On the radio a couple of days ago, they were talking about celebrities who had crappy, dead-end jobs before becoming famous. So-and-so worked at a McDonalds, this guy cut hair at his sister's salon, etc. I sat there laughing, not because any of it was particularly funny, but because those were not crappy jobs. I know crappy jobs. Those were lesser jobs or starter jobs, but not crappy ones.
What's the distinction I'm making between those categories? To me, if you didn't know what you were getting into, that plays a big role. With McDonalds, you pretty much know when you're applying that it's a lower-paying, faster-paced job working with often unkind customers and unmotivated colleagues. I have two tales of jobs that were unknowingly crappy, and I'll let the US Weekly editors fight over which they choose when I'm rich and famous.
Back in good ole Santa Barbara, I had just graduated from college and was in the middle of applying for jobs on campus. This was a very long process, because everything had to be 100% according to the Human Resources playbook. So each job was officially open for three weeks, then once it closed the applications were sent all together to the department. After two to five rounds of interviews, blah blah blah. While all of this was going on, I went to a temp agency to see how I could make some money in the meantime. When I was told about a week-long position with the parking department at a Christian college in town, I took it. (Even though I'm of the Jewish persuasion, I didn't find this to be a conflict of interest at all - I just wanted a little cash and I didn't have to sign anything saying that Jesus is the Lord or anything.)
So I walk up the first day in a dress shirt and slacks, and I learn what my job will be: Sitting outside in the summer heat with a full-time parking employee, running up as cars pull into the lot, scraping off old parking stickers from the students' windshields and putting new ones on. Awesome.
It was, to say the least, a very interesting experience. On day one, the lady I was working with starting talking about going to garage sales every weekend. "I know that the rate should be three t-shirts for fifty cents, so I don't let them Jew me down," I was told. Hmmmm. I had to decide whether I should say something nicely and make the next four and a half days of sitting alone with this woman even more awkward than it already was or let it go and hope it was the only comment of its kind all week. I chose that latter, and it fortunately didn't come up again.
Another interesting component was interacting with the students. I was only a couple of years at most older than them, so I'd chat a little while scraping off the stickers. One young lady was a bit flirty and kept asking if I was new in town and needed any friends. I politely declined and told her that I had a good group of friends including my serious girlfriend in town, yet as she was leaving, she yelled out what residence hall she lived in "just in case." I chuckled to myself, especially since I had just seen her "Real Men Love Jesus" bumper sticker.
At the end of the week, I made a very small sum, my hands were sore and calloused hands from all the scraping, I had a little sunburn from sitting outside all week, I'd endured a little religious slur, and I had unwittingly broken hearts all along the way (which takes a devastating toll on me). Does that count as a crappy job?
If not, I have story number two to throw at you, gentle readers. You've heard about my job in Sacramento and the fun I had arranging things in zip code order, etc. With that job, though, I knew what I was getting into and it definitely could've been worse. Before that job, I had a two-week temp job that was a little less than advertised. I was told that I would be helping this larger company prepare for their annual convention. Cool, I did event planning stuff before, this could be interesting.
Yeah...that's not really what happened. As it turned out, the help they needed was in cold calling a list of several hundred businesses to see if they'd be interested in attending the convention. And as it turned out, everyone on that list had already been contacted and said no, but they needed more attendees, so that's where I came in. To make matters oh-so-much more interesting, the phone jacks weren't working properly so I had a makeshift office in (wait for it) the supply cabinet. Yep, there I sat, amongst the reams of paper, printer cartridges, and boxes of old fliers, calling people who had already clearly said no to the same request.
At the end of that stint, my voice was hoarse from talking eight hours a day, my neck hurt from cradling the phone, and I'd been yelled at by people on the phone who didn't understand why I was calling them. I had a new appreciation for open spaces though. Crappy? What say you, friends? Don't get me wrong, there are very bad jobs out there that make these seem like walks in the park. It was more the bait-and-switch aspect of these that got me. Anyway, reliving those experiences at least made me feel a little better about my current job. Speaking of which, I'd better get back to it. Happy Hump Day.
What's the distinction I'm making between those categories? To me, if you didn't know what you were getting into, that plays a big role. With McDonalds, you pretty much know when you're applying that it's a lower-paying, faster-paced job working with often unkind customers and unmotivated colleagues. I have two tales of jobs that were unknowingly crappy, and I'll let the US Weekly editors fight over which they choose when I'm rich and famous.
Back in good ole Santa Barbara, I had just graduated from college and was in the middle of applying for jobs on campus. This was a very long process, because everything had to be 100% according to the Human Resources playbook. So each job was officially open for three weeks, then once it closed the applications were sent all together to the department. After two to five rounds of interviews, blah blah blah. While all of this was going on, I went to a temp agency to see how I could make some money in the meantime. When I was told about a week-long position with the parking department at a Christian college in town, I took it. (Even though I'm of the Jewish persuasion, I didn't find this to be a conflict of interest at all - I just wanted a little cash and I didn't have to sign anything saying that Jesus is the Lord or anything.)
So I walk up the first day in a dress shirt and slacks, and I learn what my job will be: Sitting outside in the summer heat with a full-time parking employee, running up as cars pull into the lot, scraping off old parking stickers from the students' windshields and putting new ones on. Awesome.
It was, to say the least, a very interesting experience. On day one, the lady I was working with starting talking about going to garage sales every weekend. "I know that the rate should be three t-shirts for fifty cents, so I don't let them Jew me down," I was told. Hmmmm. I had to decide whether I should say something nicely and make the next four and a half days of sitting alone with this woman even more awkward than it already was or let it go and hope it was the only comment of its kind all week. I chose that latter, and it fortunately didn't come up again.
Another interesting component was interacting with the students. I was only a couple of years at most older than them, so I'd chat a little while scraping off the stickers. One young lady was a bit flirty and kept asking if I was new in town and needed any friends. I politely declined and told her that I had a good group of friends including my serious girlfriend in town, yet as she was leaving, she yelled out what residence hall she lived in "just in case." I chuckled to myself, especially since I had just seen her "Real Men Love Jesus" bumper sticker.
At the end of the week, I made a very small sum, my hands were sore and calloused hands from all the scraping, I had a little sunburn from sitting outside all week, I'd endured a little religious slur, and I had unwittingly broken hearts all along the way (which takes a devastating toll on me). Does that count as a crappy job?
If not, I have story number two to throw at you, gentle readers. You've heard about my job in Sacramento and the fun I had arranging things in zip code order, etc. With that job, though, I knew what I was getting into and it definitely could've been worse. Before that job, I had a two-week temp job that was a little less than advertised. I was told that I would be helping this larger company prepare for their annual convention. Cool, I did event planning stuff before, this could be interesting.
Yeah...that's not really what happened. As it turned out, the help they needed was in cold calling a list of several hundred businesses to see if they'd be interested in attending the convention. And as it turned out, everyone on that list had already been contacted and said no, but they needed more attendees, so that's where I came in. To make matters oh-so-much more interesting, the phone jacks weren't working properly so I had a makeshift office in (wait for it) the supply cabinet. Yep, there I sat, amongst the reams of paper, printer cartridges, and boxes of old fliers, calling people who had already clearly said no to the same request.
At the end of that stint, my voice was hoarse from talking eight hours a day, my neck hurt from cradling the phone, and I'd been yelled at by people on the phone who didn't understand why I was calling them. I had a new appreciation for open spaces though. Crappy? What say you, friends? Don't get me wrong, there are very bad jobs out there that make these seem like walks in the park. It was more the bait-and-switch aspect of these that got me. Anyway, reliving those experiences at least made me feel a little better about my current job. Speaking of which, I'd better get back to it. Happy Hump Day.
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