not necessarily dirty, just bad.

Have you ever watched "Dirty Jobs," the television show? The guy who is the star of this program also makes money by offering his voice to other television shows like "The Deadliest Catch," but that's not important.  What is important, or at least relevant to this post, ... is that the show is a good one.  It offers a glimpse of other people's realities in the form of "what they do for a living." As the title of the show indicates, you can understand what kinds of jobs are showcased.

Well, this post is about bad jobs, ... not necessarily dirty jobs.  Now that's not to say that bad jobs can't also be dirty, and vice-versa, ... but sometimes dirty jobs cab be good.  Like gardening.  If I could make a living from gardening (not to be confused with the much more labor intensive form called "farming"), I would be be OK with that.  On the other foot, bad jobs can be the cleanest of all. But, as with anything, it's all relative.

Now for bad jobs.  What is the worst job of your life?

I've had several different jobs, and they have been mostly legal in nature.  With that said, the worst job that I've ever had is:  (imagine a drum role or a jeopardy jingle or something here)

Soda Pop Stock Boy!

I worked for Pepsi for about, ... 4 hours.  At the time, I really, really needed a job, ... err, ... I mean an income, ... and somehow I ended up working for Pepsi Cola.  Now, it wasn't as if I drove around a big, cool truck, ... and had a uniform, ... or a hat.  No.  Rather, I was picked up by some guy in his own vehicle and we just showed up at the grocery store where the guy in the big truck, uniform, and hat would deliver the soda pop.  Our job was to bring the "skids" (that's in-speak for the wooden flats piled high with soda pop) from the back of the store, where it is delivered, to the "pop aisle" in the front of the store.  Our job was to stack it *neatly and orderly* after rotating oldest to newest, ... or maybe newest to oldest.  (There was an order to it that escapes me at the moment.)

This lasted about four hours, which included the time it took driving in the guy's truck to the store and he rigorously explaining to me in detail, while chain smoking, the rocket surgery behind the operation.

I excused myself for lunch, and I imagine this nice man sitting on a half full skid of Pepsi, smoking cigarettes through his yellow fingers that look like they've been dipped in hair-dye, wondering where I am.  He's waiting for me to get back.  And he's going to ask why I'm fatter and my lunch took so long.

If nothing else, those four hours of my life reminded me how important it is to find something you are passionate about, ... if you want to call it a living, that is.  

So, what's your worst job?