My Worst Job

Following Rory’s example, my worst job was where I spent two weeks with a friend working for his dad where the best of our two duties was to mow the doll factory’s lawn (we used to fight over who’s turn it was). The worst of the two duties was to sort leather remnants from the manufacture of furniture and car upholstery by color and texture into giant boxes, from which the underpaid immigrant women would construct dolls.

Talk about mind numbing… It drove home just how important it was to have a college degree.

I quit after two weeks because the amount of money I got for labor of that kind was nowhere near the degree of pain and suffering I endured, especially when I could just hang out at home for the summer. My friend, however, didn’t get that choice. Poor bastard…