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Worst Job In the World

He did a gorgeous job in our kitchen but he just the worst boss ever. And I suck at photography.

He did a gorgeous job in our kitchen but he’s just the worst boss ever. And I suck at photography.

This week’s writing prompt from Mama Kat’s Writing Workshop is to tell you about the worst job I ever had.  I did not have to think long or hard about this one.  I know exactly, hands down, what was the absolute worst job I have worked at in my entire 46 years of being on this planet.

It was about 2 years ago.  It was a job that I landed by chance.  I was looking for a little something part-time that was local but which also allowed me to use my administrative skills.  You know, skills that were rustier than a bike left out during every hurricane of 2005 (13 — I looked it up).  It was the perfect opportunity to brush up on those skills and stay in the game.

I was going to be working for a small, local granite business.  The owner was adorable.  A little firecracker of a guy from Brazil.  When I say little, I mean it.  I’ll give him a couple of inches and be nice by saying he was 5’4″.  He talked quickly, walked even quicker and had an accent that made him sound like the sweetest man in the world. (Never judge a person by their voice.  Take my word on this.)

I am a true believer in signs.  I ask God for them all the time.  Well, God threw about a million signs at me.  To which I ignored every single one.  Let’s just say, I learned my lesson.

It didn’t take me long to realize that I made a huge mistake.  I have so much to say about my little experience, but for now I will have to give you the Reader’s Digest version in 10 bullet points or less.

  1. According to him, it doesn’t matter if it was roadkill, it still makes for a good meal.  Just picture pheasant blood dripping through the showroom to the back where they were (yes, plural) feathered and boiled on site.  He asked me if I wanted to join his family for dinner that evening.  As tempting as it was, I just had to decline.  I think I was going home to wash my hair or something to those lines.
  2. His mattress in the attic and his many complaints of how his wife kicked him out of the house, yet again, was really quite disconcerting.
  3. Mid-afternoon was the perfect time of day to get preached to.  Bible and all.  Hey, at least I was paid for my Bible lesson.  I know because I asked.
  4. He was good about making sure he only came to work with a hangover twice a week.
  5. The toilet was filled with sludge half the time.  He felt it was quite necessary that I should be the one to clean it.  I was pretty sure I was hired to be the admin, not the cleaning service.  Actually, I’m pretty positive.
  6. His usage of the “f” word was about every 14 seconds.  Oh wait, I think every 12 seconds is probably more accurate.
  7. The guy begged me to take a part-time job at a rival company down the street so that I could be his spy.  Seriously.  Does this even happen?
  8. His temper rivaled that of Ivan The Terrible.  Anything from a dirty toilet to me not closing a deal after working there for a week would set him off.
  9. The Pièce de résistance:  “You american women are such prudes.   My wife gives me sex daily.  How many times do you have sex with your husband?”
  10. He mentioned something about hookers.  But I covered my ears.  I think it was during the Pièce de résistance conversation he thought he was having with me.

NOTE:  I’m not the type of person to walk out on a job.  I never have in my life.  I guess there is a first time for everything, right?

When I went in to pick up my last check, his wife was there.  She was very unhappy with how unprofessional I was.  Because I often try to take the high road, I kept my mouth from spewing out all the reasons why I walked out.  I did make a comment to the effect of “your husband is unprofessional and I felt very uncomfortable working here.  You can ask him why I left.”  I know, I know.  I could have totally thrown him under the bus.  Maybe I earned my wings?  Nah, probably not.

Mama’s Losin’ It