I used to work in a butcher shop in the ghetto. And I was a vegetarian also. I didn't actually have to kill the meat, but I had to cut and slice it. I always got grossed out when customers would ask for pig's feet. Actually that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was always thinking someone was going to rob the place or shoot it up. The week after I left a Mexican dude got shot to death talking on the pay phone right outside the store.
lol. I sometimes stop following threads after a while. There's not much to tell. I wasn't in the room or anything when it happened. I had just left for home after working for the day, so it happened after I left. When I got to work the next day, I was told what had happened. It hit me because I used to make IV's for the patients and I remembered the woman lying there in obvious agony getting pumped with Demerol. I'm guessing the man was arrested on the spot, but he was in his 60's or 70's, I think, and he did it to put the woman out of her misery from what I understand. I'm not sure whatever became of that, though.
Ah, I see. Thanks DoD for indulging me on that. Yea, I couldn't imagine working at a place like that. When I first started working at my present job (almost 10 years ago), the controller (he is now a part-time employee as he is 70) told me a story about how when he worked at one of our other contracts, there was this employee who was going through a rough time. One Friday afternoon after everyone had left to go home for the weekend, he went into the bathroom, took out a gun, and killed himself. What was even worse was that I don't think the cleaning people came that weekend, so it wasn't until the following Monday morning that anyone found him. As the controller told me this, he sorta deadpanned and said, "I had the hardest time using that bathroom ever since!"
In the 60's, I worked in a steel mill one summer after college. That was such a good job, I quit & joined the AF. Back then if you had a job & quit to join the service, you would be guaranteed employement by the same company(not necessarily the same job) when you got out. Four years later, I got my discharge. After a month of my wife & I staying with my parents, I decided to go get my old job back. The smell of burnt steel & iron hit about a mile away, but I'd come too far to turn around now. The receptionist showed me into this guy's office. I told him I was looking for a job & he informed me they weren't hiring. I said "Thank you kind sir!", turned around & ran back to my car.
In the summer of 97 I sold educational books door-to-door for the Southwestern Company. My assigned area was Wilmington, Delaware. We worked at least 80 hours a week, with a very heavy bag full of sample books. I didn't have a car (my roommate did). This was pre cell phones, so if you are out selling and a storm hits it's not like you could call someone to come get you. We had to find our own place to live, from door knocking and asking strangers if they had extra room. We got evicted once and spent a night or two living in the car, until someone let us stay in their basement in exchange for selling their Pre Paid Legal Service for them. Wilmington really doesn't have a black middle class, which meant we had to split time catching stay at home moms home in the daytime (my roommate and I are black, so we wouldn't get many doors opened in those areas at night) and folks in the hood at night (walking around with $$, where everyone knows you are the college kid selling books...cuz ya got the big heavy bag). The only $$ we had was from what we sold, so no work no eat. On top of that, we had to get folks to give us $$ n advance for books that wouldn't be delivered until the end of the summer, and the when the books did get there we had to take them to everyone for delivery! To top it off, that's the summer John Stockton hit his 3 to send Utah to the Finals. Horrible but all my jobs since have been a piece of cake. I also worked at Eckerd drugs as a freshman, and while the job wasn't so bad one day a homeless lady walked into the store, laid down on the floor and died.
Worked a summer job in 1978 as a maintenance mechanic trainee at a packing and gasket plant in Houston. Essentially, my job was to change the blown gaskets on hundreds of steam presses. Some with pistons as large as 3 feet in diameter. You would go outside in 100 degree Houston heat to cool off. I still have scars from being burned by steam hoses.
I worked in a funeral home/cemetery/crematory through high school and a lil after school. It wasn't hard work physically, but there are some messed up people in that industry. I'd post the reason(s) I quit, but I doubt ya'll would want to know what really happens after you die.
