The Worst Job I Ever Had

As my current contract assignment nears its end (at least I think it is), I have some time to think back on the positives and the negatives of the job over the last two years.  However, since there’s still the possibility that I might get renewed, I’d better leave those thoughts unsaid just in case someone I work with has accidently run across this blog.

Instead, I’ll take the opportunity to think back over the decades to the jobs I’ve held and try to pick the one that was closest to a living hell.  I’m sure a lot of people feel that they don’t have to go back that far, as they probably consider their present position to be the fiery depths of Satan’s lair.  But ... I’d venture to guess that most people would look back to the part time and summer jobs they had during high school and college.

I can immediately point to two jobs that I disliked with extreme prejudice.  The first was during the summer of 1971, prior to the start of my sophomore year in college.  It was at the Dayton Rubber plant in Springfield, Missouri … and I made V-belts.  I was never particularly good at production line work, so if you had a car made in 1971 and the V-belt broke, it was probably one that I made.  I really sucked at it, so ….sorry.

But as bad as that one was, it wasn’t the worst.  The runaway winner in that category happened during the summer of 1969, at the Kitty Clover Potato Chip plant.

My best friend at the time had worked at Kitty Clover for several months and was gushing about what a great place it was to work.  He encouraged me to fill out an application, so I did.  And I was hired.

However, where my friend was working 1^st shift and enjoying working in the warehouse, I was given the ungodly 7 p.m. to 3 a.m. assembly line/clean-up shift.  I spent the first several days trying to decide which was worse … the assembly line part, or the clean-up part.

On the assembly line, I alternated among dumping potatoes in a peeler, cutting potatoes to size that were too big for the slicer, and picking burnt potato chips off the line just after they had come out of the fryer.  It was summer, it was hot, it was humid, and a constant mist of fryer oil hung in the air and accumulated on my clothes, my skin and my hair.  One evening, I cut off the tip of my finger with the razor sharp knife they gave me to size the potatoes.  I managed to get a dressing on it, but then I was shifted to burnt chips detail, and I spent several hours picking up red hot salty chips with my bleeding finger exposed.  I don’t think I’ve said the word “fuck” before or since that evening it such a short period of time.

But after production shut down about 9 in the evening, it was time to clean everything up and get ready for the next day.  I quickly decided that clean-up was far worse than assembly line.  After being sliced and prior to being fried, the wet, limp “chips” are sent through a centrifuge basket, to dry them and remove excess starch.  The water is drained from the centrifuge … but the starch isn’t.  That had to be dug out with a shovel, and after a full day of washy/centrifugy stuff, there were thousands of pounds of it.  After that was done, it was time to drain the fryer and clean it by hand with a mixture of water and foul smelling, corrosive soap.

At about 3 or 4 in the morning, it was done.  I would go home covered in a mixture of sweat, oil, starch and cleanser that never really came out of your clothes, or anything else for that matter.

I lasted a month, then I quit.  I didn’t give a shit what my friend thought, or my parents thought … I couldn’t handle it anymore.  I also didn’t eat potato chips again for 10 years.

But one good thing came out of the experience.  I was still in high school at the time and was unsure about my future.  That one month in potato chip hell convinced me that I had to go to college and make something out of myself. 

Well, that … and the Vietnam War … and a low draft number.  Great motivators all.

Empty Threats

Since I’ve been old enough to understand words and how they are put together into sentences, I’ve been fascinated by catch phrases.  These are'nt meant to be confused with quotes, famous or otherwise, but just random things that people put together and have spread through society over the years.

They include among many other things, descriptions of one’s activities, how one feels at a certain time or one person’s opinion of another.  The really good catch phrases cause me to conjure up an image that makes me laugh.

Some of my favorites are:

“I’m so happy, I could just shit.”

“Busier than a one legged man in an ass kicking contest.”

And the wordy, but very descriptive … “He’s so cheap that he walks around trailing a rock on a string so he can catch the grease off his own farts.”

But I save my catch phrase devotion for … Threats …

One of the first great threats that I recall was “I’ll kick your ass up between your shoulder blades.”

So, it’s only fitting (especially after that terrible post yesterday) that I offer you, what I consider to be, a delightful collection of threat catch phrases.  If you’re at work, don’t even bother.  But if you’re someplace all by yourself, then enjoy …

The Hundred Greatest Movie Threats of All Time.

True Lies

Okay ... the rennovation of the kitchen is done.  Well, it's done as far as the fact that all of the carpenters, electricians, plumbers, tilers and helpers left us last night at about 7:00.  There's still more to do to make it look absolutely finished, which may take longer than the seven solid days we had our downstairs taken over by strangers.  By "solid", I mean Saturday and Sunday too.

Here are some thoughts after the mental and physical toll subsides (slowly ... very slowly).

• Having a room or rooms redone is not in anyway, shape or form, FUN!  No matter what you see on television.

• Speaking of television.  Don't believe any of that shit you see on HGTV.  You know, where entire houses are totally transformed in one-half hour, while everyone laughs, giggles and cavorts around while tearing the living fuck out of their house.  I'm not watching HGTV again for a long while.  I'm going back to the Food Network, where a half hour is just about right to make a meal.

• Speaking of HGTV, and especially that horseshit show where they transform rooms for two thousand dollars.  Here's the way that happens.  The crew goes around on trash pick-up day to supplement the measly pittance they had to do the rooms.  "Oh, and here are my receipts to prove I only spent 2 grand".  Never mind that the labor was 16 fucking-thousand dollars.

• Your house will smell like sweat and farts for days afterwards, unless you buy Glade apple cinnamon air fresheners, then it will smell like sweaty, farty synthetic apple cinnamon.

Enough of the fucking bullet points.  I'm tired, unclever, unfunny and downright homicidal right now.  Where's the wine bottle?  Oh yeah, over there ... I think I'll go take another pull or two ....

Once we have the new table and chairs, the banged up wall patched and repainted, and all the dirt and grime cleaned up, I'll post some pictures that will make the kitchen and dining area look like something out of fucking Country Living Magazine.

Or not.  I really don't give a shit.  Where's that damned therapist's number?

The Siege - Day 3

I can't believe that after 3 long days, my contractor still hasn't finished my kitchen. Some people told me that wouldn't happen, but I didn't believe them.  Jan and I are still living like prisoners in our own house.  Jan has it worse though.  She's at home with the artisans, listening to their noise and cursing.  I get to stay at work all day, and all that greets me when I get home is chaos and the smell of stale farts.

This is all supposed to be done next Monday night ... indeed the workers are even coming in on Saturday to try to catch up to their (obviously) impossible schedule.  We won't be here, so I wish them luck.  Here are some pictures so I can share the misery.

Living Room and Some Kitchen Shit All Jammed In a Corner

The White One Goes ... The Stainless Stays.  New Dishwasher and Over-the Stove Microwave Hiding In the Corner

Kitchen and Dining.  Floor In, But Cabinets Untouched

Oven in the Family Room

And ... I Guess the Cars Won't See the Inside of the Garage for a While Longer

The experts say that the mind doesn't remember pain.  I wonder if that also goes for a gigantic pain in the ass?  If we don't go crazy first, I'll be back in a week or so with the finished product.  Just thought I'd share.

Downsizing

Several years ago, Jan and I starting toying with the idea of moving far away from Northern Illinois when she retired.  Lately, we’ve started to dress up the idea with a bit of reality.  If the housing market doesn’t improve, we won’t be moving anywhere for quite a while, but it’s always useful to plan ahead.

One of the questions we’ve been grappling with is how much room do we really need?  Right now, we range around in about 1900 square feet of usable space.  There are times we think it’s too much (like when we’re cleaning) and other times when it doesn’t seem like enough (like when we’re at war), but the general consensus is that we have one room too many.

In the last few days, I’ve found a way to “test out” how to really know what it’s like to live in a smaller house.

Tear one of your main living areas to shreds.

This week, we’re doing a long overdue kitchen remodel.  And it is unusable.  It also is empty and all the shit in there had to go someplace.  We have our refrigerator and a bunch of furniture stuffed into our front “living room” and our stove and the rest of the furniture smooshed into our back “family room”.

And things are pretty damn tight.  Plus we have no table to eat at, no dishwasher and no running water in the kitchen, which we can’t get into anyway.

So, not only are we experiencing what it would be like to live in a smaller, ill-conceived house, we’re learning what it would be like to live beneath an underpass and scavenge for food.

With the way things are going in this world, that may be where we end up anyway.