Crappiest Jobs I've Held & How They Relate to Blogging

I've been working since I was fourteen. I was in high school, and my folks told me I had to get a job. But who besides the neighbor needing a babysitter hires fourteen year olds? Well back 1990, there was one other place in town not yet adhering the minimum age laws: Burger King. Yep, I'm a stereotypical fast food first timer. Freakin' BK Lounge.

I hated that place. I still do. I refuse to eat there. I ESPECIALLY refuse to eat at the location where I worked whenever I go home to visit my folks. (Maybe it's because that was the location where the cute older guy from church came in to ask me to the Depeche Mode concert; I was mortified that he saw me in my head to toe polyester, smelling of fry grease. I was even more mortified when the 'rents told me he was too old - 18- and I had to tell him later, still dressed in the polys, that I couldn't make it. Stoopid Burger King memories and grease burn scars.)

Since that illustrious first job, I've held down almost everything under sun before starting my career: bookstore (loved it), hardware store, office supply store, beer distributer (alas no free product), accounting temp, data entry and the list goes on. But the worst job was actually the one I never took.

I saw a tiny sign in the median (note to self...nothing prosperous can come from organizations who have to advertise in this manner) stating $10.00/hour for part time work. Again, going back the 1990's, this was way good pay. So I called the number and set up an interview (another note to self...when they won't share what they do over the phone, start questioning.). All gussied up my go to work finest, I arrive at an innocuous office complex. My door is marked only with the address number. No other signage.

Inside was a typical, albeit sparse office setup, and I'm eventually escorted to an inner office space. A 30-something gentleman wearing a business suit smiles at me and asks me about myself, my goals for the future and why I responded to their ad. Yawn. I go through the typical interview pleasantries for a solid 45 minutes before he finally gets to the nitty gritty. He prefaces that I'm personable and seem to be outgoing. These qualities will get me far in his business. He then takes out a small suitcase and draws out...a pair of scissors?

He asks me if I have a penny; which I do and I give it him. He then proceeds to cut the penny in half using said scissors. "ISN'T THAT INCREDIBLE?" "ISN'T THAT AMAZING?!" "These are the sharpest scissors I've ever seen! And we have matching knives just as sharp. An entire set of kitchen cutlery in this handy traveling suitcase!"

This guy was gaagaa over ginzu or whatever brand he was hawking. And he wanted me to go door-to-door demoing and selling these knives. OMG. I said this was the 90's not the 1890's. Who went door-to-door anymore? Certainly not me. He then says I can start my client base with my friends and family, because they'll be sure to listen to me and watch my schpeel. I can almost guarantee sales!!

I queried if I could start with anyone else, and he didn't understand my question. I explained that I didn't want to start with my friends and family, because I knew them and I knew they didn't need any knives no matter how many pennies they could cut through. I was also certain that I did not want to embarass myself in front of those closest to me. Then, I promptly declined the 'job' offer. THAT is the crux of this blog entry. I'm not sharing with my friends and family (yet) that I have a blog. I've taken only a few minor steps to promote this fire-seeking medium, and it's all been with strangers. Why? B/c I know my friends and family, and they don't need to know my random musings any more than they already do. Again, I'm also certain I don't want to embarass myself in front of those closest to me.

Most might appreciate this endeavor, chuckle here and there, wish me well on a time-sucking outlet that's at least more productive than tivo reruns. But I'm not sure I want all my facebook homies knowing I obsess about the same 10 pounds gained and lost over low these many months. Or my neurotic fears of houses collasping in on me because the furniture weighs too much. So who else is going to read these earth-shattering entries? Well, you dear reader. I'm guessing for now, it's you, and I'm very cool with that! :)

Holler back in the comments with details of your crap first job. Misery loves company.