I should start writing about some of my crap jobs. They were kind of spectacular. To get started, here is what I posted on the pajiba comment diversion that I mentioned in the earlier post:
I’ve had TONS of crap jobs. 2 weeks at an airbrush shop (oh yeah) where I burnt my hand on the heat press and the pothead “artist” wouldn’t let me go to the mall first aid thing because “we might get some customers in here, like, any time now.” I quit.
I was a personal assistant to a doctor for one day. I went to his house, he pointed to a monolithic stack of Playboy and Hustler (and something called Hairy Women) and requested that I order them by date and amount of vag shown in centerfold. They looked sticky, I left the house.
My last job was actually pretty cool. I worked for a private investigation company and watched surveillance footage of people who were supposed to be too hurt to work as they attended Mardi Gras parades and held people on their shoulders. What sucked about the job was a co-worker. She was a massive drunk. One day, I called in to work because I had been injured in a car accident the prior evening. She called me AT HOME and demanded I go in to work. This is how she started this conversation: “Sharon. Do you know how bad of a morning I’m having? I woke up this morning covered in shit. I shit myself while I was asleep and now I can’t go to work. You have to go. Do you hear me? I shit myself. Now go into work.” I told her that 1) she wasn’t my fucking boss and 2) I had 3 cracked ribs, so, you know, GO TO HELL, MISSY!!! She told EVERYONE in the office that she shit herself and we all made fun of her for months. Which is exactly what she deserved. So there.