I have worked a lot of weird jobs, and met the
strangest people to come out of the woodwork of
Lancaster county, but this job took the cake. I
actually worked that job for about four months,
setting a new personal record.By Steve Levandoski
Let's face it. If you are a musician you will probably never make enough money to pay the rent on that 2-bedroom apartment you share with 8 other people. IF you are lucky enough to get signed, the little money the record company doesn't screw you out of will be squandered on MC Hammer-type mansions (he's doing credit card commercials now), or tied up in some lawsuit. You will need to get a shitjob. I've enjoyed the privilege of having a losing about thirty different jobs in the four years since I dropped out of college. This is my guide for al you young bloods out there. Each issue will feature a different job I once had in chronological order,and how to take advantage of it while it takes advantage of you.
Here are the past issues, in case you missed them or need to review:
August 2001
November 2001
January 2002
February 2002
March 2002
April 2002
May 2002
June 2002
July 2002
I have worked a lot of weird jobs, and met the
strangest people to come out of the woodwork of
Lancaster county, but this job took the cake. I
actually worked that job for about four months,
setting a new personal record.
I arrived at 7 am the next day and I was the only other guy there besides my new boss Herb. He was the ultimate overgrown, Alpha male, and I was a little pussy shit who dug Morrissey a little too much. You can see how it was a little awkward. For the first two hours we drank coffee and chain smoked in silence.
Then he woke up a little and spoke.
"You see, -What the fuck's your name?- Oh Yeah, Well you see, right now we are doing what's called 'Dicking the Dog'. That means we sit here and don't do jack shit. Those mother-fucking, dick head, assholes made me stay late after your pussy ass left yesterday, so they can eat my shit. If those cock suckers think I'm going to lift one mother-fucking finger they can go fuck themselves." said Herb.
"Oh" Said I.
"Oh yeah, I cuss a lot. I was in the Navy. Once I had a ten minute conversation, and realized only four words I said weren't 'fuck'. You gotta problem with that?"
"No"
"Alright, get off your lazy ass and grab a fucking shovel. Let me show you something"
Me and Herb then went to the 'incline'. The Incline was a conveyer belt in a little room that that took the sludge-ash from the boilers and took it up to the ash room. It was about a hundred and three degrees in the room. My job was to dig out the sludge that collected underneath the bottom of the rollers of the belt and shovel it back on the conveyer. "And don't think I won't come around to make sure your not fucking off, mother fucker," said Herb.
He was testing me, and I guess I did a good job, because he didn't bitch me out afterwards. He smiled a pudgy little smile and I got to dick the dog in the office with him for the rest of the day as a reward.
The next day, two new guys were in there. The first guy was tall and lanky and had long black hair and a goatee named Lance. Lance was about twenty eight, and was really soft spoken. Lance's father-in-law got him the job, because Lance got fired from his last job. He was a male stripper, but then he got a tattoo, and that was against the club's rules, so he was let go. In his spare time Lance enjoyed drawing American Indians and eagles with an air brush.
The other dude was about forty, and had a mustache, and a tattoo that said 'Deb'. I forget his name. We later found out that he only dated Deb for a couple of weeks. We also found out that he fucked his cousin. I'm not kidding. That inbred redneck actually bragged about it, which even grossed Herb out. Herb called him the most depraved mother fucker he ever met in his life. That dude would tell us stories about how tough he was, Herb would call him a liar, and then he'd admit he was full of shit. This went on for hours. He didn't last too long, thank God.
This crew worked together for a couple of weeks. We would paint handrails, dig the incline out, sweep the floors, and do the wash down. The wash down is when we would start at the top floor, and spray down the machines with power hoses until we reached the ground floor. It wasn't that bad because we would work for two hours, and then dick the dog for four hours, plus Herb would pad our time cards. I was starting to get into a nice little work pattern, and I was usually working by myself, but then my little world collapsed.
The creepy guy quit, and was replaced by Andy.
Next month - "The Incinerator Three - Why Andy Is a White power Waste of Sperm and Egg and Should have been Shanked in Prison"
Don't miss Steve's other regular column: Steve's Not Having It