My Job, My Hell...

Share a survival experience with us and explain what you learned from it. You might help someone.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by TheGunslinger » Fri May 06, 2011 6:22 pm

Me three, please :)
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by airballrad » Fri May 06, 2011 6:39 pm

Fourthed. :shock:

ETA: You can't put a hook like that out there and expect no one to bite. Maybe you can have Shrapnel post it; it's automatically not oafish that way, right? :twisted:

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Ronin71XS » Fri May 06, 2011 7:32 pm

Fifthed. Speaking of which, where is that Oban at?
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by SeerSavant » Fri May 06, 2011 9:07 pm

Sixth on the list please!!!!!... This thread is awesome...
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Braxton » Fri May 06, 2011 9:34 pm

I guess I am lucky Number 7 on this list.
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Jeriah wrote: you are NEVER completely certain of any other human being: not your parents, not your brother, not your wife, nobody.
Actually I think under some circumstances people sometimes don't even know themselves, but that's a bit existential for this thread. :lol:

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by T-Boon » Fri May 06, 2011 11:47 pm

8thed !

Awesome stories and i`m sure you`ll never be the same.


P.s. i think we all like your ramblings :P
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Dr Jekell » Sat May 07, 2011 12:18 am

I think that I am currently 9th on the list for that story.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Samurai Penguin » Sat May 07, 2011 12:20 am

I call 10th. :shock:
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by thebigstick » Sat May 07, 2011 3:14 am

TLRM I so want in on that too so I call 11.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by GhostTiger » Sat May 07, 2011 3:18 am

Me 12!
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Greg Focker » Sat May 07, 2011 4:03 am

Thirteenth, bitches!
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Ad'lan » Sat May 07, 2011 6:01 am

Metheradik! (that means 14) on the PM list please.

If you didn't want us to ask, you shouldn't have mentioned it :D
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Crazy Wolf » Sat May 07, 2011 7:24 am

15th! Erm, with this level of support/demand, should it just be posted in this thread?
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Jeriah » Sat May 07, 2011 9:14 am

Crazy Wolf wrote:15th! Erm, with this level of support/demand, should it just be posted in this thread?
Counting me, you now have sixteen votes to post the story in this thread. I believe sixteen votes gives you immunity from being put on the Oaf Patrol Hit List. Please post it here. (Or, if not, add me to the PM list.)
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by basm » Sat May 07, 2011 9:30 am

17th! I don't know what I'm lining up to get but there is demand so I want it! :lol:

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by TheLastRifleMan » Sat May 07, 2011 9:51 am

Ok, Ok. If you guys PROMISE not to get too upset, I will post it for all to read. It's not that bad, really, just kind of sexist.


It was the summer of the second year I worked for the Bastards, as I like to call my former employer. I was overworked, underpaid and unappreciated, a typical job situation. But at this place, it was 10x worse and looking back at it, they were just waiting to pounce on any mistake I made in order to fire me. But that is beside the point.

It was that summer they had hired a couple of high school senior girls from my old alma matter to do filing and light secretarial duties. One girl was a real sweetheart and everyone just thought the world of her. The other girl, well, was a different story.

This girl had all the single guys lusting after her. She had just turned eighteen and looked about 22 or 23. She would dress in that conservative way that was still very provocative and still be within the company rules and would still turn heads. This girl was extremely good looking and new it and all of the other women that worked for the company hated her for not only her looks but the fact she messed everything up. Unfortunately, that was all she knew. To call this poor angel brainless was a high compliment. We used to joke the she had to take off her shirt to count to two, which is what leads to my tale.

I was down in the basement outside my repair shop, eating a lunch of Chinese food with the warehouse manager and his crew. I had picked the food up on my back in from doing service calls and we were enjoying our lunch in relative calm when we hear the loud footfalls of stiletto heals rapidly descending the staircase, of which we had a full view.

Hear comes the subject of every single (and perhaps some not single) male's recent fantasies bouncing down the stairs. And I do mean bouncing! On this particular day she had decided to wear a pair of light tan colored dress slacks that seemed to be painted on. Every contour of her lower half was clearly visible. She had also chosen to wear a tight fitting white shirt of some thin silk like material and a strapless bra, visible under the shirt if she turned just right, that barely contained her upper womanly assets. While not large as some, they were those of a hot 18 year old and now they were in motion to the delight and distress of the five males, 18 to 45, eating almond chicken and fried rice. She comes to a screeching halt but her "girls" are still moving up and down, that poor and lucky at the same time bra straining down to the molecular level, thanks to her heavy breathing caused by the run down the stairs.

"Did Cindy come this way?" she pants breathlessly. We just nod our heads side to side.
"I have to find her to give her money for lunch!" she says, turns and runs out the door, now giving us a view of her magnificiant backside, which is also in motion in a wonderful way. She rounds the corner and is gone, much to our disappointment.

We are all struck speechless. I am beginning to think that this is a rather happy event, if your a young single man like me, and I am even more happy I am sitting down. I go to take a bite of my lunch when I look up to see the 2nd, as we called her, since she was 2nd in charge in the company, glaring down at us from the landing on the staircase. She knows and we know she knows what we were all gawking at and yet she says nothing. Only gives us that look that says "you boys better look down at the floor when the girl comes back or your all dead". She turns and goes back up stairs, floating like some deity from ages past, having just demonstrated her power to a bunch of world weary worshipers.
We finish lunch without another word. All that needed to be said had been said but, lucky us, the saying "what had been seen cannot be unseen" held true.

The next day, our private dancer was wearing a skirt that was a size too big for her, a dark blue shirt and a sweater. Completely and utterly hiding everything we males liked to look at. She dressed this way the rest of my tenure.

She was kept on as a part time employee, losing files, misplacing orders while the other girl who everybody thought the world of went on to college and med school. Life is cruel.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by whisk.e.rebellion » Sat May 07, 2011 11:01 am

See, now? That wasn't so bad.

Oh, and TLRM, check your PMs :twisted:
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by shrapnel » Sat May 07, 2011 11:07 am

I am disappoint. That story was not nearly as oafy as I had hoped. :cry:
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by TheLastRifleMan » Sat May 07, 2011 1:03 pm

whisk.e.rebellion wrote:See, now? That wasn't so bad.

Oh, and TLRM, check your PMs :twisted:
I am waiting... :lol:

Hope that tale wasn't too scandalous.
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"If ye break faith with those who died,
We shall not sleep..."

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by TheLastRifleMan » Sat May 07, 2011 1:13 pm

shrapnel wrote:I am disappoint. That story was not nearly as oafy as I had hoped. :cry:
Gee, I am so sorry. Do I at least get a slap with a piece of cooked spaghetti for it? :D

I do think the one I wrote before was worse.
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"If ye break faith with those who died,
We shall not sleep..."

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by basm » Sat May 07, 2011 4:35 pm

That wasn't bad at all. I know I have been caught looking... no, staring... no, ogling... one or two in my day. I let the younger ones have at that job now, since I'm not as deluded as I used to be that I had a snowball's remote chance in hell. :lol:

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Meat N' Taters » Mon May 09, 2011 11:11 am

I remember when I was in high school and I worked as a sacker in a grocery store frequented by old people. I would ask them the typical "Paper or plastic?", and about one out of every ten would present me with this odd, but common answer to said question: "Sacks." Ok, first of all Mable, you were presented with two options. Paper. Or. Plastic. Then, when I would enquire further to clarify, "Ummm, ok ma'am. Would you like paper or plastic sacks", the old raisin would inevitably become incensed at my incredible ignorance. "Sacks, I said! Sacks are paper!". I always loved dealing with that. It really made that five bucks an hour worth it. I usually kept from screaming obscenities by reminding myself that the grumpy old bat could probably count her remaining years on one hand, whereas I had well over half a century ahead of me. Either that, or I "accidentally" put her eggs underneath her twelve pack of tin cans of Ensure. Oops.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by SeerSavant » Tue May 10, 2011 8:52 pm

A long time ago, I drove a tow truck for a living... Good job, good money (at times) absolutely no life.

So for the better part of a decade I worked on call 24/7 seven days a week with every other sunday off. A few observations in that brief career.

Repos are good money... Until you get shot at.

When you miss the Ocracroke Ferry (Outer Banks NC) in the middle of august coming back and have to spend the night in the truck (because there is absolutely no place to even find a room.) No matter how hot it may be, NEVER but NEVER take a snooze in your rig until the next ferry because the sand fleas will literally leave you a quart low. And looking like a cross between someone who is suffering the worst acne problem in recorded history and a third world plague victim.

When the State Police ask you for something you give it willingly and with absolute conviction that your life exists simply to make his life easier, UNLESS he asks you to drop off a DUI who is being let off with an impound and a summons. (yes, they don't always get taken to jail.) They will puke in your rig, they will offer you all manner of sexual favors to take their vehicle to their home, sometimes after puking in your rig. They will get violent when you refuse, and cause you to call back said Trooper, who will be all manner of pissed off... Not at the screaming, puking, madman/woman in your truck, but at you for interrupting their break.

It is in fact to work slower and slower in direct relation to the amount of people who think leaning on their horn will somehow speed up your recovery time with a rolled vehicle in the middle of the interstate.

People will leave dirty underwear, sexual aids, and home "movies" in their vehicle, but never valid registration.

Those bump strips on the side of the road, actually DO wake you up before you hit the ditch or oncoming traffic. :oops:

Every vehicle you tow and inventory will somehow be found to be missing huge amounts of cash (even if your inventory was done thru locked doors and tinted windows, because policy is to never open vehicles. Ever.)

Each week you will receive a memo from various industries like Tow Time magazine which will mention trends, such as police impounds related to vice in which HIV positive prostitutes wedging dirty needles under the drivers seat so that you get an ass full of HIV or at the very least a variety of STDs and Hepatitis.

The weather will grow fierce and howl with rain and wind the entire time your hooking up, and slow to a faint mist the moment you get into the cab and start your paperwork. Only to start back up with a fury the second you get ready to off load.

Drunk people expect people to understand that they're memory of you towing their vehicle is far superior to your recollection or the recollection of the police who called you to tow their vehicle.


Example of state police recovery call with DUI; Arrive on scene... Where's car? It's fifty feet off of the exit ramp on tidewater drive in a small grove of dense trees. A battered guard rail is evidence that this guy miraculously managed to launch his new Camaro around twenty feet in the air to nestle in amongst a tight and tick infested grove of brush and trees. You know this because the tops of the trees pointing to the car stop suddenly at twenty feet in height while the surrounding foliage is much higher.
Great you think.... A; because you have gotten very good at recoveries and love the challenge. B; the clock is ticking and your getting well paid on this one. and C; You've got a 50 dollar bet on who pulls the most difficult recovery going on, and this one's a clear winner.
Snatch blocks, and a decent twinline set up, and your already plotting how to maneuver the car around the largest obstacles and then lift it skyward and settle it down on the pavement as smooth and steady as to make all the other drivers absolutely green with envy.
You are followed down by the Trooper, and find suddenly that this drunk idiot still had the thought to roll up his windows and lock the doors before leaving the vehicle to meet the wonderful fellows in blue lights that followed him for the last dozen miles and where anxiously awaiting his varied and colorful excuses to his minor "accident".
Asking the Trooper if you can get the keys explains all this in one swift moment as the Trooper simply uses his most effective and chilly tone to tell you, "I don't care how the fuck you get it out. Throw a fucking chain thru the window and drag the fucker up..."
Trooper's in a less than pleasant mood.
You start to rig up a snatch block and the trooper says "Fuck that, I said drag the fucker up."

Yes sir. (Goodbye fifty bucks, hello story to be told over and over again.)

You take both cables and reach underneath, dropping J hooks on either side of the axle, throttle up the pto once back to the truck and engage.

The wrenching tearing grinding occasional glass exploding sounds give your a perverse sense of glee as you boom up and keep tension on both cables taut hoping that the car doesn't start rolling on the slope's harsh angle, knowing that the trees would probably stop it from going to far.
One fender comes off as you pull it over the guard rail in a record time, and throw dollies under the front end (All but one tire is now flat, and two are trying to come off the rim as if to escape the hell that you've just put them thru.

Part of you is aghast at the damage you've just done, and part is really REALLY feeling good right then.

The drunk is currently screaming bloody murder from the back of the cruiser (You didn't hear it from the engine roaring, and the snapping of smaller trees and painful cries of the now totalled car.

You think, fuck it, you didn't play airplane with a car tonight, but the guy in the back of the car has finally gotten the attention of "not in a good mood" Trooper, who calmly explains that your not responsible for any damage done to the vehicle during recovery as it was in fact the dipshit amateur pilot who put said vehicle there in the first place.

You've run into this trooper before. You once witnessed a similar incident where hooking up to a lowered hot rod where after bitching about potential damage the Trooper walks over to the vehicle and asks if the drunk can identify the damage. After a moment of silence where the guy points to non existent damage the trooper corrects his idea of what damage is by taking out a headlight with his maglite.

So you leave DUI dipshit with the troopers and hook up in record time which leaves a borderline satisfied grunt from the Trooper (which in real life would translate to a hearty handshake and grateful thanks for your efficiency and speed, call it state police shorthand.)


Weeks later when you are on the tail end of a double run to the outer banks and awake only thru sheer nerve, caffeine, and running basically on autopilot back to a bed (which you will get a phone call within a few hours of hitting the pillow....) A flashing blue light to one side and the Trooper pulls alongside you (now suddenly realizing that, A; The trooper apparently lives in the same neck of the woods that you do, and B; that doing 65 in a secondary where the speed limit is 35mph.
The Trooper waits as you slow down to the speed limit then pulls up alongside, sees your okay and looking properly ashamed, and waves as he passes by, his version of a friendly warning.


I kinda miss it, and I actually don't.

Not exactly a hell, or perhaps a hell that you get used to and accept as normal after a while.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Braxton » Tue May 10, 2011 9:30 pm

SeerSavant wrote:Shit that I do every day.

BLESS YOU FOR THIS.

I am putting this up in my office.
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Jeriah wrote: you are NEVER completely certain of any other human being: not your parents, not your brother, not your wife, nobody.
Actually I think under some circumstances people sometimes don't even know themselves, but that's a bit existential for this thread. :lol:

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