Sunday, February 2, 2014

My God And I

Words and Music by I.B. Sergei

The Worst Job

While oil field electrician is the most lucrative job I've had it comes at a price. I love being outdoors but when it is 9 degrees then I usually don't rush outside to work on a transmission or repair an old cassette deck under a tarp...and when it's 115 degrees my first thought in the morning is not to move hundreds of feet of 4'' rigid conduit into a trench. But that's the job and it will never change. The strong survive and the weak get desk jobs or select window trim colors for the elite snobs in usurped seaside mansions. And the Battle Harbor naturalist gig was the best job but only paid in meals and a bed. So, I pondered, what was the worst job ever? It wasn't hand digging a trench in Santa Monica for a CVS parking lot drainage pipe and then finding a $75 parking ticket on my car that was double my daily pay. No, that's standard Los Angeles bullshit. And it wasn't driving to a Kmart in Compton to assemble shitty Chinese bicycles in a dusty attic while my van gets broken into. I actually like bicycles so even though I refused to even turn in paper work for that day, basically working for free to give my possessions to the thieves of Compton, that wasn't the worst. It wasn't even the inventory job I had at the Ford Dealership because I learned the coding key for all the parts on my van. And while tearing covers off of classic novels and pornography scheduled for destruction by shredding was not challenging, I did take many copies of Barely Legal magazine home for personal investigation and intellectual refinement. No, the worst job, the most depressing job that made me grimace with agony and self loathing every time I clocked in was at Artisan Outlet shipping warehouse.

Creative Commons License
Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.