What is the worst job you have ever had?
Discussion
Some of these posts really are eye openers - not just those about the sort of s
ts that can do high pressure sales for the likes of Kirby or some insurance company, but those about the truly soul destroying, awful and menial jobs out there. It certainly makes me think about how lucky I have been to have the education and opportunities that I have.
ts that can do high pressure sales for the likes of Kirby or some insurance company, but those about the truly soul destroying, awful and menial jobs out there. It certainly makes me think about how lucky I have been to have the education and opportunities that I have. Dog Star said:
Some of these posts really are eye openers - not just those about the sort of sts that can do high pressure sales for the likes of Kirby or some insurance company, but those about the truly soul destroying, awful and menial jobs out there. It certainly makes me think about how lucky I have been to have the education and opportunities that I have.
Even brilliant jobs can be crap, I was a divisional sales director for Invensys (HVAC (drayton heating) in the huge Slough site, it was so big that my office was nowhere near sales office and I was virtually forgotten about unless I went hanging about the sales managers offices. I never felt "part of it" and then they started preparing to sell to Schneider and I jumped ship. Great title, brilliant cash but pretty hard to live with.ts that can do high pressure sales for the likes of Kirby or some insurance company, but those about the truly soul destroying, awful and menial jobs out there. It certainly makes me think about how lucky I have been to have the education and opportunities that I have. I had two jobs over summer when at University. One was as a tour guide in a local cave (£3.10 an hour). Five 45 minute tours to the public a day and the rest of the time working in the gift shop or sweeping/mopping the floor, cleaning the loos etc etc. It wasn't a bad gig thanks to the tips but dealing with the public and trying to herd them around was horrible; school groups were appalling!
The other job was labouring for a bloke who did driveways (block paving tarmac etc). Tarmac is horrible stuff to work with. Fresh off the wagon it's unbelievably hot, it sticks to any exposed skin and burns, it destroys your boots, but at least it's easy to move around. As the day wears on (and you get tired) the tarmac cools and gets harder and harder to move.
We did one drive way which was about a hundred yards long and had low over hanging trees along it's length. The wagon couldn't tip so I had to wheel-barrow every last spoonful (can't remember how much, but more than 25 tons) in a day, in summer..... it did pay well though (compared to the tour guide job).
The other job was labouring for a bloke who did driveways (block paving tarmac etc). Tarmac is horrible stuff to work with. Fresh off the wagon it's unbelievably hot, it sticks to any exposed skin and burns, it destroys your boots, but at least it's easy to move around. As the day wears on (and you get tired) the tarmac cools and gets harder and harder to move.
We did one drive way which was about a hundred yards long and had low over hanging trees along it's length. The wagon couldn't tip so I had to wheel-barrow every last spoonful (can't remember how much, but more than 25 tons) in a day, in summer..... it did pay well though (compared to the tour guide job).
Dog Star said:
Some of these posts really are eye openers - not just those about the sort of sts that can do high pressure sales for the likes of Kirby or some insurance company, but those about the truly soul destroying, awful and menial jobs out there. It certainly makes me think about how lucky I have been to have the education and opportunities that I have.
It's also amazing how many jobs there are that you would have thought would long since have been automatedts that can do high pressure sales for the likes of Kirby or some insurance company, but those about the truly soul destroying, awful and menial jobs out there. It certainly makes me think about how lucky I have been to have the education and opportunities that I have. I spent a few years as a self employed industrial spark.
Most factories were great, learning new machines and control technology then I went to a factory which turns perfectly good pigs into soup which is then 'sausaged, cooked and sliced for wafer thin ham.
Don't worry, it was all clean and hygenic.
The management of the place was based on a study in which one group were encouraged to engage with the business, given decent working conditions and treated nicely.
Other group given cheap stty conditions, treated as mindless worthless dross and bullied unmercifully.
Group 2 were, short term far more productive.
Petty bullying by ill educated low level supervision is positively encouraged, low level supervisors are in blue hard hats, employees are in white, more senior management in red temps (aka scum) yellow and engineers, QA etc in orange.
Office staff, regardless of rank or education who visit the floor are allowed red helmets and not to be spoken to, except to answer a direct question, by yellow or white hats.
This is rigidly enforced.
I was there for 2 weeks and could not believe such conditions were allowed in the UK.
Said then and still think every maintenance engineer should be sent there for 2 weeks to stop them complaining about their current place.
Company is owned and operated by Morrisons.
Most factories were great, learning new machines and control technology then I went to a factory which turns perfectly good pigs into soup which is then 'sausaged, cooked and sliced for wafer thin ham.
Don't worry, it was all clean and hygenic.
The management of the place was based on a study in which one group were encouraged to engage with the business, given decent working conditions and treated nicely.
Other group given cheap s
tty conditions, treated as mindless worthless dross and bullied unmercifully.Group 2 were, short term far more productive.
Petty bullying by ill educated low level supervision is positively encouraged, low level supervisors are in blue hard hats, employees are in white, more senior management in red temps (aka scum) yellow and engineers, QA etc in orange.
Office staff, regardless of rank or education who visit the floor are allowed red helmets and not to be spoken to, except to answer a direct question, by yellow or white hats.
This is rigidly enforced.
I was there for 2 weeks and could not believe such conditions were allowed in the UK.
Said then and still think every maintenance engineer should be sent there for 2 weeks to stop them complaining about their current place.
Company is owned and operated by Morrisons.
Not me, my current business associate.
Born in NZ, grew up in Wellington (capital), then went off to university in the US (some 45 years ago).
Whilst at university in Kentucky he had a summer job, door to door selling.
The job was in Alabama, and the product was bibles - large print versions with onion skin bindings were quite popular.
Came close to being shot on one occasion, due to sporting a mustache and speaking like a yankee.
Born in NZ, grew up in Wellington (capital), then went off to university in the US (some 45 years ago).
Whilst at university in Kentucky he had a summer job, door to door selling.
The job was in Alabama, and the product was bibles - large print versions with onion skin bindings were quite popular.
Came close to being shot on one occasion, due to sporting a mustache and speaking like a yankee.
1990ish and I was up for some university holiday work. The small ad in the paper suggested some sort of job in high tech security.
The interview, was a gathering of applicants. We waited and then a guy who could have been an inspiration for David Brent walked in. His pitch started with something like "I make 35K a year and drive a BMW 325l"
He then went on to quite openly tell us that the job was to call people up, imply you were police recommended or part of some official crime prevention strategy and scare them into buying a burglar alarm. They were up front about the elderly being good targets.
We were then taken to the sales floor where various planted people would stand up, whoop and high-five Brent who congratulated them on yet another sale.
I wandered out of the office at lunch and never went back.
Then there was the PR firm.
I had just graduated and wanted a job in media. I had worked in a big PR department for a TV company in my gap year so had some experience.
The job ad talked of a career in PR and advised those interested to call for an informal chat. It was a pleasant surprise to be asked in for an interview on the basis of the 'phone call.
I should have seen the danger signs.
As many have described, the interview was In a shabby short term rented office suite and there were 10-15 people waiting for interview. They ranged from young hopefuls like me in their graduation suits, through run of the mill randoms to older "broken-men" types - guys in their 50s clearly once successful but now redundant often anxiously clutching those zipped leather folders that are smaller than a brief case but which have loops for pens and space for business cards and A4 documrnts. Looking back, these poor sods were no-doubt banking on this interview to make the next mortgage payment.
A smartly dressed woman stormed out of the interview room shouting expletives over her shoulder.
I should have seen the danger signs.
My turn in the room and I am met by a guy in his 30s with a shiny suit and fake American accent.
Despite my questioning, he skirts round the subject of what the job is. I ask him who his clients are and I get a strange response that in PR everyone is the client.
Eventually he comes clean. This is grass roots Public Relations. I can forget corporate strategies, communicatiins, reputation management, dealing with the press, arranging interviews, media events and the like. For me, I am told it is direct public relations. Meeting the public face to face by walking down shopping streets wearing a sandwich board.
I declined the job offer in a less than polite manner and as I followed the footsteps of the smartly dressed angry woman a few minutes earlier, the guy with the fake Yank accent shouted after me telling me it was my loss. I think that was the first time I ever called anyone a.
I should have seen the danger signs.
The interview, was a gathering of applicants. We waited and then a guy who could have been an inspiration for David Brent walked in. His pitch started with something like "I make 35K a year and drive a BMW 325l"
He then went on to quite openly tell us that the job was to call people up, imply you were police recommended or part of some official crime prevention strategy and scare them into buying a burglar alarm. They were up front about the elderly being good targets.
We were then taken to the sales floor where various planted people would stand up, whoop and high-five Brent who congratulated them on yet another sale.
I wandered out of the office at lunch and never went back.
Then there was the PR firm.
I had just graduated and wanted a job in media. I had worked in a big PR department for a TV company in my gap year so had some experience.
The job ad talked of a career in PR and advised those interested to call for an informal chat. It was a pleasant surprise to be asked in for an interview on the basis of the 'phone call.
I should have seen the danger signs.
As many have described, the interview was In a shabby short term rented office suite and there were 10-15 people waiting for interview. They ranged from young hopefuls like me in their graduation suits, through run of the mill randoms to older "broken-men" types - guys in their 50s clearly once successful but now redundant often anxiously clutching those zipped leather folders that are smaller than a brief case but which have loops for pens and space for business cards and A4 documrnts. Looking back, these poor sods were no-doubt banking on this interview to make the next mortgage payment.
A smartly dressed woman stormed out of the interview room shouting expletives over her shoulder.
I should have seen the danger signs.
My turn in the room and I am met by a guy in his 30s with a shiny suit and fake American accent.
Despite my questioning, he skirts round the subject of what the job is. I ask him who his clients are and I get a strange response that in PR everyone is the client.
Eventually he comes clean. This is grass roots Public Relations. I can forget corporate strategies, communicatiins, reputation management, dealing with the press, arranging interviews, media events and the like. For me, I am told it is direct public relations. Meeting the public face to face by walking down shopping streets wearing a sandwich board.
I declined the job offer in a less than polite manner and as I followed the footsteps of the smartly dressed angry woman a few minutes earlier, the guy with the fake Yank accent shouted after me telling me it was my loss. I think that was the first time I ever called anyone a
.I should have seen the danger signs.
Edited by Wildcat45 on Saturday 14th April 12:28
I had a job helping the local milkman. He would rock up outside my folks house at the start of his round on a Saturday morning at 5am in his electric float. I would have been 13-14 years old, and he paid me a fiver. We would finish around 9-10am. He made me literally run the bottles from the float to front doorsteps whilst he sat and watched me, whilst drinking Special Brew. He always complained that his round was no faster with me helping, so I would be as quick as I could. Once time, he crashed the float into a parked car in a pub car park when he was pissed. I never did tell my parents.
Working in benefits. Day in and day out abuse from claimants. Really boils your blood when you see some getting over £1,500 per month for doing nothing and still complain about having nothing to live on despite. really are some awful people out there. Just expect everything for nothing.
80quattro said:
I had a job helping the local milkman. He would rock up outside my folks house at the start of his round on a Saturday morning at 5am in his electric float. I would have been 13-14 years old, and he paid me a fiver. We would finish around 9-10am. He made me literally run the bottles from the float to front doorsteps whilst he sat and watched me, whilst drinking Special Brew. He always complained that his round was no faster with me helping, so I would be as quick as I could. Once time, he crashed the float into a parked car in a pub car park when he was pissed. I never did tell my parents.
Sorry
FN2TypeR said:
80quattro said:
I had a job helping the local milkman. He would rock up outside my folks house at the start of his round on a Saturday morning at 5am in his electric float. I would have been 13-14 years old, and he paid me a fiver. We would finish around 9-10am. He made me literally run the bottles from the float to front doorsteps whilst he sat and watched me, whilst drinking Special Brew. He always complained that his round was no faster with me helping, so I would be as quick as I could. Once time, he crashed the float into a parked car in a pub car park when he was pissed. I never did tell my parents.
Sorry
When I finished school at 18, my Father offered to pay for me to go to University. I wasn't sure what I would do there - after all, he had a couple of thriving businesses I could work for. One was a Construction company, the other a concrete brick and block manufacturer.
So I asked why I couldn't just work for him instead? Become a Manager for him. Sounded obvious to me.
He shrugged and said yes, he would ultimately like that and I did have the option of going straight to his Yard (business premises) or Uni and then Yard.
I enjoyed my Summer hols and pitched up for work at 7am the first day after. Eager to be a Manager and earn far more than my mates starting Uni.
He then walked me down to his Brick and Block business, stopped in front of a very large Zulu Foreman and Driver (this was in South Africa circa 1987) and told him "this is your new labourer".
Eh? Ok, so he wanted me to spend a day experiencing life at the bottom. Fine. I grabbed a pair of manky gloves and helped another 4 labourers assigned to one of the trucks load 500 concrete blocks - no crane, every block handled by labour. We then delivered them. We then repeated it. Over and over again until the end of the day.
My body ached - (I was very fit from gym, running and cycling in those days too) - my hands were torn, gloves simply broke up during the day and I was knackered.
Next day, after a hot soak the night before soothing my pains, I went back to work to ask my Father what was next in store. "Well, you have no qualification nor experience at anything. You have a High School certificate but I have no position for someone with only that. I always need labour though" What?? Turns out I spent the next 6 months delivering bricks and blocks.
I managed to secure an apprenticeship with an Indian Architect (friends with to this day) who I met that did drawings for the Construction business and spent the 2nd half of the year working for him as a gopher, coffee-maker, pizza-fetcher, office clown and the person who went down to the local Council and fixed all the mistakes and changes required on the paper copy drawings with a razor blade and a pencil.
The next year, I was at Uni.
So I asked why I couldn't just work for him instead? Become a Manager for him. Sounded obvious to me.
He shrugged and said yes, he would ultimately like that and I did have the option of going straight to his Yard (business premises) or Uni and then Yard.
I enjoyed my Summer hols and pitched up for work at 7am the first day after. Eager to be a Manager and earn far more than my mates starting Uni.
He then walked me down to his Brick and Block business, stopped in front of a very large Zulu Foreman and Driver (this was in South Africa circa 1987) and told him "this is your new labourer".
Eh? Ok, so he wanted me to spend a day experiencing life at the bottom. Fine. I grabbed a pair of manky gloves and helped another 4 labourers assigned to one of the trucks load 500 concrete blocks - no crane, every block handled by labour. We then delivered them. We then repeated it. Over and over again until the end of the day.
My body ached - (I was very fit from gym, running and cycling in those days too) - my hands were torn, gloves simply broke up during the day and I was knackered.
Next day, after a hot soak the night before soothing my pains, I went back to work to ask my Father what was next in store. "Well, you have no qualification nor experience at anything. You have a High School certificate but I have no position for someone with only that. I always need labour though" What?? Turns out I spent the next 6 months delivering bricks and blocks.
I managed to secure an apprenticeship with an Indian Architect (friends with to this day) who I met that did drawings for the Construction business and spent the 2nd half of the year working for him as a gopher, coffee-maker, pizza-fetcher, office clown and the person who went down to the local Council and fixed all the mistakes and changes required on the paper copy drawings with a razor blade and a pencil.
The next year, I was at Uni.
gothatway said:
Good story; lesson learnt. Did you get to work in your father's businesses after you graduated ?
Yes, I did. Worked for him for 7 years. I prepared the Plans for the Construction company and then worked on site as a Site Manager until the properties (typically 8 -10 at a time) were nearly done then repeat for the next Project. Wonderful times, best job I ever had. Then we had a falling out over company direction...so I went to the UK. Now I have my own business and a part of another Family business. Gassing Station | The Lounge | Top of Page | What's New | My Stuff