I was 19 and working for a water treatment center one summer to earn extra money. I was hired by a friend of my parents and told that the work would be extremely easy. My job description fell under the vague category of “safety coordinator”. I was told to show up at the water treatment center at 6 am and to bring a lunch. I was hesitant about going, the only safety measures I knew were medical procedures I learned watching E.R- and I doubted anyone would need me to (or even let me) perform a tracheotomy with a bic pen, but they mentioned the hourly pay and although my heart said no, my bank account (and want for new J. Lo jeans) said yes.
Three hours later, I found myself knee deep in shit. Literally.
See, my official job title might have been “safety coordinator” but my actual job description had me standing in an underground tank the size of a football field, wearing a full bio hazard jumpsuit, complete with oxygen tank and mask- watching sewage treatment workers break up massive, solid blocks of cemented shit with power hoses so it would get sucked into these tanks. I was getting paid $21 an hour to stand at the bottom of the ladder, not move and watch to make sure everyone’s oxygen air tank cords didn’t get tangled.
For 8 hours a day.
Six days a week.
I’m not going to lie friends, the first day I barely could see out of my mask because I was crying so hard. Which was great because the fog caused by my tears, obscured my horrifying work environment. My friends all had jobs working at ice cream stands or clothing stores. They got to converse with people, wear pretty clothes and none of them were wearing an oxygen tank and spending 15 minutes of their lunch hour being hosed down in a bright yellow jumpsuit with a sprayer so powerful it felt like a gunshot going through their body.
So, the first day I cried. The second day I pushed through- spending my entire shift focused on three oxygen tank cords, humming Johnny Cash and re-considering my need to live for jeans with fringe.
I went home on the third day and talked to my mom. I told her that the pay was good, but that I had never been more unhappy. It wasn’t just the actual surroundings (but let’s get serious- can you think of anything LESS ideal than working in an underground tank surrounded by mountains of poop, the mountains speckled with thousands of condoms that had been flushed down the toilet? Maybe throw in some dead puppies and Avril Lavigne on a loud speaker and you have my complete definition of Hell), but it was absolutely breathtaking how lonely I was and how unhappy I had become in such a short time.
I expected my mom to tell me to stick it out, but she illustrated how cool she is by telling me that she understood and that she agreed, I should quit. That life was too short to spend your days that miserable. Of course, it would be up to me to find a different job, but that I should remember that I always, always have a choice. Being miserable at work, in a relationship, in life- is always a choice.
I’ve been keeping this in mind lately as I shut my alarm off at 6 am and stumble into the shower, the fog of my brain clearing- letting me visualize my to-do list that seems to multiply each time I cross a single item off as done. I’m not miserable, far from it- but remembering that I always have a choice, that has been a life saver as the days of September have been consumed by work and meetings and a constant struggle to catch up to other teachers and meet the unrealistically high expectations I’ve set for myself. Yes, I always have a choice. And no matter how many math pages I have to mark, no matter how many supplies I need to find for our science experiment, how late the staff meeting runs, how many parent calls at 8am, how many tattles I hear, how many early morning bus supervision shifts,- I will never find myself literally standing at the bottom of a ladder knee deep in shit.
And for that, I am thankful.
And I’m thankful that I went with the pocket less J.Lo jeans rather than the ones with the fringe.
Tell me, what was the worst job you ever had? And if it involves a bio hazard suit, we should meet for drinks and cheers our awesomeness.
Oh. My God. Yes.
I had an internship at a really prestigious botanic garden. But I worked from 6am to 2:30 in a greenhouse by myself the entire time; pruning plants or …yes, actually, BEING IN A BIOHAZARD SUIT.
Every week I had to spray plants with chemicals and wear big goggles, a face mask, and long sleeves/pants while out in 100 degree weather.
It was horrible.
I didn’t get to interact with anyone. I didn’t get to share my love of plants with anyone. It was incredibly lonely.
And when I told my mom that I wanted to quit, she too completely supported that decision.
Walking away from that job was the best thing I have done in my grown-up life.
Biohazard suit?! We rule. We definitely need to do some shots to cheers the fact we lived through it.
My worst job was nothing even close to that–I was a reporter at a city newspaper for the summer and my main task was to do “streeters”. I had to go up to six random people and ask them the Question of the Week and take their pictures. It was extremely uncomfortable and awkward and it’s amazing how NO ONE wants their picture taken. Or I’d get stalked for the rest of the day by someone I had asked. Still, it beats standing in shit.
Is it wrong that I was thinking about how much I’d like someone to interview me for something? I’m hungry for my face to be in the paper
My worst job was working at the Hollywood Bowl as an usher in the very very top nose bleed seat section. The first day there the guy who was in charge of that section (and at the bottom of the supervisor ladder) made me cry because I didn’t know where certain seats were. I spent a couple of weeks standing up for 8 hours at a time and not talking to anyone despite being SURROUNDED by thousands of people, except to point out seating sections and one time when a drunk lady told me she hated her kids (fun conversation that one…). And then I too realized I had a choice and quit. I didn’t have to wear a bio-hazard suit but we had to wear some god-awful, unflattering uniforms!
That would have sucked. I hate jobs that require uniforms. :(
Yikes. That’s a BAD job. I don’t blame you for crying your first day. I probably would have, too.
I love it when people condone my public crying. Seriously though, I had no control, the tears started flowing the second the oxygen mask got fitted.
I worked at a Produce Market for three weeks…
Actually no. It was babysitting for my little cousin. She SCREAMED and CRIED the entire time and made me feel like a horrible person. THAT was my worst job. Thankfully it only lasted a few hours and I could go home to my parents that actually loved me and didn’t scream in horror when I walked in the door.
I always had awesome babysitting adventures- stories like yours make me feel lucky that i did!
We’re pigs farmers. My youth was spent power washing rooms full of pig shit. It flew in my eyes, nose, ears and yes, my mouth. A biohazard suit would have been an absolute blessing.
You. Win.
Mmm. Right now my job includes dealing with animals, cranky people, and asking about anal glands. So far it is the worst one I’ve had.
Console yourself with the fact that you are writing me a letter. (that doesn’t make sense but i just read your tweet. hurrah!)
Well, it wasn’t nearly as bad as yours, but I had a horrible job working the trams at the State Fair one year. It was over 100 degrees and filthy dirty. They had this crazy schedule set up where you worked four hours, were off four, then worked four more. So, I was at the Fair for 12 hours a day for two weeks straight, and I don’t like the Fair anyway. I earned minimum wage. It was all my ex-husband’s idea for us to do this. Not one of his better ones.
Excessive heat plus any job is going to make me want to jump off a cliff. I’m glad you survived.
It was in a bakers/coffee shop, involved me wearing a bad brown and cream uniform (frumpiness personified), was before minimum wage was introduced so meant i was working in a hellhole ALL WEEKEND for about twenty pounds in total. Yuck.
I worked in a vet clinic all through college. It gave me a stomach of steel. Eating lunch between pyometra (do not Google if you don’t already know) surgeries? Check! Wrestling a bleeding, peeing cat? Check! Prepping feces specimen slides for parasite inspection? Check!
Funny thing is, I miss that job SO much. It is the measure I use for all jobs that came after, and I forever have the memory that it is far better to be peed and crapped on literally than figuratively.
Your story here just made me laugh out loud. That sounds miserable, and I’m glad you had that conversation with your mother. It’s really got me thinking. Because my job? Less than ideal right now, but I’m thankful to HAVE a job.
My worst job was probably my job as a referee for little kid basktball. The pay was fantastic, but the parents? Most were asshats. And their kids were, like, 5. And didn’t listen to me. So while I got a new pair of shoes out of that job, I didn’t go back my senior year…
My Joe’s first internship was at a wastewater treatment plant… and now he designs landfills and gets paid for it. Yup, shitty jobs all around.
My worst job was working retail at the mall for pre-teen fashion. Oh my god, the moms made me suicidal. It lasted three weeks.
My worst job was spending a summer selling “educational resources” door-to-door in the backwoods of North Carolina. I had my car stolen, I wrecked my rental car, and I, quite literally, cried myself to sleep most nights. I’m still not quite sure how I made it through that summer, but still, to this day, if I’m having a bad day, I say to myself, “Well, at least I’m not selling books door to door….”
I once worked for an Indian guy who although super rich, hated women and never let me speak my mind. My self-esteem was never as low as when I worked there. Needless to say I didn’t last very long and I let him know just exactly where he could stick it when I left.
Yours takes the cake. But mine was working at Red Lobster. Or as I like to refer to it: Red Slobster.
Wow, that’s a seriously shitty job. Er…no pun intended.
My first job was horrible (though not that horrible after reading yours), working in a supermarket stacking shelves. It would have been fine had it not been for the people managing the place, who were useless and yet obsessed with the little power they had. They just got far too much glee out of making our lives miserable. I spent a lot of my time pushing around a fluorescent yellow bin on wheels collecting cardboard. It was called the dog. Collecting cardboard was called ‘walking the dog’. Not nearly as fun as the Dawson’s Creek version of that phrase I imagine.
Well, I came here to tell you about cleaning pig pens…but I see Leah has beat me to it. What she didn’t tell you is that we also assist in the, um, reproductive cycle. I’ll leave that to your imagination.
dude. i love you.
Your mom gives good advice. (And, I hear, dresses better than you.)
And I’ll stop tattling to you.
For 2 weeks, 8 hours a day/5 days a week, I removed staples. Get a file folder, open file folder, remove every staple from the papers inside, close file folder, get new file folder. Repeat.
OMFG that was hell.
Wow, this story makes any of my bad jobs pale in comparison, but I’ll still share. My worst job day-to-day was working retail in a clothing store. Not because of what I was assigned to do, but because they’d cancel my shift and not tell me (so I got to enjoy a half hour drive in for nothing), was sexually harassed by one manager and gossiped about by another, and then when my grandfather unexpectedly died that summer was treated to a dose of evangelism from co-workers of another faith.
That summer job made me realize how important it was that I finish my degree, so I had options and never had to be stuck in a job I hated.
wow. you just made me realize how truly blessed i am. thank you, brandy. i think my worst job has been being a barista in a roadside coffee stand. but hell. even then i made tips.
i am so sorry you had to do that. i also condone your public crying. yuck.
the idea that we have a CHOICE in this life, well, that’s simply really awesome.
like you, you know?
That’s insane. I can honestly tell you that that’s the worst job I’ve ever even heard of- I think I always took for granted that someone actually had to deal with the (literal) crap that went down the toilet!
A year out of college I still hadn’t found a real job. I was paying the bills in a part time gig but was dying to get into my career. I applied for and went on a day long interview for a “marketing rep” job. I niavely thought this was in my field. For my day long interview I found myself in a car with three strangers, driving into Harlem. We parked the car and I shadowed a guy as he sold credit card service door to door in businesses…in Harlem!
I somehow convinced myself that I could totally do this simply because I was desperate for a real job. I accepted the position, put my two weeks notice in at my job and slowly came to the realization that I did not under any circumstances actually wish to be the only white girl in Harlem. Within a week I rescinded my resignation and went back to my job at the hotel gift shop.
I don’t think anyone can possibly top that as the worst job ever. I mean…it’s just impossible.
Alberta breeds bad jobs: my worst was when I lived in Calgary – sold really, really, ridiculously expensive vacuums door to motherfuckin’ door. Terrible idea. Did not last long. Best part was the laughter that ensued this summer at a family barbeque, as I found out my brother held the exact same job for a bit as well. Pretty sure my mom was crying in a corner as her only daughter and only son laughed hysterically at their STELLAR job experience.
No job I have had or have can ever top what you just described. But you’re right, it’s always good to remember that we do have choice. Up to use to do what we want with that in mind.
It may sound weak, but it was probably painting the Parentages house one summer. In 105 degree heat. The old paint was bad and had to be stripped first, so we ended up using this caustic acid gel stuff to loosen the old paint and scrape it off. The acid stuff was so strong we wore long everything (pants, shirts), eye protection, those fancy cartridge-masks, and kept a running hose nearby because if the stuff touched your skin it started to burn immediately. Between the heat, the sweat, and the ever present danger of burning one’s skin off, not a fun summer…
Okay, wow- you totally win. I can’t imagine how you actually lasted that long! My worst job experience was probably the one I just left- but that is nothing compared to standing literally in shit.
You’re an extremely brave lady!
The worst job I ever had was my first out of college. It should’ve been a red flag that the guy interviewing me for the “start up” (which was really just a front for a pyramid scheme) had only been at the company two months. We were instructed to use a secret entrance, so investors wouldn’t know where the office is. If someone called for our boss we were to direct them to his assistant who had a special investor database which she would quickly reference before taking the call. You see there were carefully crafted excuses for why the investors couldn’t talk to the boss–things like Dale is in Thailand and Dale is at home because he pulled his groin. Really, Dale was *always* at work. He stood at the door every morning, so if you were five minutes late for work he could let you know that he knew. In addition, his crazy-ass wife was the office manager/HR person. She once fired a girl after one day because “she used too many pronouns.” While I didn’t wade through shit in the literal sense, metaphorically I was up to my neck in it.
oh man that job sounds horrendous. luckily i don’t think i’ve ever had a horrible job and for that i am so grateful.
I LOVE this story. What a horrible job to have! How do you apply to be the person who stands in poo all day? Surely that’s not listed in the job description.
I’ve had several not-so-fun jobs, but the worst one for me was working at K-Mart. I was always finding people’s used underpants (ugh) and there was this seventy-something year old woman who would come out in her underwear and stretch open the waistline saying “This panties are too big sweetie, get me a smaller size”
Oh K-mart. Thankfully the vests we wore had pockets for my bottles of hand santizer. I wouldn’t have lasted 1 hour at your poo palace job. You’re made of sterner stuff than I am :)
I worked as a waitress at Pizza Hut. I’d never worked in food service before, and instead of trying to help me learn, my co-workers just talked shit about me behind my back. One girl took my tip off a table and said that the people had left me a nasty note (which was bullshit) which she kindly collected for me. This particular girl also blamed me when she forgot to put in her table’s order (which had nothing to do with me). These patrons called me over to inform me that since I screwed up their order, I now owed them a lap dance.
I also had never experienced such blatant racism in my life as I had at that job (and I don’t just throw that term around–this was racism). My dad came and picked me up one night when it was just me and my slave-driving manager and said, “she won’t be coming back.” I felt like such a child but it had to be done.
My god, they couldn’t have warned you??
My worst job was working for Social Services. It wasn’t the job itself that was bad it was the co-workers. They were so jaded and mean to the people they were supoosed to be helping that I just couldn’t stand being around them. And the Hubs being so kind sold his 69′ Nova he was restoring just so we could have enough money so I could quit. I know that’s not even close to standing in shit all day but it was the only time I’ve ever quit a job because I couldn’t hack it.
I think what you just described is the definition of “worst job ever”. I cannot compete!
However, I have to say the job I quit in May was pretty bad. I was working in a high stress corporate office job. I wasn’t standing knee deep in poop, however it got to the point where I was getting text messages/phone calls from my boss at all hours of the day. Think “The Devil Wears Prada” minus the nice clothes. When I got five messages in the course of an hour *while on vacation* I knew it was time to let go of the job. What you said about “having a choice” really resonated with me. I reached a breaking point and realized “I don’t have to be here if I don’t want to”. I think too many people stay in situations that make them very un-happy. Quitting that job was one of the best choices I ever made.