While drinking beer with a couple of buddies last Sunday, our trivial conversation drifted from subject–tosubject. As usual 90 percent of the banter involved meaningless, puerile, irrelevant matters. However, one outof- the-ordinary topic turned into a raging debate with each of us attempting to convince the others of his choices. The question posed was straight forward: What are the top three or four absolute worst jobs that you would never want to do? Since I had given this some thought over the course of my life, I spoke up first. In a nutshell here are the consensus results, in no particular order, of our pointless discussion.
One: mover. Can you imagine waking up each working day energized and psyched about breaking your back, carefully packing and loading other peoples crap into a giant truck, then driving to another house and carefully unloading the contents? As an added incentive during the process, some screeching housewife is barking orders like a drill sergeant and staring daggers through you while you are cautiously loading her antique African- mahogany armoire her beloved grandmother gave her. A good day at work consists of not getting sued for breaking a family heirloom and returning home free from a severe back ache or pulled quadriceps muscle. Years ago I hired movers from a cut-rate company to help a girlfriend move. Two massive looking ex-cons (they proudly informed us of this fact sometime during the ordeal) with jailhouse tattoos showed up two hours late for the job. Wanting to get the anguish done as quickly as possible, I actually helped load the truck, while one of the thugs hit on my girlfriend. When the move was complete, the biggest goon approached as he tossed a beer can on the lawn and informed me in his most menacing voice, “we accept tips dude!” I quickly removed two twenties from my wallet and handed the bills to Attila. He smiled for the first time that day and slapped me on the back muttering, “good move…get it?” So, it’s possible I’m a little biased regarding this profession.
Two: bus driver. Driving a rolling house around daily through crowded streets, stopping at every other block while dubious looking characters board and depart the mammoth hunk of steel, strikes me as a rather stressful and depressing occupation. There is an upside though. You will receive an advanced education on the fascinating world of profanity as youthful, mocking riders hurl witty remarks and slurs your way, and irate drivers cut you off with a middle finger salute and unwelcomed advice screamed from their open windows. And the pungent, stale aroma permeating most buses is to die for…literally!
Three: roofer: Yep, put me on top of a two-story house located in Chatsworth on a balmy August day sloshing around hot tar. That’s what I call fun! The next time you see roofers working a job, check out the age of the high school dropouts. The foreman will be under twenty-five years old. Since he’s been with the company for three years, he’s the senior “man.” The average life expectancy of a roofer is twenty-seven!
Four: DMV employee. There are relatively few occupations where you know for a fact that everybody who walks through your doors that day hates you. I totally understand why most DMV workers appear on the verge of a violent, nervous breakdown as you approach their window. Hannibal Lecter is afraid to visit the DMV! You would be homicidal also if you had to answer the same dim-witted, nonsensical questions from clueless zombies day after day after day, while neverending lines of disgruntled onlookers flashed disapproving glares your way. As an incentive to DMV employees, and to keep them from quitting, I believe they should be allowed to drink alcohol during their shifts. Relax, I’m not saying let them get drunk, but sneak a nip here and there after dealing with a sixthgrade dropout who signs his name with an “X.” Or riding with a 350 pound woman with severe body odor who takes her driving test in a Mini Cooper.
Hopefully you love your job and look forward to going to work every day. If not, I hear there’s an opening at the LA Zoo for an elephant pooper scooper–no experience necessary!
Pete Whalon, author of “The Siagon Zoo” has called Southern California home since age five.