuffs. I got to keep my job and so did Rob (who else are you gonna get to do that gig). Over the next several months, I notice Rob really beginning to deteriorate between the ears. He's a high school graduate, but didn't drive because of (guessing) inability to focus, rage...who knows? The kid clearly needs to be on meds and if he is on meds, then he needs more. I genuinely feel bad for the guy.

Fast-forward to Halloween, 1988. The General Manager comes in wearing a new-school Batman costume. He's running around the warehouse, clearly having fun with the customers and such. During rush hour at the warehouse-about 3 pm-Rob pulls some carts in and snaps-I mean, he really fucking snaps.

He starts screaming "I'm Batman! I'm Batmaaaaaan! I'm Batman!" He gets on the intercom and does the same thing. He lies down on the floor sobbing and screaming "Goddammit, it's my turn to be Batmaaaan!" Customers' kids start crying...He was led away and then taken away. It was a real shit show as it happened then (but kinda funny now).

 

Computer sales at Circuit City, right before its end.

Worked ONE Black Friday. Quit about two weeks or so later. Talk about miserable.

 

I did forget changing the marquee on Tuesday nights in the winter at the local Blatt Brothers theatre I worked at in high school. Southtowns WNY snow squalls, windy and cold at 10 at night, up on a 10-foot wooden ladder banging away at the letters that were frozen in the slots. All for an extra hour of pay at about $2.30 an hour or whatever minimum wage was in 1971-72.

 

westcoastvol, why were the 12 co-workers busted?

 

At Sam's Club? Trying to organize a union, I'm guessing.

 

When my daughter was 18, she got a seasonal job at Old Navy. Her first day was Wednesday before Thanksgiving. So she got the hang of it, working through the evening just refolding clothes and making the displays look good. then the Black Friday shift. She was supposed to work 6 p.m.-2 a.m. But she couldn't leave until the store was orderly. She didn't get out of there until 3:45 a.m.
She had always told them that the was interested in staying on after the holidays. She worked through New Year's and that first week in January, they called her in to reaffirm that she wanted to keep working there. She said yes, and they guaranteed her 4 hours a week. Four freaking hours. Thanks but no thanks.

 

I once had a job as a medical courier for a pathology lab. Interesting job, but it had its weird moments. Such as when I had to take amputated legs over to the autopsy room to be incinerated. They were double-wrapped in plastic trash bags, but one time some kind of fluid leaked out onto my clothes somewhere. It smelled worse than death, which was no surprise, and it overwhelmed the courier office really quick which I got back. I had to drive home fast, while trying not to hurl, and change clothes. Dumped the bad clothes into the washer with extra soap, and left a note to my wife not to mess with it until I got home.

Never found out what kind of fluid leaked onto me. It was 10 kinds of horrible, though.

 

They had a theft ring where they were running merchandise out one of the back doors of the loading dock. When the store got busy, everyone had to come up to the front and work except for some people at the loading dock and some who worked in the freezer/cooler section. One of the exit doors had a burglar alarm wire cut so it wouldn't go off. They lit up that club for almost 250k. One of the employees' wives was wracked with guilt and blew the whistle.

 

My dad is a pathologist. It took me only a few times going into his lab to realize I never wanted to follow in his footsteps -- the smell of formaldehyde is wretched.

 

I spent two years during college breaks as a "stockperson" at Wal-Mart. Basically, you wrangled the carts, cleaned up spills, stocked shelves, filled vending machines and cleaned. It was crappy work sometimes, but not crappy enough that I didn't keep at it. We work shorts and T-shirts (and vests, of course), got breaks every 2 hours, and it paid $1 more per hour than cashiers and starting associates.

During busy times (weekends and Wednesday mornings, which was senior discount day), we'd go hours just doing the carts (we had no fancy machines like they do now; all manpower). There was no time to do anything else. But it made time fly, and it was good, hard work that kept me in shape. I never leave my cart in the lot now. Always in the corral, and often all the way back to the front of the store. If the kids are with me, they walk with me to the corral. No excuse, really, not to take the carts the extra handful of yards.

Hooked up with a handful of cashiers, partied with some fun people (young associates stuck together) and learned I never wanted to have to do it again.

 

You know the gravel you see at the bottom of acquariums? I spent a summer painting it, packing it into 50-pound bags (or 12-ounce bags) and loading it into trucks.

My little brother got me the job and he had some seniority, so he got the painting assignment whenever he wanted.

It basically involved loading a VW-bus sized vat with the rocks, via conveyor belt. Then dump in paint (or coating for clear rocks), push a button and watch the vat rotate and mix for a half-hour or so, on a catwalk out of the bosses' sight. An extremely extensive library of porn passed the time.

After a half-hour or so, you'd check the rocks and see if the paint/coating was too thick or thin, which was often the case. You'd then pour in the foul contents of a four-foot barrel to thin it out. I have no idea what it was, but it was strong.

Not a bad job, the people and boss were friendly and you got some exercise. ("Worst job" would probably be my first, a Burger King.