Canvasing PGH San Francisco neighborhoods for Sierra Club CALPIRG (I quit after a day!)[/b]
I'm sure a lot of us who've tried canvassing quit after one day.
I totally quit after one day. I was living in San Francisco for a summer during college and needed money too. But the looks on peoples faces when they answered the door were just unbearable to me. I just felt like I was in their shoes, uncomfortably trying to decide how to dissapoint the kid who was standing on their doorstep. I would rather shovel manure than walk through a neighborhood Frickin' up peoples afternoons.
Canvasing PGH San Francisco neighborhoods for Sierra Club CALPIRG (I quit after a day!)[/b]
I'm sure a lot of us who've tried canvassing quit after one day.
I totally quit after one day. I was living in San Francisco for a summer during college and needed money too. But the looks on peoples faces when they answered the door were just unbearable to me. I just felt like I was in their shoes, uncomfortably trying to decide how to dissapoint the kid who was standing on their doorstep. I would rather shovel manure than walk through a neighborhood Frickin' up peoples afternoons.
what if there was no shovel involved? then which would you rather do?
Canvasing PGH San Francisco neighborhoods for Sierra Club CALPIRG (I quit after a day!)[/b]
I'm sure a lot of us who've tried canvassing quit after one day.
I totally quit after one day. I was living in San Francisco for a summer during college and needed money too. But the looks on peoples faces when they answered the door were just unbearable to me. I just felt like I was in their shoes, uncomfortably trying to decide how to dissapoint the kid who was standing on their doorstep. I would rather shovel manure than walk through a neighborhood Frickin' up peoples afternoons.
what if there was no shovel involved? then which would you rather do?
Canvasing PGH San Francisco neighborhoods for Sierra Club CALPIRG (I quit after a day!)[/b]
I'm sure a lot of us who've tried canvassing quit after one day.
I totally quit after one day. I was living in San Francisco for a summer during college and needed money too. But the looks on peoples faces when they answered the door were just unbearable to me. I just felt like I was in their shoes, uncomfortably trying to decide how to dissapoint the kid who was standing on their doorstep. I would rather shovel manure than walk through a neighborhood Frickin' up peoples afternoons.
what if there was no shovel involved? then which would you rather do?
worst was working a bar. you'd think being a bartender would be cool, but not at this place. they had a weird setup with kegs in the basement but instead of directly underneath the taps, they were at the other end of the basement. this meant the lines were like 60 feet long. i would feel so bad when someone would complain that their beer tasted funny and i knew the manager had just cleaned the lines but there must still be some soap and chemicals left in them. the place was so gross for the 4 months i worked there i more or less stopped drinking.
Save for a few months here and there, I???ve been working since I was 13, so it???s a miracle only one job comes to mind. Especially since most of the jobs have been in the service industry or retail. And in keeping with most people here, it was phone work. It was renewing and selling art gallery memberships and the one good thing was they weren???t cold calls ??? the people were either present members or recent visitors. So, no one was rude or hostile but it was so boring, five hour shifts felt like 10. It was already a drag and I dreaded going but it got much worse after I got into a big fight with a racist co-worker, the two friends I got hired with quit and the 60 yr old guy who worked there wouldn???t take no for an answer and started to get pushy in front of the supervisor. It was really tense and hostile and being the only young person there and not part of the in-crowd, I got separated from everyone and ended up in a fluorescently-lit room with just a chair, a desk and a phone all by myself. They were so hard-up for employees, no one got fired and I was so hard-up for money, I stayed. I saw it through the winter and come spring I started coming in with hash shortbread cookies and making calls on the verge of hallucination. After while, I just stopped going.
I saw it through the winter and come spring I started coming in with hash shortbread cookies and making calls on the verge of hallucination. After while, I just stopped going.[/b]
There's something wonderful about these sentences. Like the opening of a really interesting short story.
As bad as cleaning those houses were... loading those damn RPS trucks was a close second.....Depending on the weather, the inside of those trucks were either freezing cold or hot as hell....no real break and the boxes were rolling in nonstop.....and there was always some slow fucker on the line who needed help ...not to mention the shitty pay & bad hours .....The only good thing about that job was the "gifts"
Damn ...i forgot about the Car Detailing ...Rich MEN are terrible tippers but they keep good money in the glove compartment and ash tray...Jesus,i had some shitty jobs when i was young.
rich people are usually sheisty!! why do you think they became rich?! lol
Big_Stacks"I don't worry about hittin' power, cause I don't give 'em nuttin' to hit." 4,670 Posts
I've also flipped burgers
Yo,
I forgot I worked as a grillman at Wendy's for a few months before (and after) high school graduation. It was a greasy, disgusting job and the managers were a bunch of assholes. I almost swung on this house-n**ga, Stepin Fetchit-ass assistant manager for talking a bunch of shit to me while I swept the parking lot (in 90 degree North Carolina heat, mind you). And man, they ALWAYS scheduled me to close because I did it well, but I HATED that shit!!! It's hard as hell to mop a greasy-ass floor, slidin' the whole while, emptying nasty, old black fryer grease, throwin' out hard, crusty-ass baked potatos, just greasy, filth, and stank!!! I would go home smellin' like a stinky hamburger at about 2AM. I ended up quitting during the middle of the day after cussing out our bitch of store manager (some troglodyte named Renate). Oh yeah, don't eat the chili because it's made of old, overcooked hamburger meat.
Oh yeah, don't eat the chili because it's made of old, overcooked hamburger meat.
I learned that from that rappin' training video from the 80s someone posted the other day. Pretty smart way to save waste, but yeah, I would never eat Wendy's chili anyway.
Stacks, Damn....I haven't heard his name since I was a kid. My great uncle Tom down in N.C. used to call me that when I was a kid....had no idea what it meant until later in life. Since I'm white I can only assume it was because I wasn't moving as fast as he wanted me to. He was an old stereotypical uneducated Tarheel farmer with overalls, a chaw/coffe can, and hated everyone and everything. He lived with my blind Grandfather and had a "job" as a security guard at the Greensboro, Coliseum which they lived across the street from. You know, one of those 80+ year old coots who slept while a game or concert was going on.
One summer a friend and I hitchiked down to vist my Grandad and had a classic encounter with Uncle Tom. My friend Ray, who Tom called the "Eyetalian", walked into the house one afternoon and Tom was cussing under his breath... "I have to work tonight with a bunch of goddam Ni****s jumpin' up and down at church and acting like they ate up with the dumb ass"....we asked him what he was talking about and he said that there was a big Ni**** Church Revival that night at the Coliseum and was bitchin' he had to go work it.
Later that afternoon Ray and I took a walk down High Point Road to get some Bar-B-Q....as we are walking past the Coliseum Ray points up, laughing his ass off, reading the marquee..."Tonight: Black Sabbath". As soon as we got back to the house we found Tom so we could tell him the news.... "Tom, it's not a church meeting, it's a rock band, BLACK SABBATH!....without missing a beat Tom started mumbling... "Goddamn long hair hippies smoking the pot and who knows what"!! Old dude was truly miserable.
Anyway, I may not win with these, but definitely worth tossing in.
I actually DUG delivering papers. I complaint in 2.5 years between ages 9 and 11...Collecting from Mr. Torne sucked, because he was old, and his floor was covered in old papers and dogshit, and once he answered the door in a halovest for spinal injuries (NOT COOL FOR A 10 YEAR OLD) but besides that, it was ok.
But, HANDS DOWN, the worst job was working as an English-Spanish translator at a furniture factory in Indianapolis. Made furtniture for dormitories and prisons. There were so many conflicts between the Mexican and black workers, and me some 'whiteboy,' or 'guero,' stuck in there to negotiate... Black workers always got the worst of it, because if one quit, there were three Mexicans to take their place. It was a seriously alienating and sad place for the black workers who worked in the neighborhood, as they gradually got pushed out. Damn. What a shitty place.
Everyone should have to work in a factory to see just how shitty it is.
Comments
I totally quit after one day. I was living in San Francisco for a summer during college and needed money too. But the looks on peoples faces when they answered the door were just unbearable to me. I just felt like I was in their shoes, uncomfortably trying to decide how to dissapoint the kid who was standing on their doorstep. I would rather shovel manure than walk through a neighborhood Frickin' up peoples afternoons.
what if there was no shovel involved? then which would you rather do?
You had a job digging manure with no shovel?
i did not. it was just a hypotheticial question.
compared to this, my worst job reads like I had to hug kittens and eat ice cream for five hours a day.
There's something wonderful about these sentences. Like the opening of a really interesting short story.
...
Favorite job was McDonalds....most fun indeed
rich people are usually sheisty!! why do you think they became rich?! lol
Yo,
I forgot I worked as a grillman at Wendy's for a few months before (and after) high school graduation. It was a greasy, disgusting job and the managers were a bunch of assholes. I almost swung on this house-n**ga, Stepin Fetchit-ass assistant manager for talking a bunch of shit to me while I swept the parking lot (in 90 degree North Carolina heat, mind you). And man, they ALWAYS scheduled me to close because I did it well, but I HATED that shit!!! It's hard as hell to mop a greasy-ass floor, slidin' the whole while, emptying nasty, old black fryer grease, throwin' out hard, crusty-ass baked potatos, just greasy, filth, and stank!!! I would go home smellin' like a stinky hamburger at about 2AM. I ended up quitting during the middle of the day after cussing out our bitch of store manager (some troglodyte named Renate). Oh yeah, don't eat the chili because it's made of old, overcooked hamburger meat.
Peace,
Big Stacks from Kakalak
I learned that from that rappin' training video from the 80s someone posted the other day. Pretty smart way to save waste, but yeah, I would never eat Wendy's chili anyway.
Stacks,
Damn....I haven't heard his name since I was a kid. My great uncle Tom down in N.C. used to call me that when I was a kid....had no idea what it meant until later in life. Since I'm white I can only assume it was because I wasn't moving as fast as he wanted me to. He was an old stereotypical uneducated Tarheel farmer with overalls, a chaw/coffe can, and hated everyone and everything. He lived with my blind Grandfather and had a "job" as a security guard at the Greensboro, Coliseum which they lived across the street from. You know, one of those 80+ year old coots who slept while a game or concert was going on.
One summer a friend and I hitchiked down to vist my Grandad and had a classic encounter with Uncle Tom. My friend Ray, who Tom called the "Eyetalian", walked into the house one afternoon and Tom was cussing under his breath... "I have to work tonight with a bunch of goddam Ni****s jumpin' up and down at church and acting like they ate up with the dumb ass"....we asked him what he was talking about and he said that there was a big Ni**** Church Revival that night at the Coliseum and was bitchin' he had to go work it.
Later that afternoon Ray and I took a walk down High Point Road to get some Bar-B-Q....as we are walking past the Coliseum Ray points up, laughing his ass off, reading the marquee..."Tonight: Black Sabbath". As soon as we got back to the house we found Tom so we could tell him the news.... "Tom, it's not a church meeting, it's a rock band, BLACK SABBATH!....without missing a beat Tom started mumbling... "Goddamn long hair hippies smoking the pot and who knows what"!! Old dude was truly miserable.
Anyway, I may not win with these, but definitely worth tossing in.
I actually DUG delivering papers. I complaint in 2.5 years between ages 9 and 11...Collecting from Mr. Torne sucked, because he was old, and his floor was covered in old papers and dogshit, and once he answered the door in a halovest for spinal injuries (NOT COOL FOR A 10 YEAR OLD) but besides that, it was ok.
But, HANDS DOWN, the worst job was working as an English-Spanish translator at a furniture factory in Indianapolis. Made furtniture for dormitories and prisons. There were so many conflicts between the Mexican and black workers, and me some 'whiteboy,' or 'guero,' stuck in there to negotiate... Black workers always got the worst of it, because if one quit, there were three Mexicans to take their place. It was a seriously alienating and sad place for the black workers who worked in the neighborhood, as they gradually got pushed out. Damn. What a shitty place.
Everyone should have to work in a factory to see just how shitty it is.