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Worst, yet funniest, job ever: convenience store clerk. I had just turned 18 and needed a job for the summer before I left. I worked all over Raleigh, 16 hours a day. My last shift for the day was the 11PM to 7AM shift, way out in the sticks.

Now in NC you can’t sell alkyhol after 2 AM. One night two good ol’ boys roll up drunk as hell, and want some beer. I tell them sorry it’s after 2. One of them flashes the revolver he’s got stuck in his waistband. I say sure, coming right up. They had me load up 6 cases of Schlitz into their pick-up, and they drove merrily off. They didn’t get far. Can you imagine going to prison for armed robbery for Schlitz?

Best job ever: consultant for Shell Oil. I ended up with about a dozen patents over a 4 year time period, and a check with lots of zeros on it.

Like you, I like work, so it doesn’t usually matter what I do. Saying that, the absolute worst job with the best stories was being a Customer Service Rep for Phillip Morris. I got to tell callers all about their Miller Beer and Maxwell House Coffee, or help them make jams and jelly.

But I would literally shake every morning before work. It was hugely stressful.

Best job: None yet. What comes close is working for a Large Department Store. Was exciting, and they were sort of training me to move up. But that wasn’t going to work anyway.

Worst job: Well, nothing I really didn’t like. I think working as a customer service representative for taking orders for a pharmaceutical company wasn’t that fun.

My current job sort of sucks. I’m simply not motivated. I can’t wait to leave work, and I miss days with abandon (although there are always good reasons: such as needing to take care of things related to family or home; and since the by other boss is Dad, I get away with it; there are only three of us in the entire company: I, Dad, and some other guy; right now, they need me too much to let me go, and I don’t demand anything – because my performance isn’t stellar, I never ask for a raise or any renumeration; that said, they’re paying for my MBA, which is why I’m staying, really).

Em, so, yeah.

Heh. I was sat next to a woman in a beauty parlor once who had been an operator for the phone company back in the old days. She said you wouldn’t believe the things people thought Information could tell them. Recipes, medical diagnosis, you name it.

These days, with Google, you could almost do it…

Was sat next? Write not best.

[…] this over at SWeasel and figured I’d post about it myself. For me? Clear […]

My worst job was as Marketing Director for a manufacturer of RC controls. The owner of the company was certifiably crazy. I was not allowed to speak with anyone else in the company (and neither was anyone else; talking was verboten); two days after I started, the boss went to Japan for two weeks (I learned this a week later by breaking the no-talking rule with the shop supervisor). Despite the fact that I told him during the interview that I was no artist whatsoever, he felt it was my job to design ads from scratch. I lasted exactly 30 days; I was trying desperately to build a 4-color ad for a major trade journal against a very tight deadline I hadn’t known about until that morning, while he stood behind me, berating my lack of artistic talent. Finally, I told him to shove it up his ass, picked up my briefcase and left. I had to take him to small claims court to get my paycheck, and outside the courthouse (after the judge ordered him to pay me), the idiot had the balls to ask me to come back to work for him.

My favorite job was as a commercial & industrial video producer for a West Coast newschannel. Despite the fact that my boss was a fucking clueless idiot (hmmm, I sense a disturbing trend here), the job itself was teh excellent. Producers are generally responsible for overall management of a project, but at that low level of the “infotainment” scale, a producer does virtually everything except operate the camera. I sold the projects to the customers, wrote the scripts, auditioned and hired talent, directed the shoot–sometimes I even did the editing. I worked seven days a week; I couldn’t get enough of it (and it helped that I’d inherited a batch of projects that in order to come anywhere close to profitability required the old “You make the curtains! I’ll move the cows out of the barn and build the stage! This’ll be the best musical ever!”).

The worst job I ever had I got soon after I moved to Vegas at the recycling plant. I was a Sorter so I got to stand at a conveyor belt for seven hours a day picking through all the stuff people put in their recycling bins to get the stuff that was actually recyclable from the stuff that wasn’t. Yay! Pawing through garbage for five dollars an hour! I did that for 7 – 8 months and then we started to get butt-loads of medical waste coming down the line. Yay! Feeding tubes and used hypodermic needles! I found another job pretty quickly. Hmm, now that I think about it, while that one was bad, working at the International House O’Pancakes as a cook was the only job that ever gave me nightmares. Bit of a toss-up really.

Best job is the one I have now – Data Analyst at a water utility. They pay me good money to sit in a comfy cubicle and do clever things with spreadsheets and databases.

I hear you on the low end thing, JW. As an in-house art department (at the beginning we were very small budget, too), when I pulled assignments, I got to do EVERYthing. I loved that.

I got to design a board game once. I mean, I did the pretty design part, somebody else did the game design part. It came with dice and a spinner and a board and a solar calculator (this was 1980-something, so that was pretty cool).

You have to work out projects like that based on how long things take to make. So the very first thing I had to build was the box it all came in and the inserts and stuff. So I didn’t know until six months later and all the components were done if everything really was going fit. It did.

I remember going to the box company. Friend Box, it was. Hey, that’s kind of a neat website they got. They had a great stack of gold-foil boxes against one wall that were destined for cremains. Huh. My mom didn’t get no pretty box.

Worst job? Car wash. I lasted one day.

Two words: exhaust fumes.

I swear I had a headache for a week.

Best job: being retired…

You know, that thing about facial deformities and portraits is true. In my six weeks on the job, I had at least four. And an experienced person there (who, incidentally, really was very good at it) said it was common.

I’m guessing the misshapen are so used to people glancing at them and then looking away quickly that it is some kind of relief or pleasure to make a normo confront them by staring into their faces for twenty minutes.

I remember one sulky young woman with the aforementioned mole, and a guy with serious burns, and somebody with a birthmark.

That one still cracks me up, Weasel. “Meow,” “Eat your vegetables.” I had a bunch of people over last night, some who didn’t know my wife. One of them asked something about how much is she still part of me?

My smartass answer: well, she’s over there in the cabinet, does that help? I laughed like hell, but apparently it was not that universally funny.

Steam: Exhaust fumes. Gak!

Weez: Yeah, looking back, I find that my favorite jobs have always required the most eclectic selection of skills. If I had it all to do over again, I’d have worked harder at learning math (attending 27 different schools in 12 years kind of made it a tad difficult to acquire any rational or cohesive concept of math, for me at least). It wasn’t until sonar maintenance school in the Navy I really got a handle on any math at all, and then only because to avoid getting kicked out to the fleet as a bosun’s mate striker (pronounced “career paint-chipper”), I had to sign up for nightly tutoring, which finally managed to beat into my head Boolean algebra (it made no sense to me for the longest time) and the tiny bit of Euclidean geometry required for calculating impedances.

Allen: I once went to a party and just had to tell the host the latest great joke I’d heard:

Q: What one thing does OJ Simpson have that all married men wish they had?
A: Actually, two things: The Heisman Trophy, and a dead wife.

I was so caught up in sharing what I considered a hilarious joke I forgot the host’s wife had passed away three months earlier. Unforgivably stupid of me; the two of them had been at my wedding. Jeez, I get red-faced thinking about it even now.

Worst Job: dishwasher at Western Sizzlin’ Steak House. The dishes never stopped coming. The waitresses bussed the tables onto a 3 shelved cart, and it made a very distinctive noise when filled to overflowing and rammed into the swinging door on the way to me. I used to hear that noise in my sleep. Dirty, smelly, hot, disgusting, thankless, horrible job.

Best Job: Doorman at a single screen movie theater. My friends got in free, all the soda and popcorn you could stand, got paid 6 hours of time for about 30 minutes of work a night, mostly spent flirting with the ticket and concessions girls.

Not surprisingly, I deal with death by cracking wise. I think that really kind of rattled Uncle B when my mother died.

She’s coming with, by the way. That’s probably illegal, but I couldn’t work out what else to do with the bit I have left. She’s packed in with the office supplies, I believe.

Worst Job- my childhood home had what was laughingly called a “crawlspace”. It was actually a “slitherspace” and my father (a sturdy individual of Germanic heritage, i.e. Not Small) got so stuck my little sister, age 5, was sent in with a hand trowel to dig him out. Then *I* (age 10) was shoved in to lower the ENTIRE AREA. By hand. Even my parents had to agree that was worthy of pay. I found a mummified rat, an entire spider civilization, and lots of nails sticking out of the floor joists. Also I have no tendency to claustrophobia.

I’m still looking for my best job … anybody looking for a mad scientist?

Ah, ready sex objects. That’s really the only proper way to rate a job.

RSO Ratings (scale: 0 to 100):
Heavy Equipment Operator—0
Telemarketing—25
College Student—100
Video Producer—25
Night Watchman—0
Sales Manager—10
Bookkeeper—0
Lounge Singer—50
Magazine Writer—25
Newspaper Editor—50
Chief Executive Officer—0
Short Order Cook—50
Computer Programmer—0
Computer Salesman—40
Electrical Machinery Repairman—0
Marketing Director—0
Ghost Writer—0
Novelist—0
Successful Novelist—I wouldn’t know. And thanks for asking, asshole.

JW, I suspect your friend did find it funny at some point. Amongst my neighbors, 3 of us lost our wives within a 12 month period. We had a thing to get through it, “The Dead Wives Club.” That went over real well with some of their women friends.

Pupster, I started out at Western Sizzlin’ as a dishwasher and graduated to cook when I was 16. If it’s the same chain, they had that spavine looking cow on the sign. Yeah baby, mooooo.

Weasel, in California, you’re supposed to fill out paperwork to take cremains across county lines. That’s seriously screwed up. Hmmm, I wonder if they’re going to cart me off for illegally transporting cremains across county lines… “You’ll never get me coppers!”

Believe it or not, hauling shit out of a dairy barn is probably the worst. I ain’t talking about with a tractor, I mean with a fork and a wheel-barrow. But even the original “shit job” has its good points. Sure there’s the obvious; saturating stench, flies, maggots, green stains on your clothing, cows slappin’ ya in the face with shit/piss encrusted tails, but its also good exercise and that combined with the solitude gives you a good chance at something rare, time to think.

Oh, he laughed, Allen, and it sounded like an honest laugh to me. But that didn’t stop me from realizing what a total shitheel I was, even as the punchline was leaving my dumb, ignorant, stoopit mouth.

Yeah, surly ermine, shoveling shit is a cloud in search of a silver lining. When I was 15, I got hired by my (hated) step-grandmother to clean out her horse’s stall. The shit was, I swear to Obama, over two feet deep, and three foot in some place. There was an actual concrete floor under there, which came as a rather teeth-rattling surprise to me when I found it. It took me all day to shovel and wheel-barrow that crap out of there–plenty of time to think, but unfortunately, I was unable to think of anything that was legal, however richly deserved it may have been. As a reward, Esther (I had always refused to call her Grandma) gave me 50 cents for “bubble gum money.”

Yeah, you’re right jw, I got a little flowery there. Who am I kidding? Mostly I just think how bad it sucks ass and I can’t wait to get back to drinking and sitting on my ass.

btw, what did your folks do when you punched ol’ Esther square in the face?

Best job: Slinging espresso drinks in a bookstore, I shit you not. We made up new drinks, we had fun with the customers, we spoke at times in fake Italian accents. Also Cockney. Don’t ask me why. The word “biscotti” is fucking HILARIOUS in a Cockney accent.

Worst job: Managing everyone else slinging espresso drinks for a bookstore chain in 8 different states. Like being at Disneyworld with a blindfold and earmuffs on. Soul, mind and heart-killing work.

I had a friend who ran a horse farm with her husband for a while. She shoveled shit while he flew around the world attending auctions. This didn’t last, obviously.

So does everyone have an informal list of unforgivably shitheel things you’ve said in your life that you replay for yourselves if you have the misfortune of being awake and sober at 3am?

That back in the 60’s, SE… The woman could have stabbed me with a fork and it would never have occurred to me to strike her. Not because of the moral question involved, but because my dad would have beaten me within an inch of my life.

“spavine looking cow on the sign” – Allen

Yep, same joint. I spent 6 months in the dishwasher pit, moved to fry cook (I think they called it ‘prep’) before my so called friend got busted for stealing steaks for home cook-outs, and in an effort to save his hide, dropped dime on half of the kitchen staff for various and sundry offenses against the franchise. I was encouraged to resign for helping myself to New York Strips on Texas Toast for my lunch break on more than one occasion.

My ‘friend’ was terminated and prosecuted even after he told all he knew. Bastard.

I once told the hostess of a party that she had a “fuck me now” face. It was the best compliment I could think of in my “do not operate heavy machinery or even a bicycle for that matter” stage of impairment.

One of the reasons I’m not much of a drinker is because I never forget anything I do or say while inebriated.

“…list of unforgivably shitheel things you’ve said…”

Milady jests!

Milady does not jest. Milady, when the moment is right, jibes. And for certain special occasions, Milady jeers.

But jest? Milady? Ha-HA!

This is the last day my boss and I will be together, by the way. He’s taking next week off. Which means he’s taking the group to dinner in a bit.

Which means I have to stay late to attend my own going-away party. That’s sorta sucky, wouldn’t you say?

Things said and done, which not only keep me awake, but also wake me up. Those 3AM twin demons of remorse and regret.

Hey, how do those Congresscritters actually sleep at night?

They’re sociopaths.

Yeah, before we imitated the Japanese and ‘flattened’ this organization in the ’90s, I was a low level manager. I did my own production work, but I also did work assignment and performance reviews and stuff.

Holy shit, how I hated that. I’ve decided that 20% of human beings like to tell others what to do, 70% of human beings genuinely love to be told what to do…and I fall in the 10% that just wants the whole world to fuck off and leave me alone. I mean, tell me the work that needs doing, and I’ll do it. Simple. SHOULDN’T IT BE?

Best and worst jobs were both ‘temp’ jobs. The worst was working in a factory where they made oven chips. It was hot, physical and everywhere stank of stale cooking oil. I literally only lasted a few hours on the first night until I’d developed the mother of all throbbing headaches. I pretended I was going to fetch something from my car a la Homer Simpson and then got the fuck out of there as fast as my car would take me.

I phoned the job agency the next day and told them what I’d done, and they were all like, ‘Eh, who cares’ and offering me other temp. jobs. I just left the job, on the first night, without letting anyone know, and nobody seemed to give a shit.

The best job was working as one of the guys who delivers and picks up cars for Avis. I made so many fuck ups on that job, such as managing to shut the keys for one car under its bonnet/hood, narrowly avoiding a big accident, and showing up to work at the start three penalty points away from a driving ban. Again, that last one was more to do with the agency’s lackadaisical attitude: ‘Huh, you’ve been convicted of a motoring offense? Say, hows about a job delivering cars?’

I’m with you on that one, Weez. Which could explain why I have such problems with bosses, and why people who work for me whine about not getting enough direction.

Hey! Gibby found a new sub-section for this thread: The Peter Principle Adventures.

I know there’s plenty of jobs I’ve had that I was completely unqualified to perform (at first, of course. Nothing inspires study & practice like the fear of the vanishing paycheck).

/Lucky for me I got to wear a mask during that thoracic surgery gig

Worst job, janitor. Cleaning the offices, not so bad. Noone around to bug you. But when you got to the restrooms….GAK!
Or when your company brings in the floor sealers/waxers. The fumes from that are killer.

Exhaust fumes whilst working the fast food drive-thru, close second.

Best job, stay-at-home mom. Lurved when the kids were smaller and every kid in the neighborhood wound up at our house. Restroom duty, not so bad, go figure. Though, not sure this classifies as a job as more a duty to civilization.

So, best second would be when I taught 2nd grade.

I guess, from reading this, that no one here has heard Derek and Clive Live?

Oh dear God, in the ice cream truck venue. When you’re kind of hinterlandish, seeing the UPS Truck headed your way, it induces the same feeling. UPS Truck! UPS Truck!

Since it is now WST (Weasel Standard Time) I can hear the ice maker clinking.

As a teen, I was making the princely sum of $5 an hour mowing lawns for neighbors and decided to see if a temp service could find me something more regular for the summer. They called and told me they had a job breaking down cardboard boxes all day for $4 an hour. I told them “No thanks.” They called back the next day and asked if I would do it for $3.50. Who knows what their next offer would have been? “Well, will you do it for $3.00/hr if we throw in a kick in the nuts?”

First two jobs were the worst.

When I was 11 I used to have to get up at 6am in the summer and ride a bus out to the boonies to pick strawberries all day. Ever had a strawberry shampoo? Its when the mean older kids take rotten strawberries and rub it is your hair and you never seem to be able to get out all the seeds. Plus, we were jealous of the mexicans because they could pick like 30 flats of strawberries a day and if we tried really hard and worked our asses off could only pick 6.

The 2nd shitty job was McDonald’s. Started with fries and then they put me up on the tills. But apparantly I have one of those faces that screams “bad attitude” even when I didnt think I was having one. So I went to flipping burgers. I worked there for three years but then got fired for eating a chicken mcnugget in the drive thru. Cuz it’s stealing y’know!

My favorite job was I worked at a summer camp for really talented musicians and artists, designing programs for concerts etc. I loved that job.

I can’t believe anyone who’s had their current job for over 29 years could have such a long list, but here goes (in roughly chronological order): Mucho babysitting (12 yrs. old – 14) concession stand at a local state park (14 yrs. old); carhop/hamburger joint; clerk in a drugstore; receptionist/college dorm; cashier/small grocery; small factory (made door-edge guards for cars & windshield washer solvent); another small factory/steering sockets for cars (this was probably the worst — ragingly hot & I was allergic to the chemicals they bathed the parts in to cool them); another small factory/made small auto parts; a window factory. Also, a brief stint in a bakery (yuk).

First “real” job (“real” pay), working for GM at a Fisher Body plant. Got bounced after 3 months by the Arab oil embargo (early in 1974). Started driving a school bus that fall — No, I actually *liked* it, did it for five years. My favorite kids were middle school, the ones everyone else hated. I found them hilarious. While in the school system, I also worked janitorial as a sub, ran the switchboard as a sub, and one summer worked with maintenance mowing lawns and doing summer maint. Other summer jobs (while school was not in session) were managing a concession stand at a drive-in theater & being a store detective at Federal’s department store (and no, that’s not why they went out of business).

Left that to work at the GM Milford Proving Ground, as a test driver. Have worked at 3 divisions there (bounced from 2 by layoff), and am still at the third. I had a stint of being a clerkette from 89-92 (another auto industry contraction) — liked that okay the first year when I was learning, hated it the 2nd two when work slowed and there was no new “stuff” to master. Blackmailed myself back into driving during a big overtime crush, and am still there. Worked the past few months in the emission dept., running vehicles on roller dynos (tough work, strapping those suckers down), now back to Special Test. Hardest thing there is loading ballast — 25 pound lead weights, roughly the size/shape of a trade paperback, put in to simulate carrying passengers & the groceries. I’m getting rickety in my old age, as I have neuropathy and reactive arthritis (an auto-immune form, related to having ulcerative colitis), but still plugging away. That Is, if The General doesn’t go belly-up. If you’ve got a decent radio (we get a lot with XM now), even the worst tests/vehicles are tolerable. All in all, my second favorite.

My first? Didn’t mention it above, but in college I was a DJ at the college radio station. Didn’t pay a thing, but I loooooooved it. I love music (most kinds) and *really* loved all the gadgets. I was not great as a “personality,” but shoulda studied radio engineering and done that and let someone else do the yakking.

And no, I’m not a hundred years old — only 56. I hope you enjoy this new phase of your life tremendously, Stoaty (I think you will). I wish I could envision some momentous change for myself, ONE THAT IS GOOD, instead of the fear of GM going bust and my being put out on the street!

Allen, I watched last night’s episode of Grey’s Anatomy with trepidation. You see, Denny Duquette has come back from the dead because Izzie (Kathryn Heigl) needs guidance.
The people that I work with don’t understand why Denny’s appearances work me into such a lather. They’re young, and they’ve not had to survive a loved one. I have.

This is us in happier times: http://www.flickr.com/photos/jilldini/813567561/sizes/l/

Occasionally, he will stand out in a crowd for just a moment, or interrupt my dreams. But he never lets me forget about him. He is still a huge part of me, and I will always love him, and I will always hate him for leaving so abruptly.

Ehhh. Being unemployed is highly underated. Everytime the hubby and I move, I take a month or two off work. My move to beantown was my 30th (I’m 46). I confess that only 11 of those moves were with my hubby (hence my nic) and 7 of those were within a 50 mile radius. I keep trying to convince the hubby that I need to be permanently unemployed…but he reminds me that I must work to pay the M&M bill (the maids and mercedes). I shoulda’ married a rich man.

Uncle B, I *have* “Derek and Clive – Live”!!

Oh dear little Flo
I love you so
Especially in your nightie

When the moonlight flits
Across your tits, well…

Jesus Christ Almighty

*BTW, Derek and Clive = Dudley Moore and Peter Cook

Worst job so far was as a dispatch operator for a huge-ass alarm company, especially when I worked the overnight shift. Best job so far, the one I have now. Pays for crap, and I deal w/ 5th/6th graders all day, but it’s actually a lot of fun and it doesn’t involve a cubicle.

Wow, I also worked as a dishwasher for Western Sizzlin’ — for one weekend. It was my first job (not counting mowing lawns, cutting trees, etc.) It was hell, so when the University extension service, which I had also applied for at the same time, called on Monday I said, “Of course I’m still available.”

I was a high school junior. I got to work with two college hotties reorganizing a warehouse full of extension documents with no supervisors. Two hour lunch breaks where the chicks would lay out on the loading dock and tan. It was an awesome highschool job, but probably not my best job.

Incidentally, that Western Sizzlin’ burned down a few years later. Didn’t surprise me one bit.

I’ve never really had a bad job. I’ve had shitty supervisors, though. Or actually, one shitty supervisor, who drove off all the best people in her group, including me (I actually got reassigned, but would have been looking to move anyway if I hadn’t been). My current supervisor is made of win, but he is leaving in December. 🙁

Worst job – Community service at the Salvation Army for a teen court judgement for driving without a license when I was 15. On Saturdays, I had to work the thrift store sorting area. GROSS! On weekdays, I had to work the soup line. Homeless men used to ask me out on dates when I would go up and down the line with bread. Even grosser.

I have never had a best job, although the Navy was pretty cool. A few months ago on a plane. I sat in seats in front of a lady who was trying to hook up with the guy next to her. I listened to her telling him all about her job. She worked for an Israeli software developer. Her clients were big names like Gucci and Chanel. She did the specs for their accounting software and then told other people what they would need. She traveled three days a week and got the other four off. Wow….

Aha! In which case Jill will know that the worst job involves lobsters and Jane Mansfield…. 😉

(Badger backs out of room as the stares begin…)

I forgot about that!

Jane Mansfield was okay for a while, but then she lost her head.

Yes, Gnus – but wasn’t she driven to it?

I love you guys.

http://www.phespirit.info/derekandclive/live_01.htm

🙂

“She was a fantastic bird…”

Ummm…watch your back, Scubafreak. Schroedinger is boning up on artillery, and it looks like he’s learned to operate a mouse with his nose.

Schroedinger says ‘tanks for de mouse…seems like a fair swap.’

Jill, yeppers I know what you’re saying. I hear her in the wind on occasion.

On the lighter side, I bottled the remainder of the 2007 vintage today. The Quality Control Staff gave two hic ups. I must say the Sangiovese is as smooth as a baby’s mustela massaged butt. Ewww, that wasn’t quite the description I was looking for.

There’s nothing makes a Greenland Whale
Feel half so high-and-mighty,
As sitting on a mantlepiece
In Aunty Mabel’s nighty.

It makes a change from Freezing Seas,
(Of which a Whale can tire).
To warm his weary tail at ease
Before on English fire.

For this delight he leaves the sea,
(Unknown to Aunty Mabel),
Returning only when the dawn
Lights up the Breakfast Table.

–mervyn peake

Ah, good old Peake … I’ve been wanting to re-read Gormenghast, but one of my former step-children’s chums swiped my books (along with LOTR and Douglas Adams, which I’ve managed to replace). I’d like to read all of Mr. Pye, as well.

Yes, he was sniffing around my gunsafe yesterday. I could just hear him saying to himself “Oh GOD, WHY did you not give me opposable thumbs!”…..

I do hope you will be blogging TGIFs from “Old Blighty”?!

Oh, I’ll certainly be blogging, MCPO. I just don’t think Fs have such an impact that you have to TG for them when you don’t ride a cubicle for a living. Although Uncle B, who has been freelance since he was an embryo, does appear to observe the weekday/weekend dichotomy loosely.

If anything, I tend to look forward to the weekdays now: its not as busy out there at stores and such. Even the roads seem less busy (after the rush hours). Weekends are a madhouse out there and I tend to stay home.

So for retirees – Thank God Its Monday.

I agree, McGoo – even though I work.

Her Ladyship is right, I do observe weekends, even though I rarely get one without having to work and I think it’s quite important to do so, right down to the sanctified Sunday Roast (which is duck today, just in case anyone was wondering).

But for getting out and shopping, or visiting attractions, TGIM is definitely teh way.

I’ll bet that – as a nartist – Weasel very quickly figgers out weekends suck for getting things done. During the week, everyone’s at work and nobody bugs ya.

Best job is my current one: housewife with four “fur kids” (ferrets).

One time I should have kept my mouth shut:

Me to company president: Oh, you’ve lost weight!
President: Yeah, about 120 pounds.
Me: Ha ha ha, what, did your wife leave you?
President: Yes.

Lipstick – Ouch!

Yes… I’ve said things that bad. For some reason, mine always come back to haunt me when I’m in the shower. I’ve really no idea why.

I spend my Mondays on the golf course. . . hopefully making the wallets of the local pigeons a bit lighter.

Being less than 30, I couldn’t tell you my best or worst jobs… although, my current job is pretty sweet. Unfettered Internet (except for Facebook and YouTube, and that’s only if you don’t know what you’re doing), unlimited phone calls, regular 8.30-5.30 Mon-Fri, company foots the bill for month-end drinks, paintball competitions, team dinners and (not company-paid) girls girls girls! Most are married, but a substantial number are not, and no few of them are reputedly kinda easy-friendly, if you get my drift.

Not that I’d necessarily know.

Yeah, all in all I’d say it’s my best job so far.

Wow…I didn’t know that McDonald’s was so liberal.

Somethin I suspect weaselses might like.

Gregory, sounds like you are in the mortgage industry.

Not that I mean that as an insult or anything. It just sounds like some mortgage companies I’ve known.

apotheosis, that there is darn funny.

Good morning y’all! Here’s some good art for you.

Worst job: Temping for a moving company in Georgia. Long, hot, sweaty hours of backbreaking labor with no knowledge of when quitting time might be, and no consideration given to safety. Quit after two days.

Best job: Freelance writer for a hip website at the height of the internet bubble. Easy work, awesome pay.

Live in Nashville now. Yes, it can get to 110 in the shade in the summer here !! Figured you knew that Opryland has been gone for about 8 years now.. 🙁 Most folks around here miss it terribly…

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