There was my first job, in the women's sportswear department of a now-defunct local department store chain. That was one horrible month of my life after I graduated from high school and before I started college. Before that, I'd done some babysitting, mostly for my aunt and uncle.
I was a "coach" in my senior year of college, which was a glorified tutor for a self-paced introductory psych class. Ah, the early-'70s. Self-pacing was a nice idea, but impractical for kids who were in college thanks to another late-'60s/early-'70s concept: open enrollment. Guaranteed admittance to a city college, no matter what their SAT scores, they were ill-prepared to handle college coursework, so I did more teaching of basic reading skills than administer the required quizzes.
In grad school (for psych), I was a Teaching Assistant for an undergrad experimental psych class. The
For the following two years, I had "real" jobs. One year had me typing bills for a typography company, which fed my font fanaticism. The next year, I was a receptionist/typist (with limited skills and I didn't even know how to make coffee -- making me a major disappointment -- since I don't like the stuff) for a magazine.
Librarianship came soon after.
So, anyone have any really horrid jobs?
Feeling:
~~~o0o~~~
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In high school I briefly had a job in a tile factory. My job was to lift a stack of tiles from one conveyor belt and place it on another conveyor belt. That's it. The stack of tiles would trundle away from me through a large rubber flap covering an opening in the wall. By the time I was brain dead from this repetitive action, or perhaps just before that point since I still had some curiosity and a desire to get out, I desperately wanted to know what happened to those tiles beyond the rubber flap. I wanted to jump on the conveyor belt and go through the rubber flap and see if I'd be packaged up in a cardboard box and shipped off somewhere. As it turned out, my tile stacks were defective and they were pulverized not long after passing through the rubber flap.
ReplyDeleteAs an adult I took a job with a local REEBOK division that designs and makes sports clothing. The attraction was that I would be able to work as an illustrator using the Macintosh computer as a tool (not that many chances to do that full time in this town). The drawback as I soon discovered was that all the other people working there spoke "sports" without exception. And nothing else. I don't have the "sports gene," never have. I thought I had an alternative when I learned one of the other, much younger, artists was a comic fan. I then discovered he only looked at the drawings, never read them. Very odd. They also forced me into doing more designing than illustrating. I stayed with that job long enough to pay off my car then went back to freelancing.
I can't remember any horrid jobs, but I've had some strange ones: filing clerk at the notary's office where my mother worked while still in high school, data-entry typist (excellent pay!) telex operator for three days (hated it) and, best of all, forklift driver in a dairy warehouse in the hottest summer of the seventies (1976, when I was 18 and had just graduated from high school). I started work at 4 in the morning when it was still reasonably cool, sat on the forklift with a heavy sweater until 10, then I had the rest of the day off. And that paid very well, too, because I got time-and-a-half for the hours before 8.
ReplyDeleteI see a factory type theme emerging here! That's pretty funny about the bad tiles, Paul. And forklift operator is an interesting way to earn some money, I'd think, Irina. Thanks to both of you for sharing.
ReplyDeleteMy first high end cooking job at Zagats 1 rated NYC restaurant. I cried when I woke up, cried in the bathroom there, cried when I got home, lost 30 pounds in 45 days,l kidneys started shutting down, and fainted from heatstroke during restaurant week.
ReplyDeleteAnother job at a bakery, ended up with an owner calling me nonstop ( she was entered as "psychob***h" in my cell) and having to consult with the EEOC.
Other than that, anything involving working with my MOM.
Eek, Puglet. And don't get me started on bosses from hell. One once told me he was going to protect his territory.
ReplyDeleteAt the typography company, the bookkeeper kept trying to drive me into quitting. I never did figure out her problem with me.
Then there was the boss of a different department at one library, when I was a student worker, who liked to kiss and get "friendly" with the young women he worked with. yeesh