My worst dead-end job was giving horseback riding lessons to rich kids at a particular riding school. In the summer, the poor horses and I had to trudge around in the sun, sometimes in 100 degrees. (Thank you, Gatorade.) I had to teach many children to ride on an ancient, tiny, rickety pony that I was told to whip if she wouldn't move fast enough. (I pretended and just chased her with the whip.) If students didn't show up, the school billed them but wouldn't pay me a cent for my time waiting. They billed $80 and up per hour for my time and only gave me $15.
But, my husband wins the prize. His worst job was at a meat by-products factory in Linden Illinois. The job was shoveling dried pig's blood that was so dusty it got in his nose and ears and eyes. When it got wet, it became "maggoty", because it was very fine and decomposed quickly.
But, my husband wins the prize. His worst job was at a meat by-products factory in Linden Illinois. The job was shoveling dried pig's blood that was so dusty it got in his nose and ears and eyes. When it got wet, it became "maggoty", because it was very fine and decomposed quickly.
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