7.27.06 / 6:47pm
Welcome Fluid Puddingites!
We here at Gasoline Hobo know that you have many sources for hobo news, and we thank you for choosing Gasoline Hobo for all of your hobo news needs.
Actually, there's no "we". It's just me. Sometimes I ask Corkscrew Justin Biscuit Thrower to tidy up my prose a little, but usually he just throws a tambourine at my head. You think hobos are cranky? Apprentice hobos are worse than that mouthy Daniel-san kid. But with significantly more stamina. Little known fact: an apprentice hobo could take out the entirety of Cobra Kai, as long as the fighting style was "stink".
Anyway. Today was a total waste of time. I'm not really looking forward to getting dooced, so I'll skip the details, except to say that I normally enjoy my job quite a bit. It's management that I have a problem with. Especially when they require you to take a full day off from work the DAY BEFORE three project deadlines, just so you can attend a seminar on how to be a good manager. Note to my manager: I am not a manager.
At least the cookies were good. The taste of stress and tears? Not so sweet.
Since I'm in the mood for complaining, I'll tell you about the worst job I ever had. I was 19, and I'd been putting off getting a real job for a few months. I saw an ad in the paper for a job selling artwork. "Great!" I thought. Sounds easy, and I like art.
So I drive down in my '83 Chevy Blazer with vinyl seats and no air conditioning. The thing had a clutch as stiff as a 2x4 on viagra. This will be useful information in a moment, I promise.
Turns out that the owner of the business was the ex-lead singer for a christian heavy metal band. A fairly successful one. And no, it wasn't Stryper. The whole thing was a classic pyramid scheme, where the boss "loaned" us some crappy prints of whales and stuff (sometimes we were given Monet prints in cheap gold frames), which we then loaded in our cars. Then we drove to a city and went door to door, trying to sell the stuff. I didn't sell much, probably because I was moist and walked with a limp from the hours I spent sweating and clutching in gridlock.
I only lasted a month before I finally broke down and had to call my pal Space Nakji to rescue me. I got a better job after that. Sometimes my leg still hurts. But I am totally and completely sick of whales. Also, dolphins can suck it. Always jumping out of the water, trailing a fine spray of droplets that glitter in the sun. Goddamn showoffs.
So tell me...what's the worst job YOU'VE ever had?
Actually, there's no "we". It's just me. Sometimes I ask Corkscrew Justin Biscuit Thrower to tidy up my prose a little, but usually he just throws a tambourine at my head. You think hobos are cranky? Apprentice hobos are worse than that mouthy Daniel-san kid. But with significantly more stamina. Little known fact: an apprentice hobo could take out the entirety of Cobra Kai, as long as the fighting style was "stink".
Anyway. Today was a total waste of time. I'm not really looking forward to getting dooced, so I'll skip the details, except to say that I normally enjoy my job quite a bit. It's management that I have a problem with. Especially when they require you to take a full day off from work the DAY BEFORE three project deadlines, just so you can attend a seminar on how to be a good manager. Note to my manager: I am not a manager.
At least the cookies were good. The taste of stress and tears? Not so sweet.
Since I'm in the mood for complaining, I'll tell you about the worst job I ever had. I was 19, and I'd been putting off getting a real job for a few months. I saw an ad in the paper for a job selling artwork. "Great!" I thought. Sounds easy, and I like art.
So I drive down in my '83 Chevy Blazer with vinyl seats and no air conditioning. The thing had a clutch as stiff as a 2x4 on viagra. This will be useful information in a moment, I promise.
Turns out that the owner of the business was the ex-lead singer for a christian heavy metal band. A fairly successful one. And no, it wasn't Stryper. The whole thing was a classic pyramid scheme, where the boss "loaned" us some crappy prints of whales and stuff (sometimes we were given Monet prints in cheap gold frames), which we then loaded in our cars. Then we drove to a city and went door to door, trying to sell the stuff. I didn't sell much, probably because I was moist and walked with a limp from the hours I spent sweating and clutching in gridlock.
I only lasted a month before I finally broke down and had to call my pal Space Nakji to rescue me. I got a better job after that. Sometimes my leg still hurts. But I am totally and completely sick of whales. Also, dolphins can suck it. Always jumping out of the water, trailing a fine spray of droplets that glitter in the sun. Goddamn showoffs.
So tell me...what's the worst job YOU'VE ever had?
So much to say, so much to say.a) Your prose is a well-oiled machine. That said, I will still throw a tamborine at you. If you're good, maybe an egg shaker. They're les pointy.b) I think I got mistaken for a hobo yesterday. See, I was waiting for a ride to practice, noticing this guy get out of his mini-van, noticed him drop his cell phone & have no idea he did. Knowing the anguish of losing one such thing-a-ma-bob, I alerted him to this. He got very animated & excited, thanked me profusely, and, almost (but not quite) gave me a hug and goosed me. Here's the hobo part: After the fifth thank you, he offered me a dollar. Now, I might've been unshaven, with ripped pants, and a hobo-esque gleam in my eyes, but, please. I was insulted. And intrigued. And now, in retrospect, I wish I'd taken that dollar.c) (Can I just post in your comments? Thanks). I've had tens of dozens of shit jobs: worked at Gymboree, bagel shop, pizza place, was a soccer ref, legal assistant, ticket brokering whore. Here's a good story though (and it ties in with yours, cause I like synergy and all). I used to be a courier, driving around cookies, blood samples, and legal documents with equal regularity. Once, I was sent to Sea World (was living in San Diego at the time) and picked up a mysterious opaque vile from a man in a white lab coat. I was to take it to the lab where I took human fluids I picked up on occassion (though I never had to, you know, hold the urine cup while it was being filled). So, I'm walking out and can't contain my curiosity:"What's in here?" I ask."You really want to know?" he replies."Certainly.""Killer Whale Jizz."And yes. He said jizz. I like to think it was Shamu's spunk, not just some anonymous orca, because, well, it's the closest I've ever come to sex with a celebrity.
a) thank you for the compliment! an egg shaker would be greatly appreciated. i have enough problems without additional pieces of metal embedded in my noodle.b) Hobo Lesson One: If someone offers you money, you take it. Corollary to HL 1: If someone offers you money, not only do you take it, but you ask for more. Preferably while holding out a hand clad in a soiled, fingerless glove.c) yes, you can post in my comments. whale jizz, eh? not that i'm trying to top you or anything, but the closest that *I* have ever come to sex with a celebrity was when Jack Elam sent a pair of wooden salad bowls to my parents as a wedding present.true story. and yes, she still has the bowls.
Jack Elam is (capital letters, all together now) THE MAN. The picture of him in the tub with a rubber ducky is now the background picture on my work computer. Co-workers, prepare to feel uneasy.
you know, i didn't click through the whole gallery, so i missed that one. thanks. now i have jack elam's nipples burned in my retinas.i suppose i have no one to blame but myself.he looks gleefully happy about that duck.
Umm...I got nothin'. LOL! so, Ok then. bye!
The worst job I ever had was babysitting seven kids (yes, all in one family) for many hours at a time. They were funny and sweet and smart but they all talked at the same time (except for the baby) and they dragged me all over the place in the woods behind their house. They were all incredibly energetic and desperate for attention. I thought it was draining to be the oldest of five, but that was nothing compared to babysitting this crowd. Late at night, when I'd spent two hours trying to get them all to stay in bed, the parents would come home and give me ten dollars. I was always sore the next day.
I bagged up fresh dead people in the surgical intensive care unit. And sometimes I was told to wear double gloves to protect my skin from excessive Yuck.
Actually the bagging dead people job is the worst! I am sure I couldn't compete. The worst job I ever did was clean the outside of the space shuttle while it orbited the earth. I wore a crappy yellow space suit which was too small for me and had numerous tartan patches which were beginning to come off... And let's not get me started on the pay!
rekabek: that sounds pretty bad. also, i apparently have a sick mind - the phrases that popped out of that paragraph were "woods behind the house", "10 dollars" and "sore the next day". see, this is why i can't watch fraggle rock. OH the sexual tension.in other news, i would probably be as good of a baby sitter as my dad was to his nieces and nephews. if they were bad, he didn't yell, didn't smack 'em around or anything. he just put them on top of the fridge. apparently they were very well-behaved up there.angela: i think that Yuck is actually the medical term for that. i just watched an episode of CSI where they had a victim called "The Liquid Man". Yuck.san nakji: new zealand should really spring for a better spacesuit. at least tell me it was made of gaffer tape (you have that out there, right?)
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