Not signed in (Sign In)
    •  
      CommentAuthorZ
    • CommentTimeJan 28th 2008
     (695.1)
    In response to short, crap jobs (reposted just for you):


    The shortest job I ever had:

    Accounting for receipts in the backroom of a local grocery chain. I worked there about three weeks.

    The backroom offices were located, you guessed it, in the back of the grocery store near the butchers and the bakers. The refrigerator for the bakers was tucked in a corner near a prep station, in a large receiving bay with a ceiling about three stories high. You had a clear view of it from the office plexi windows.

    One morning a couple of managers decided to store boxes of paper goods on top of the baker's walk-in refrigerator. They got a ladder, set it up, and had a strapping young kid climb on top of this tall metal box, about ten or twelve feet off the ground.

    They started passing boxes up to him, one manager on the floor with a pallet full of boxes, another manager standing on the ladder to pass them up.

    I stopped paying attention and went back to accounting receipts.

    Then there was an odd sound, like cardboard crunching and folding, a collective gasp, and a thump.

    When I looked up I jumped out of my chair as if it were electrified. People were rushing toward the baker's area near the walk-in refrigerator. There was a powdery white dust settling and bits of ceiling tile everywhere.

    Turns out the faux ceiling they'd put above the baker's area against the walk-in refrigerator was nothing more than a piece of cardboard affixed to the walls. When the kid on top of the walk-in refrigerator paced backward holding a box, probably looking for room to put it down, he fell right through, flat on his back onto the concrete floor.

    It broke his back. He missed a metal baker's rack that probably would have impaled him by about two inches.

    I called the paramedics, but I couldn't go out there. I watched numbly as the crowd gathered, little gasps and shrieks of horror traveling back through the plexi window. I saw the paramedics come through the swinging doors into the backroom, saw them walk behind the walk-in refrigerator to where the kid was. They brought the kid out the back door to the truck bay, where the ambulance had swung around to wait.

    I heard the ambulance sirens in the parking lot as I left the building.

    The next morning, I returned to work. They'd put a ladder up against the walk-in refrigerator again. They'd sent another kid up there, this time to move the boxes back down to the floor so that the faux-ceiling above the baker's area could be repaired. As I walked closer to marvel at the stupidity of it all, I nearly stepped on a dark stain on the concrete, next to the baker's rack.

    When I sat down at my desk, I picked up the phone and called directory assistance. I calmly asked for OSHA, whatever number they could give me. I explained the situation, hung up the phone, then put my coat on and walked out.

    I never went back.

    - Z
  1.  (695.2)
    ... woa.
    I don't blame you one bit.
  2.  (695.3)
    Damn, Z... very well narrated, by the way, man. What was the kid's age, more or less?
    •  
      CommentAuthorZ
    • CommentTimeJan 28th 2008
     (695.4)
    He had to get documentation from his school verifying he was allowed to work while enrolled, and have a parent's permission, so I'd guess somewhere between fifteen and sixteen. I remember processing some paperwork for him, but never looked at his birthdate.

    And thanks. My narrative feels rusty, I'm behind on my project right now.

    - Z
    •  
      CommentAuthorroque
    • CommentTimeJan 29th 2008
     (695.5)
    ha. reminds me of a relatively short job I had once in an army surplus shop. customer comes in, customer cuts self on one of the many knives, customer bleeds all over floor and fixtures. roque, being the only person who thinks it might be a good idea to clean up the blood before another customer 1) slips in it and sues or 2) gets it on themselves and sues over exposure to possibly contaminated blood products... gets roundly harassed by the other employees for being a hysterical pussy, and told "get back to work or you're fired."

    yeah. that job was just about as short as it needed to be, I guess.
    •  
      CommentAuthorZ
    • CommentTimeJan 29th 2008
     (695.6)
    Holy fuck, that's completely insane.

    This is why I carry Purell everywhere like some sort of germaphobic freak. It isn't about how much of a 'hysterical pussy' I am about germs, it's about how much of a 'hysterical pussy' I am about TB, especially when some fucker is coughing into a stained rag or <em>bleeding</em> all over the damned place.

    Some jobs aren't worth keeping, no matter how many knives you get to sell.

    - Z
    •  
      CommentAuthorroque
    • CommentTimeJan 29th 2008
     (695.7)
    my thought exactly. I liked it while it lasted, it lasted as long as I liked it. that's how I prefer jobs to be.