I had a job at the Holbrook Hospital the end of my senior high school year and through the summer. I still don't know 1. why I kept the job and 2. how I survived working with an old grumpy senile woman named Gladys who was my boss.
The job essentially was me standing at a rickety copy machine, copying hundreds, nay, thousands of bills that were not being paid every month. This was 1979 and there were no computers and apparently no brain cells working at this hospital. Every morning I woke up like I was going to my death sentence, no actually death I would have welcomed, it was worse than having bamboo shoots shoved under my fingernails. Imagine an old crotchety windbag watching everything you do and never telling you it is done right. She had white hair, a nose with pores the size of a walnut with springy black hairs sprouting out of each one. She wore thick eye glasses and squinted up at me all day long as she questioned my work. I wanted her dead.
I would gather the million files, drag them to the copy machine, copy the bill that would never get paid, fold them into little envelopes and mail them out. An effing monkey could have done the work, but according to Gladys you would think I was handling delicate top-secret monumentally important documents. They were barely legible copies to begin with and mostly 10 years old, belonging to Indians on the reservation that probably used the bill for fire kindling. They never got paid.
The only thing I looked forward to was my boyfriend picking me up for lunch. I would watch every single minute tick by and then run out front to wait for him, I would almost cry when my hour was over. He called her Glad-bag and thought my torture was terribly funny.
What was your worst job?