Then, I thought, being a food server probably sucks even worse than either of the other two. I've always had a phobia about being a server - it's one low-wage job that I've never done.

There's a small tavern/restaurant on the corner that occasionally has a part-time help-wanted sign in the window. I like the place when I've gone there to eat (not very often), and I've often thought I should pick up a part-time job a few hours a week, to help pay my student loans back. I've also heard that with tips it can be a relatively decent job, as low-paying jobs go.

But I'm too scared to try to get a job as a server. I'm afraid I'd screw up orders, I'd be bad at it, I would drop stuff, etc. I've always heard about what a difficult job it is, and I've never been able to overcome that fear.

I quit the job as an order desk clerk due solely to the fact that I couldn't handle how the co-workers treated each other. The whole place was miserable, and the management was disrespectful and authoritarian. The customers actually weren't bad at all. I desperately needed the money at the time, but the soul-destroying environment was not worth it. Best decision I ever made.

quote:

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Originally posted by Gir Draxon:
The only job that would scare me at all really is driving around a gasoline truck. If some dumbfuck isn't paying attention and hits you with enough force....

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You probably wouldn't have much time to consider this, as you'd be... well, ash.

Jobs that scare me are those like the ones Melsky describes. More responsibility and less support is, to me, like a vice grip of an employer tightening on the employee. I'm frequently offered opportunities to do more in my company, and I've had to say "no" after I had said "yes", because I wasn't able to maintain it.

There are ladders, and then there are ladders. I can scoot to the top of a drilling rig on the ladder welded to the derrick, and I can go up one storey on a portable ladder without getting nervous.

(they're at work fixing an antenna on top of the Empire State Bldg.)

Yikes!!

[ 01 August 2004: Message edited by: Hephaestion ]

Yeah...sure...I could do that job, but a machinist would have to follow me to fix in the imprint that my fingers made from squeezing into the metal.

I have no problem with heights as long as there's something solid underneath me. Looking down from planes & tall buildings doesn't bother me.

But perched up there, on the tippy-tip of a skinny metal needle? I. Would. Just. Die.

You could offer me $10,000 an hour, but I'd have to say no freakin' way.

PS: I guess an even worse job would be the person who took that photo.

[ 01 August 2004: Message edited by: beluga2 ]

[ 01 August 2004: Message edited by: Hephaestion ]

[ 01 August 2004: Message edited by: Hephaestion ]

We worked in crews of two...and the tree topper would climb up, usually about 60 feet or so, with a rope attached to his waist. When he got to the spot on the tree where he was going to make his cut, I would send up the chainsaw by the rope.

The fun part came when the topper had done his under cut and was ready to finish the job...the guy I worked with had this annoying habit of sending the top half of the tree right at me, from 60 feet up...Needless to say, I would be scared shitless when this 40 foot (or larger) chunk of a tree came flying towards me from 60 feet off the ground. WHAM! The ground would shake like it was an earthquake.

The tree topper would take the big belt off and climb up, using only his spurs, to stand on the top of the still swaying tree. It was the macho thing to unzip your pants and urinate, without a belt, from the flat top of the tree. That scared the beejeezuz out of me just watching it!

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It was the macho thing to unzip your pants and urinate, without a belt, from the flat top of the tree.

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Hmmmm... "without a belt"... belt off... Beltov...

Are you SURE you never tried this, N?

~~~~~~~~

Edited to add:

And if you think *that* was bad, N, you should'a tried what they were doing around Kelowna last summer in a last-ditch attempt to control the forest fires— cutting down the trees that were already burning!!!

A buddy who was doing it told me that sometimes the top of the tree he was working on would literally explode in a shower of flaming branches and he'd have to run, hell-bent-for leather, to try and get out of the way before it hit the ground. **SHUDDER**

I couldn't do that. Neither could my buddy, for long, as he wasn't a professional firefighter. He just couldn't handle the stress...

[ 01 August 2004: Message edited by: Hephaestion ]

quote:

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Originally posted by skdadl:
The earth really does move, doesn't it, N.Beltov?

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Yup. Here's some terminology from Timber Talk: as heard in the woods of B.C. , Joanne Dheilly, Waterwheel Press, 1985.

Barber Chair: A tree being felled that splits up the middle for 20 or 30 feet and falls unpredictably, often injuring the faller;

In The Bight: In danger of being hit by a cable (line) with a curve in it.

Jackpot: a) A hazardous situation - haphazardly felled trees - unstable logs b) A pile of crisscrossed watered logs.

Widow Maker: a) A loose limb, chuck, or split snag waiting to fall on a logger, killing him. b) A tree or snag that is dangerous to fall.

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By many measures, logging is the most dangerous occupation in the United States.

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US Dept of Labour OSHA

[ 01 August 2004: Message edited by: N.Beltov ]

quote:

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Originally posted by Heph:
Hmmmm... "without a belt"... belt off... Beltov...

Are you SURE you never tried this, N?

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Damn. I've been found out. Just don't call me a ...lumberjack. I might start wearing...high heels, suspenders and a bra...

quote:

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I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay,
I sleep all night and I work all day.

Chorus: He's a lumberjack and he's okay,
He sleeps all night and he works all day.

I cut down trees, I eat my lunch,
I go to the lavatory.
On Wednesdays I go shopping
And have buttered scones for tea.

Mounties: He cuts down trees, he eats his lunch,
He goes to the lavatory.
On Wednesdays he goes shopping
And has buttered scones for tea.

Chorus: He's a lumberjack and he's okay,
He sleeps all night and he works all day.

I cut down trees, I skip and jump,
I like to press wild flowers.
I put on women's clothing,
And hang around in bars.

Mounties: He cuts down trees, he skips and jumps,
He likes to press wild flowers.
He puts on women's clothing,
And hangs around in bars.

Chorus: He's a lumberjack and he's okay,
He sleeps all night and he works all day.

I cut down trees, I wear high heels,
Suspendies and a bra.
I wish I'd been a girlie,
Just like my dear pappa.

Mounties: He cuts down trees, he wears high heels?
Suspendies...and a bra?

...he's a lumberjack and he's okay,
He sleeps all night and he works all day.

...he's a lumberjack and he's OKAAAAAAAAAAYYY.
He sleeps all night and he works all day.

---

1. Customer service accepting and evaluating passport applications. There's a high quota to be maintained, so you have to be able to get rid of people nicely. I _refused_ to give poor customer service (plus I'm a slow typer), so I insisted on properly answering questions and addressing issues that I perceived in their application. In short, I actually properly advised people. I saw too many peole coming back with their application for the nth time who still had no idea what they were doing, and no understanding of why they were having problems. My workmates did the minimum in this regard. They didn't have any choice - I could never make quota, they did. When I quit I was a nervous wreck.

2. Between jobs working as a temp I ended up one _very_ hot summer day in 1996 working on an exposed loading dock loading 40 lb bundles of telephone books onto skids. The books came down the line shrink-wrapped, one bundle every two seconds. There were two of us so I had four seconds to grab a bundle, and manipulate it into place onto a skid, quickly pilling them up to a seven foot height (That last row was tough!). The full skid would be removed, and then we'd scamble to catch up. No water, no breaks, and we weren't allowed to skip off to the washroom. We got one 1/2 hour unpaid lunch. When I went home, my jeans were stiff with body salt. I had lost something like five pounds, and that was after loading up on immense amounts of fluid during lunch. I never once took a leak that day - I sweated everything out.

Each of us handled 50 tons that day. I was paid $6.85/hour. That's one buck/ton.

The next day, same job. But the bindery guys further up the line had had enough, and kept deliberately busting the line.

quote:

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I could never make quota, they did. When I quit I was a nervous wreck.

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I can identify. Quotas, or time sheets tied to budgets: I've had to cope with those, and I collapsed in just the same way.

As for jobs that scare me, I can't say I've had jobs that've done that, but I have had some jobs which you couldn't pay me enough to go back to, and one of them was clean-up at a sawmill. Even though we made 17 bucks an hour in 1993, we young-uns (we were all around ages 16 to 24) were poorly trained and given only the most basic safety precautions. I remember one time a guy needed someone to help him and roped me into helping him pour out buckets of this toxic orangey crap that could have been radioactive waste for all I knew anything about it.

Have also worked road construction. Driving packers was boring but relatively safe. Flagging could be very dangerous - traffic, crazy equiptment operaters who thought it was funny to almost run me down - and weather, I was narrowly missed by lightning and blown down a ditch.

quote:

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Hmmmm... "without a belt"... belt off... Beltov...

Are you SURE you never tried this, N?

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I think it's pretty obvious that the "N" stands for "Never had my". Right, NB?

quote:

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steffie:I think it's pretty obvious that the "N" stands for "Never had my".

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Sad but true. Call me BWAGA.

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I'd like to know what happens if that high-pissing lumberjack gets blown off the top of the tree.

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That guy was "wound up" as the saying goes. He was paranoid and thought people were out to get him. He used to, e.g., sharpen his (climbing) spurs incessantly. But he was a great and confident climber...and I hope and expect that he is still out there, somewhere, falling trees and making good coin.

One day, when we finally have a working class government in Canada, the lives and stories of Canadian working people like the tree topper whose name I've forgotten will be known and honoured far and wide...and rich bastards that don't do a stick of real work will be justly ignored.

Maybe the faller went back to Quebec and became a log driver?

I have worked a number of hazardous jobs in my life, including construction that included some falls, a broken back; dislocated shoulder, etc., but thinking back, none were near as hazardous as working on the family farm while growing up. It is amazing that any of us survived, actually.

At the same time, I recall a January 2:00 A.M., making my way back in a decrepit, quickly dying old Murc. station wagon; and being quite certain that it would not make it; and that I would be freezing to death. No cell phones in those days. A roadside radio-satellite phone about every 25 miles, that more often than not didn't work.

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I recall that the part I found most scary was working around nursing soews.

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I had a large window replaced on my porch, and the guy who did the work told me those window washers get "real good money" I was thinking maybe thirty bucks an hour when he said that, but in fact it was half that.

I wouldn't do it for thirty, let alone fifteen.

While I have carefull respect for power tools and other machinery, I don't fear them and that kind of work doesn't bother me. Nor does working with propane or other flamable materials. You just have to follow the rules and understand the properties of what you are working with.

So what happened with the gun story?

Physically scary jobs - aside from the obvious scary ones (ie soldier in a war), the scariest I've had was working in the trawl fishery off the west coast. Most of the boats were excellent and well run, but some were held together with ducttape and run by lunatic cokeheads. Port is usually far away by the time you realize it though.

I don't have a big problem with the height thing as long as I have faith in the equipment and safety measures involved. I think being a window cleaner on the CN tower would be exhilerating. I'd even consider doing it free for an afternoon.

[ 23 August 2004: Message edited by: oldgoat ]

[ 23 August 2004: Message edited by: kuba ]

quote:

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I wonder why they would be collecting bull semen?

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[ 23 August 2004: Message edited by: beverly ]

quote:

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Originally posted by Mr. Magoo:
I saw the same clip, BTW, and it's not only a little frame that's built to look like the back end of a cow, it's motorized (because I suppose a real cow doesn't just stand there). So in order to earn his pay, buddy has to steer this contraption with his feet, while facing backwards, and meanwhile a huge steer is getting all randy and jumping on top of the cow-ass-vehicle trying ot mount, so buddy has 18" of bull pecker trying to take his eye out, and he has to get a big plastic sleeve over it to try and collect the cup and a half of payoff.

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I work in an ad agency (until Friday) and i get to book agricultural pubs. First day on the job I get a magazine in an envelope with "Blonde Connection" printed on it.

I'm thinking - woo hoo free porn!

Ummm....no. Blonde Connection is a breeders mag for the Blonde variety of cattle. i.e. pictures of bulls and their genetic heritage plus offers to mail testubes of the "good stuff" for a sufficiently high fee.

To my quiet disgust my friend proceeded to browbeat and otherwise bully the employee, and then the manager, until they were so fed up with him that they released him from the fee.

As we were walking to the car he admitted to me, with some amusement, that his wife probably *had* been late bringing the movie back.

So I learned two lessons:

1) My friend had become a dick.

and 2) I don't want to work for Blockbusters, and by extension any service-industry corporation where the customer, if they bark long enough, is always right...no matter how wrong they are.

on a tangent:

My best crappy-job experience was as a server at a small pub. I had a table of total (...well I shouldn't swear on the forum), and the owner of the establishment came over and told them he'd pay their bill for them and to please get out and never come back. Oh yeah, that felt good!

[ 31 August 2004: Message edited by: britchestoobig ]

Somehow I doubt the be-came in there . He probably already was you just didn't see him in action before that. I always hated all my customer service jobs. People are RUDE.

I read about this in a big book of disgruntled employee stories: a young woman who had a fairly well-paying but spiritually exhausting job at the perfume counter of a prestigious New York store took to waiting until her insufferable customers were leaving, and saying (quickly and not too clearly) "fuckyouverymuch".

When the old bats turned around, which was seldom, she'd smile sweetly and repeat "Thank You very much".

quote:

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Originally posted by Mr. Magoo:
Somewhere there exists someone who, even as we speak, is thinking about tonight's dream date with the disembodied ass. Yoinks!

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Some time after the trade fair, I saw the same doll displayed in one of my local sex shops. I remarked to the sales clerk that it was quite off putting and creepy. She agreed.

However, I have found someone who does "Northbound Leather" quality work, for a much more reasonable price than "Northbound".

quote:

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Hobos scare me...

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quote:

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Originally posted by Oliver Cromwell:
Pediatric oncologist.

I don't care how much they're paid. It's nowhere near enough.

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quote:

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Originally posted by Oliver Cromwell:
Actually, being a nurse would be even worse, if that's possible. They have much more contact with the children and their families.

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A friend of ours was an oncology nurse at The Hospital for Sick Children in Toronto. She said the docs had it equally rough, since they prescribed courses of treatment and lost so many patients.