Your worst nightmare jobs

My neighbor lady across the street from me was a mortician's assistant at a hospital. She was telling me the other day that the worse case she ever did was a child that had been hit by a car when he crossed the street to get on the school bus. There's no way I could do that job.
 
Killing anything..

Cleaning up vomit...

Being the bearer of bad news, whatever job that may entail...


Working anywhere there's likely to be Rats... sewers, rubbish dumps etc...


The Trauma cleaners who have to go behind the police, Ambulance and fire fighters.. to clean up the blood and gore left behind...
 
bobcat said:
What is a job (Or jobs) you could never convince yourself to do no matter what it paid?
Click to expand...
My very first real job

Wrote about it;

My very first ‘job’ was hoeing roses for an ol’ guy at the end of the mountain road up from our place.
He was a prize winning grower, lots of entries and ribbons and medals and plaques from all over and of course Portland, the City of Roses.

As a teacher, the crotchety ol’ fart was not the gracious diplomat he was when accepting an award.

‘Quit pickin’ at it like a gd woman, gdammit.’
‘Gimme that hook.’
He’d jerk the ‘hook’ outta my hand and commence to beat the holy crap outta those roses.
Apparently the ones that survived became resilient and hardy....and beautiful.

The hook was not much more than a smallish three prong pitchfork bent 90°.

‘You don’t stop till it’s rainin’ like a cow peein’ on a flat rock.’

That was the work schedule.

And off he’d go in his dilapidated ’49 ford sedan.
The engine sounded like it would blow apart any minute, pistons rattling around, tappets tapping a beat, zero oil.
Only drove it a few hundred yards, just to harass us.

One of the old hands said, ‘just hoe like mad until you get over the hill, then you can take a little break’.
The old gent seemed to know what he was talkin’ about, he’d been there a long time.
Back permanently stuck at 45°.
Kinda bugged me...cause when it was rainin’ like a cow peein’ on a flat rock, we’d all beat feet over to the walnut tree....here he’d trudge...and there he’d stand....bent.
His hands were stuck in a hoe holding position.
Not big on talkin’.

‘How long you been doin’ this?’

‘Some time now.’

‘Huh.’


It was $.60 an hour...10 hours a day.

I’d been there just a few days, and hoein’ like mad.
The hill just a half hour of back breaking hacks away.
Once over the hill, outta view from the ol’ guy’s shack, I straightened up and leaned on my hook.
Just stared into the sun.
Rolled a smoke.
A smoke never tasted so good.
I was just getting into a mind filled tryst with Sophia Loren when I heard, ‘That’s enough of that, git offa my property.’

I turned around and there he was, leanin’ on them crutches.
How in hell had he snuck up on me?
Had he crutched his way up the hill, knowing full well what I was doin’?
At first I was startled, and maybe a bit scared.
Then I got mad, and with the knowledge that several fields of hay bales were just waiting for me, I headed right for him.
His expression changed from sneering disgust to alarm.
‘Don’t worry ol’ man. I’m not gonna beatcha.
You’ve done enough of that yerself.
Here’s yer hook.’

So, yeah, I got fired from my first real job.
 
LOL..Gary... it's like listening to Walter Brennan reading your stories... I read it with his distinctive voice in mind....:ROFLMAO:

1671_125705709166.jpg
 
Gary O' said:
My very first real job

Wrote about it;

My very first ‘job’ was hoeing roses for an ol’ guy at the end of the mountain road up from our place.
He was a prize winning grower, lots of entries and ribbons and medals and plaques from all over and of course Portland, the City of Roses.

As a teacher, the crotchety ol’ fart was not the gracious diplomat he was when accepting an award.

‘Quit pickin’ at it like a gd woman, gdammit.’
‘Gimme that hook.’
He’d jerk the ‘hook’ outta my hand and commence to beat the holy crap outta those roses.
Apparently the ones that survived became resilient and hardy....and beautiful.

The hook was not much more than a smallish three prong pitchfork bent 90°.

‘You don’t stop till it’s rainin’ like a cow peein’ on a flat rock.’

That was the work schedule.

And off he’d go in his dilapidated ’49 ford sedan.
The engine sounded like it would blow apart any minute, pistons rattling around, tappets tapping a beat, zero oil.
Only drove it a few hundred yards, just to harass us.

One of the old hands said, ‘just hoe like mad until you get over the hill, then you can take a little break’.
The old gent seemed to know what he was talkin’ about, he’d been there a long time.
Back permanently stuck at 45°.
Kinda bugged me...cause when it was rainin’ like a cow peein’ on a flat rock, we’d all beat feet over to the walnut tree....here he’d trudge...and there he’d stand....bent.
His hands were stuck in a hoe holding position.
Not big on talkin’.

‘How long you been doin’ this?’

‘Some time now.’

‘Huh.’


It was $.60 an hour...10 hours a day.

I’d been there just a few days, and hoein’ like mad.
The hill just a half hour of back breaking hacks away.
Once over the hill, outta view from the ol’ guy’s shack, I straightened up and leaned on my hook.
Just stared into the sun.
Rolled a smoke.
A smoke never tasted so good.
I was just getting into a mind filled tryst with Sophia Loren when I heard, ‘That’s enough of that, git offa my property.’

I turned around and there he was, leanin’ on them crutches.
How in hell had he snuck up on me?
Had he crutched his way up the hill, knowing full well what I was doin’?
At first I was startled, and maybe a bit scared.
Then I got mad, and with the knowledge that several fields of hay bales were just waiting for me, I headed right for him.
His expression changed from sneering disgust to alarm.
‘Don’t worry ol’ man. I’m not gonna beatcha.
You’ve done enough of that yerself.
Here’s yer hook.’

So, yeah, I got fired from my first real job.
Click to expand...
Are you gonna submit this story to Reader's Digest? It's a pretty good read.
 
bobcat said:
Pumping out septic tanks.
Euthanizing animals that no one would adopt.
Click to expand...
Back around 1970, I worked at the Toronto Humane Society as a paid shelter employee. I was around 24 years old. Part of my job was to go out with a THS van and pick up dogs that people didn't want anymore. Same thing for cats and kittens. At other times I worked the front counter in the main building which was in downtown Toronto.

The staff vet tech was a guy from India, a Mister Singh, who had been a vet in his country, but who couldn't pass the exams to be certified in Canada. One of his jobs was loading dozens of needles to be used to kill the over flow animals. In the spring the numbers of kittens coming in the doors was massive, dozens per day, 7 days a week. I was taught how to do the job. Kittens went into a box that had formaldehyde fumes pumped into it to smother them. The larger cats got an injection into the heart, dead in 3 minutes.

The dead bodies went into an industrial size incinerator furnace at night, so the smell wasn't so noticeable. I stayed for about a year, then moved on. Lets remember this was about 55 years ago. Things have changed a bit now. JimB.
 
Cleaning up road kill
Crime scene cleaner
Cleaning up human carnage after accidents
Dentist / dentist assistant/ hygienist
Operation doctor
Septic tank cleaner
Portable toilet cleaner
Plumber
Sewer cleaner
Telemarketer
Janitor
Soldier
Slaughterhouse worker
Social worker
Promotional mascot
Pet food taster
Pest control operator
Animal inseminator
Dead fish harvester
Chicken egg collector

Too many to mention​

 
bobcat said:
What is a job (Or jobs) you could never convince yourself to do no matter what it paid?
Click to expand...
I had no interest in doing any kind of accounting or bookkeeping. I'd have been bored stupid if that's all I had to do all day. My partner took care of that stuff when we owned a small business and, fortunately, he liked it and he was good at it.

A good buddy of mine got a long-distance truck driver's license and tried to talk me into getting one, too, but I wasn't interested. The pay was really good but I'd have to be away from my kids for days or weeks at a time, and I was a single dad.
I got a heavy-equipment operator's license instead. That paid even better, had the hours I was looking for, and the work was local.

I can't think of any kind of work I wouldn't do for a fair wage, but I turned down jobs that didn't suit my lifestyle; a single parent whose kids were priority 1.

But, kids or no kids, I wasn't cut out for any type of "white-collar" work, that's for sure. Grew up on a farm, middle kid in a large family, dad was a mechanic...I just didn't have the background. Nor the slightest interest.
 
OldFeller said:
Are you gonna submit this story to Reader's Digest? It's a pretty good read.
Click to expand...
Thanks @OldFeller

I tout myself as a wood.....and word butcher

I've written a ton of these types of stories

Not really interested in publishing

Just glad you enjoyed it
My only intent

If you're having trouble sleeping, you might want to scroll thru an old thread of mine;

Vivid Memories of Childhood and Beyond
 
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