Day 25 of NaBloPoMo and this is the first I’ve had to resort to a writing prompt. I think. “What was your first job, your worst job and your dream job?”
My first legitimate job was at Pizza Hut. My stepmom wanted me to work at the grocery store, which was a job for respectable, upstanding teenagers in her opinion, but I really wanted to work at the mall like other teenage girls. In a fit of spite, I applied at our local Pizza Hut delivery joint as a pizza cook. I was hired on the spot, but when I came home and told my stepmother, she promptly called my employer and told them I would not be returning to the job. It gets a little fuzzy after that, but from what I recall, the manager convinced her let me give it a go. I made enough pizzas to know I have no desire to eat at Pizza Hut again, but I think I quit after a few months and went to work at the grocery store around the corner. Stepmom 1, Joelle 0.
My worst job, by far, was as a temp for a total perv. He told my agency that I needed to wear more make-up and dress “more client-pleasin’ “, which in Texan means low-cut tops. It was just the two of us in his little office in this huge office building. It was more like a storage closet for a larger company — very strange, as though he were running his own personal sub-business out of his employer’s office suite.
Anyway, our desks were in an L-shape, mine against the north wall, his against the east. On my very first day, he told me that he would be leaving the office for the majority of the day and that he wanted all of his dictation on his desk by the time he got back. If had to use the restroom, I should use it now because the door would lock when he closed it behind him ( 
) and I wouldn’t be able to get back in. He said it was too early in our “working relationship” to give me a key. I was absolutely flabbergasted, but I needed the money and I wasn’t sure what to do, so I just let him leave. Despite his 10 minute speech on “NO PERSONAL PHONE CALLS ON OFFICE TIME”, I called my agency and asked them what the hell was going on here. They said that I should try to stick it out, so even though it was odd and I felt uneasy, I kept typing up his dictation.
Then, about 20 minutes later out of the corner of my eye, I saw something flash up on his computer screen, so I glanced over out of instinct and there on top of his monitor, kind of hidden behind a business card holder was a webcam pointed right at my desk. Normally, I wouldn’t think it a problem… it was a computer after all, but the fact that it was pointed at me and the pop-up on his monitor was *of* me, with a notice saying someone had logged in and was viewing from an off-site location — yeah, that was a problem.
I called my agency back and told them that if they expected me to stay here with Mr. Low-Cut Tops and his PervCam, then they were sorely mistaken. The agent told me she would send someone out to finish my job for the day, even though I’d told her all the locked-in, creepy voyeur stuff! I hung up, grabbed my keys and got the hell out. I never worked for that agency again of my own volition, mostly because they didn’t stand behind me and made me feel like a bad employee because I didn’t want to be watched from an off-site location by some stranger. Pardon the hell out of me.
My dream job is tougher question. I would say I’m doing my dream job because it’s pretty darn close, but I think to truly be a dream job, I would have to be doing everything I’m doing with a never-ending budget and without any stress whatsoever. THAT would be my dream. But really? Truly? Singer. That’s my dream job… and not a famous singer, either. Just a little singer, in a little club where people I like come to hear me sing songs older than they are. Of course, this little singing job in a little bar would probably mean little money, but that’s OK. In a dream I can be independently wealthy or ride a flying alpaca, so… whatever.
My first job was also my worst job. It was 1981 and I was 16 and I was a weekend maid at a Holiday Inn just outside of Los Angeles in Newbury Park, CA (where I grew up). It was one thing to have to clean up rooms after a crap-load of boys soccer teams ranging in age from 8 to 16 trashed the rooms but what was worse was when I had to clean the rooms that were full of used condoms and vomit (not necessarily in the same room). My dad wouldn’t let me quit because he “didn’t raise a quitter.”
One day, Richard Hatch (Battle Star Galactica Richard Hatch, NOT Survivor Richard Hatch) came to town to film a local TV show and they put him up in the same motel. I wrote him a note asking him for his autograph and even left him the money for a stamp so he could mail it to me. Well, I guess he didn’t like that because he turned me in to my boss and she fired me. And that is why, to this day, I LOVE Richard Hatch!!!
Dream job = researc of some kind or even a private detective. I wouldn’t mind being a writer but I think I lack the discipline.
Forgot one detail…I even had a guy request more toilet paper and when I brought it to his room, he told me to bring it in. I thought he meant to just put it in the room. No. He meant to bring it to him as he was sitting on the toilet. And believe me, the toilet couldn’t have been further from the bathroom door.
Another time, I was cleaning the bathroom of a guy who was staying for about a week. He wasn’t in the room at the time but he came back while I was cleaning the sink. He walks into the bathroom and I say, “I’ll be done in a sec.” He said, “No hurry. I’m not shy,” and proceeded to unzip his pants and pee.
*oops* I seem to also lack the spelling skills to be a writer. Should be “research”
My first job was running the water log ride at Hamel’s amusement park in Shreveport, LA. I was 15 years old. It was probably my worst job, too.
My dream job is to be a vacation planner to regular people who want irregular vacations. People who say, “I have $XX and these are my ideas.” I would give them the best bang for their buck. I don’t want to do dream vacations for richy, rich people because you can never fully satisfy them.
My other dream job is to be a lottery winner.
Oh…and I blogrolled you tonight!
flying alpaca. that’s classic!
my worst job would definitely have to be the one working at the state fair at the frog leg booth. the worst part wasn’t the motion detector frog that ribbitted every 30 seconds. oh no: it was being on onion-chopping duty for 2 weeks straight, and having my hands smell like rotten onions for 3 months, no matter how much i washed them. the other crappy part was, obviously, having to convince people that eating frog legs wasn’t gross at all, when of course, it was. i can still picture their pink little thighs in my mind…[removed]void(0);
Loved the flying alpaca. If I had one, I’d name him Percival. Percival the flying alpaca.
Anyway, like, that webcam dude? That’s one of the creepiest things I’ve ever heard of. What’s more amazing is the temp agency though. Just gross.
That story about your temp job is SCARY. Seriously. Good for you for getting out of there.
HaHa Mr. Tispervert- I can hear Renee Zelwegger’s British Accented voice saying that in my head. I would have gotten the heck out of there too. Egads.
Probably the worse job was at a major publishing house where I was subjected to being called in my boss’ office, having her scold me, all while she popped her zits in front of a large make-up mirror and dabbed alcohol on them. In her mind, I was “too controlling” because we were a group of only 4 people (2 of them acquisition editors) and I offered not only to be the developmental editor but also PR girl and start a website for online orders. My god! I was so fucking controlling! How dare I help grow our capabilities. However, in my mind? I thought she was a psycho cunt who brought to much personal opinions to the office. So it all worked out when I gave her a b-day card with “Happy B-Day. I quit.” on it.
My dream job would be to have gone back to college and study 3D animation for either Pixar-like studio or a gaming house. I know…both would require super long hours but the creativity would be amazing.
Or Viggo Mortensen’s fluffer. Either would be good.
damn your stepmother was a major bitch…well why don’t you try singing? Thought about making a demo tape? You know I think that you’ve made a really good career out of designing websites, and now you have a book published, so good for you. Most people have jobs they don’t like. I think you’ve gone farther than most people ever will go. =)
@Cath: You win!
hahaha!
@Geggie: That sounds like a great idea! And thanks for blogrolling me.
@Deltus: *pets Percival*
@merseydotes: Thanks! Yeah, it was creepy, but at least nothing happened. I think he was just pervy.
@Kim: haha! Yup, ding ding! That’s it.
@girlplease: You? Controlling? How would she get that idea?
I’m totally kidding. haha! Viggo, huh? *fluffs*
@susi q: Bed, Bath and Beyond sells these little stainless steel onion/garlic magic odor eraser thingies. I have no idea why it works… some reaction, but if you ever get put on onionduty again, now you’ve got a weapon at your disposal.
@moxierain: Thanks.
You’re very sweet! I am working on the singing thing… time, money, all that jazz.
Wow, as someone who temped for years, and sometimes had some odd experiences, I have to say, yours takes the cake. I am completely creeped out, on your behalf, even though that was years ago. What a freak! No thanks. And great agency—love how they really stood up for you! Thankfully they aren’t all like that, but the ones that are, make a bad situation even worse. Yikes…
(One of my weirder temp memories was of getting fired for telling a lawyer boss the truth that I had blown something he asked me to do. He slapped his desk with his hand and said, “That’s it—you’re outta here!” like I was some bad contestant on a game show. THAT was plenty weird, and a mixed message, as well. But the longer it’s been since it happened, the more ironic I find it.)
Nice voyeur