What's the worst job you've ever had?

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by error_unknown, Jan 12, 2005.

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  1. Never having done the 'taking lobsters out of Jayne Mansfield's arse' job, the worst one I had was during my gap year when I got a job as a porter at British Home Store's warehouse for their Oxford Street store (which was actually on an industrial estate in Acton, west London).

    When I got there on my first day they told me that although they'd offered me a job as a porter, I couldn't have that because they had found someone else who also fitted in with two of their quota criteria by being both black and disabled. Thus instead of the £125 a week I'd been offered for my fifty hour week, I would have to make do with £95 as a 'warehouse assistant'.

    Except, of course, that being disabled, Winston (his real name and quite a nice bloke) couldn't do all the heavy carrying, so I had to do it for him.

    After I'd been there for two weeks, we reached pay day. I went in to get my pay packet from the store accountant, who had come up from Oxford Street to hand over the wedge. The warehouse manager was there and told me what a nice chap I was, how well I was fitting in, and how much he valued my contribution; then the accountant told me that she'd noticed I was still under 18 and that consequently I would be paid at BHS's 'junior' staff rate. After tax and NI deductions, I got £60 for two weeks' work. To my everlasting pride I told her to stuff her job up her fat fücking arse and walked out.

    This was 1981, when the job scene was a bit grim, so when I hoofed on down to the Job Centre next day to sign on, I was told that having voluntarily left work, I wouldn't be entitled to any benefit. Big deal. I'd already done some casual work as a bouncer at the Hammersmith Odeon and instead got fixed up there more or less every night, beating up drunk, drug-addled punk rock fans for fifteen quid an evening - cash in hand - and two pints of beer after the show. Much better than working.
  2. SF Pl Commandah-dah-dah-dah-dah-dah-dah-dah-dah-dah! UNLOAD! um, that's it.
  3. not necessarily the worst , but the hardest work i did was just after getting out , i ended up labouring for a brickie and a plasterer at the same time , hard enough as it is , but both of them used to do sh*tloads of speed , so not only were they working like 10 men , i couldn't get a f*cking word in edgeways all day!!!!
  4. Worst one for me was having to dump lots of old human tissue waste, that was stored in formalin.

    Never again did I look at norks the same way after dumping several tons of mammary gland down the incinerator :mrgreen:
  5. Similar to Shortfuses. Prior to joining up I was a scafolders labourer for a brief stint. I was about 8 stone at the time, and suffered like a bitch carrying 1 pole never mind the 5 or 6 everyone else seemed to manage. I was also afreaid of heights at the time, so probably not the best job for me !. God bless my dad and his mate :? Anyway, beefed me up a bit, and cured my fear of heights, so maybe not such a bad job after all :roll:
  6. Gap Year. Ran out of cash in South Australia. Ended up working for 'Aldinga Table Turkeys'. Up at 5am, cycled for 1.5 hrs, half over dirt roads, trying to beat the road train - there was a slight hill a mile long and I'd freewheel down it trying to get to the bottom before a daily appearing roadtrain (big wagon with 3 trailers with stopping distance of 1/2 mile) overtook and forced me on to the dirt at the side, when I invariably fell off and had to put my knees around the front wheel to get it and the handle bar perpendicular again. Then into the factory with 'Shane', 'Baz' and others with psychotic tendencies dispatching thousands of hapless turkeys with a very blunt knife as they came through the wall from outside, hung upside down from a conveyor track (by some other poor bstard who had to grab the turkeys out of cages, unloading 4 lorries a shift and getting covered in turkey shite). Then cleaning up after the shift, standing in a draining bin a foot deep in clotting warm blood, waving a power hose about, before turning it on myself and changing to go home on the bike uphill and sweating like a rapist. Then again the next day. And the next.
    Mmm. Happy days.

    Mind you, it's a better story than the present career civil servant reality.
  7. You mean McDonalds didn't want it, then?
  8. A post Xmas turkey theme is developing it seems! :)
  9. Never again did I look at norks the same way after dumping several tons of mammary gland down the incinerator :

    That'll teach you for trying to fondle a QA on the sly.

    how much did the other one weigh ? :D
  10. Had to give up with the other one, couldn't fecking move it :twisted:
  11. Snap but I did get two free turkeys, and we did,nt use electricity we had a strangling device which left them still kicking whern I had to run them over to the pluckers
  12. Part 2.
    Gap year again, while saving up. Temp agency job 'customer advisor' ended up being on incontinence pants helpline. Mmmm.
    The company had advertised a new range of pants and had a helpline for use and sending free samples out. Had to ask old ladies how much they pished themselves so we could send the right size 'in line with your personal needs'.
    Was found sniggering too many times to be a model employee (shame on me) and soon had to seek other employment.
  13. Probably doesn't count as a bad job but i knew a lad who went off around the world and ran out of dosh in the states. Someone told him that he could earn some pin money by donating sperm so off he went. There should, he told me, have been a week's delay after the obligatory tests to allow the count to build up again but he was called that afternoon and told that he was so virile that they wanted him to errr, 'start right away'.

    Suffice to say, he's the only bloke I know who can truthfully say he wnaked his way across the atlantic.

    I think he's an airline pilot now.
  14. Jesus - where do I start?

    Cleaning out a seven foot deep cattle dip of accumulated shiit looked pretty bad, but that was until I formulated a combat estimate of the task, conducted an engineer recce of the dip and concluded that only the bottom foot or so was solids.

    I spy a firefighting pump! I drink tea whilst the top layers vanish by the magic of technology. Even the rest wasn't that bad, much of it could be diluted with water until it went up the spout.

    Filling envelopes with junk mail. We had to do 360 an hour, which no-oen ever did. The boss descended on me and wanted to know why - I told him to "stick your envelope up your arrse" and collected my cards. To add extra shiit, they sold all the names on their payroll to the evil direct-marketing firms whose junk they produced, so I was plagued with sofa ads for years. Fukkya, Lexicon Marketing of Shipley! Bizarrely, I had another shit job related to envelopes - quality control, sticking down the side flaps with Pritt Stick on 80,000 of the things.

    The boss said we had to finish in a month. When I asked why they didn't just run off another lot from the machine, he named a figure that was actually less than the total wages he paid us.....