We’ve all had “The Crappy Gig.” In fact, many of us now long for those minimum wage jobs we had as a teenager. At the time, us Burger Flippin’, Lazy Bookstoreclerkin’, Kite Store Gurus were empowered. For the first time in our lives we were making our own cash.

Yet, at same time, these are considered the crappiest gigs of all. But how crappy were they really?

The reason I bring this up is because I recently had a crappy gig. After being abused day after day, I had doubt in myself. Perhaps I just didn’t have the chops to be a real human being who held a mild mannered accounting job. I am no stranger to a Crappy Gig with ass raping side effects. I chuckle snidely at those who are merely unfulfilled or bored.

Granted, I have never had the crappiest of crappy jobs which would include cutting fishheads, castrating bulls and mop-boy at the peep show. People do these jobs everyday and go home their families. So perhaps I am spoiled.

And now, I offer some high points that characterized some of my employments du crappe. These are the Reader’s Digest version. The long versions are way too self-indulgent

Security Guard for The Grateful Dead
Time on the Job: Eight Months

Yes, I am under 40 and worked for the Dead. I left the cozy parameters of my deep fryer to work in ROCK-N-FUCK-N- ROLL. You get to see all the shows for free, show up stoned for work and get the best ‘cid in town. At 18 years old… sign me up. After freezing my ass off for months in Dead towns around the Bay Area, I was finally promoted to watching the main doors. This was just in time for a freak out in Dead Town. No one really knows how it happened. A riot erupted which left me trampled by sea of Birkenstocks. I was found unconscious and bleeding out the ears in the lap of a woman’s unwashed sundress. Getting your ass kicked by Hippies is very humbling.

And the ‘cid was always bunk.

Publicist’s Assistant-

Time on the Job: Four Months

I worked for a Hollywood Publicist whose number one client had developed a taste for young cock. This was one of my first jobs out of college for a whopping $13,500 a year. In addition to being a screamer, he was also a thrower. Everyday was punctuated by a different kind of new Arial assault accented by a bulging temple vein and a really strange delivery.

The delivery throw consisted of his left arm cocked at a 75 degree angle, then a jerk release with a limp-wristed follow through. Whether his missilery was Staplers, Empty picture frames, water glasses or unfinished novellas and books of poetry; all were launched with this same delivery.

The delivery really bugged me. I didn’t know why. It’s just gave me the dry scratch willies. Then one day, after dodging a Swingline, I had an epiphany and blurted:

“I know why this bugs me. You throw like a fucking girl”

And I just couldn’t work with that.

Director’s Creative Assistant-

Time on the Job: 8 Weeks

I was employed by a solid B-Grade Hollywood director. My job was supposed to work out script changes for a new sure-fire comedy. I worked out in his house in Thousand Oaks. He calls me from a looping session in Culver City.

“I hate to ask you this, but I forgot to feed the dogs this morning… would you mind?”

I am not so good with dogs. This is a whole other story. These were two German Attack Shepherds trained in French. They’re badass, “Richard Roundtree” badass.

“No problem.” Am I pussy to be afraid of Dogs? Or am I pussy for not wanting to admit that I am pussy around dogs?

So I go to feed them.. Alpo. It’s noon and the dogs have not eaten for 36 hours. I open the can and let it breathe. One can into bowl one for “Roscoe,” one can into bowl two for “Jasmine.” I step slightly to the lead perimeter and hear the clang of chainlink tightening.

I took one more step.

Jasmine comes at me and digs her teeth into my side and blood splats all over my Root’s crew shirt. Jasmine backs off. On the ground disoriented, bloody and dizzy, I have no idea where the perimeter is. Which way is closer? Which was is farther? Getting up is not an option right now. Jasmine is still HONGRY…

The only thing I do know at this point is:

I can’t remember the “stand down” command.

Jasmine stares and charges again. In the dirt of the dog run I yell one the few French phrases I know. “Au Revoir… MUTHER FUCKIN AU REVOIR” and kick my Puma into the head of the hungry beast.I remember wishing my boss had a deal with Doc Martin rather than Puma. It was a perfect rubber soled impact to the snout and Jasmine retreated. I just rolled in the opposite direction as fast as I could, caught my breath and went back to work. Yep, that bitch had a taste for some Dave that day. After the accident, the first question I got after “Where the hell have you been?” was “Are you gonna sue?”

I didn’t sue.. in those days suing was a career ender. In retrospect, I should have sued. My career in Hollywood was pretty much over anyway.

Porn Accountant-
Time on the Job: Nearly 5 Years

I worked as an accountant at an Adult Entertainment company. Refreshingly, there was very little pain involved in this job. I could leave at Three O’clock on a Tuesday and no one would even miss me.

I went to my boss and asked for a raise. I’d been there for four years, “Mr. Bossman, I know the company is strapped (a porn company strapped??), but how about a little love thrown my way?”He gave me a 1% raise, which he tried to tell me was HUGE!. Mr. Bossman was one of those guys who thought he was Hollywood because his friends were. I got a $50 Xmas bonus. His definition of HUGE was underwhelming.

Later, we found that Mr. Bossman had stolen $5,000,000 dollars from the company over the years. He bought a place on the Strand in Manhattan. The Upper Management was so embarrassed they couldn’t press charges; yet awarded themselves huge bonuses to go from the frying pan into the fryer.

The Upside was I really didn’t have to do that much, so I guess this actually goes in the “merely unfulfilled” category. Please feel free to snidely chuckle.

Non Porn Accountant:
Time on the Job: 4 months

The interview went great. Both people I interviewed with were really into “the team effort,” free lunch every other Friday and raises every year. Two weeks later, I learned something. As hard as I was trying to be perfect in that interview, so were they. They were lying there asses off. It was yet another derogatory gig. Even on your best days you were beaten down. “You fuckin piece of shit… you’re worthless.. get back to fucking work”

You gotta be kidding me? Accountants talk like this too? I walked the next day. ENOUGH! I’m not getting beat up by dolphins who think they are sharks.

So I quit, with no plan and no money.

Last week I ran into a former co-employee. I asked her if they had found a replacement. She said “Yes and No, We keep finding people and they get fired.”

“Why do they get fired?”

“Crying on the Job”

So I guess the question is, “Why the hell did I ever quit The Burger Joint?” This wasn’t a BK, this was a GOOD place.

Let’s compare:

Burger Boy

Time on the Job: On and off for two years

• Free Lunch EVERYDAY (Featuring THE GROSS BURGER)!
• All the beer you wanted after work!
• Plenty of access to contemporary teenage girls who were constantly rotating! (Gotta love that Lancome Counter!)
• Comradery: In fact, 15 years later I was the best man at a wedding of my Fry-Boy. Most of the people I have worked with in my life, I have no idea where there are.
• Paid $3 an hour more over the national average of Burger Boys, plus overtime and raises!
• Creativity in the work place: I invented three new menu items! My stoner buddy repainted the whole damn place over a lost weekend.
• Networking Opportunities: Because of the stellar location, networking with like minded types was much like the mob. Need a video? Talk to the video store guy. Need an album? Talk to the record store guy. Need a gift for the girlfriend du jour, talk to the Nordstrom’s guy. And if any of these folks needed “The Best Burger in East Bay” talk to Dave Crackpot. You do me a little, I’ll do you a little.

While rethinking my career goals, I am finding that these philosophies really speak to me. If I could afford to do it again-- why the hell not? It beat working at these other crappy jobs.

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