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 SeerSavant » Tue May 10, 2011 9:36 pm

Did it for a decade... Probably would still be doing it, but just burned out.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by OffWhiteKnight » Wed May 11, 2011 12:08 am

man in black wrote:
riverjoe47 wrote:I have to commend Wally for hiring the disabled as you describe , but sometimes I wonder . One of our local stores has a guy thats supposed to round up the wayward carts and take them in .
He never gets much more then 4 or 5 carts at a time and he walks like a snail . I spend a lot of time watching him since the wife loves to shop and I elect to stay in the car ,take a nap or read a paper back .
So on windy days I'll have to make a couple of diving saves when those carts go tearing across the parking lot headed for somebodys brand new paint job . Not too long ago tho I did go in and when I came out , sure enough a gouge on the trunk about cart high :evil:
$ 500 deductable . :evil: :evil:
the woman i work with i believe is just a little slow not like full on not there. i think she has some sort of autism spectrum disorder maybe? she works on a work program set up by the barber center. but yeah wal-mart i think is fairly progressive but at the same time kind of totally fucked at the same time. you know, there are cameras in the parking lot if you told the general manager of the store what happened and request he view the tapes he could probably get the store to pay for it if it was the trolley boy's fault.
I work at walmart too.. yeah there are cameras in the lot but I don't think they work or have any tapes in them.. or maybe it just depends on the manager whether they use them or not. I know about 2 years ago a cart put a damn big dent in my car and when I asked the manager to look at the tapes and see how it happened I was told I was "shit out of luck" Also, a coworker had a coat stolen out of her locker in the back.. with a camera right in front of the lockers.. and when she asked management to look at the tape they told her they couldn't.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by KnightoftheRoc » Wed May 11, 2011 3:51 am

As folks are probably sick of hearing by now, I'm a retired plumber and HVAC/R tech. So, I apologize ahead of time, now, this once, and only once, if any of my stories cause you to lose a meal you recently enjoyed- I did warn you. This one, however, is not THAT bad. (Not that good, either, but still)

Christmas eve, early 90's- the exact year now escapes me. A customer of mine, who was, I'm told, "connected", as in mob ties connected, but a helluva nice guy in any case, calls me up around 9PM. Seems he needs a hand- his toilets have stopped working, and he has family over for the holiday. So, I look at the crap under the tree, still in it's wrappings, and figure I'd better get started on paying for it, and tell him I'll be right over. I'm figuring a quick in and out job, and I wasn't exactly dressed for working- sneakers, decent jeans, etc. I don't bother to change, in order to save some time, and head on over.

I get there, and his ONE toilet indeed has stopped up- even though there's nothing in the bowl. Running a sink only makes the toilet overflow- OK, problem's in the pipe downstairs, I'll snake this out and be home by bedtime. Nope. Problem is, he has a lift system, and it aint lifting- it's leaking. ALL. OVER. THE. BASEMENT. I quickly ascertain that the pump that moves the water out, isn't. Time to get down and dirty.
I can BARELY see a cement block peeking above the water level, so I shut off the water main, to prevent any MORE influx of poo-flavored water, and manage to shove a cement block over where I can access the tank (picture something like a 30 gallon trash can with a lid that bolts on), and use another as a stepping stone to get to it. In my sneakers. I disconnect the pipes coming into the tank, which fortunately already have unions, and pull the power cord from the outlet.

At which point, his Ivy League son-in-law comes stomping down the steps of the basement/ indoor pool of filth and stench. Standing on the bottom dry step, literally an inch above the high tide mark, he starts to ask questions and make comments on how nasty "this is". He ALMOST makes it sound like it's somehow my fault it happened in the first place, without having the stones to actually insult the man holding the big wrench. I wrestle the pump assembly out of the tank, and manage to flip it over for a look see on yet another cement block. The intake is jammed, and jammed immensely well. some sort of cloth, or maybe a small rodent- it's kind of hard to tell at this point. I have to disassemble the pump, squatting on a cement block in a lake of crappy water.

I get the bottom off the pump, and untangle what was once a very nice washcloth, but will never be one again. As I extract it, I ask- are you missing any washcloths? And it comes to light that Ivy League's little angel, who could do no wrong, says he flushed one while in the bathroom- no reason WHY, he just did it. Grandpa's pissed, Ivy League is embarrassed, and I'm still squatting on my cement block perch in a lake of crap. I put the pump back together, set it on the floor, and see if I can get the pipes to connect with the pump outside the tank. While I'm doing this, Ivy League starts acting a bit more friendly, and asks me if I like being a plumber. I tell him it's OK, but you know, not everyone can handle being a plumber. He asks the obvious question "'cause of the poop?", and I tell him no, not everyone is equipped to handle the glamor! :lol: :lol:

Ivy League promptly laughs so hard he falls off the last step, and ends up ankle deep in shit water, in his expensive Italian loafers, which are now a complete write-off. He's barely able to pull it together enough to get his feet out of the water, he's sitting there laughing fit to bust a gut. I manage to jury rig the pump, and fire it up, pumping most of the cellar's contents out into the actual septic system, and then unplug it. I re-assemble the tank and pump, test it, and call it a night. Best tip ever from Grandpa, by the way- I'm not sure if he liked the fact that I saved him from having NO facilities at all for the weekend (anyone with a pump would be closed), or if he was giving me an attaboy for getting his son in law to fall in.

To this day, I think of that night every time I so much as see a cement block sitting on a basement floor.
silentpoet wrote: My first two warning shots are aimed center of mass. If that don't warn them I fire warning shots at their head until they are warned enough that I am no longer in fear for my life.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by riverjoe47 » Wed May 11, 2011 7:02 am

KnightoftheRoc wrote:As folks are probably sick of hearing by now, I'm a retired plumber and HVAC/R tech. So, I apologize ahead of time, now, this once, and only once, if any of my stories cause you to lose a meal you recently enjoyed- I did warn you. This one, however, is not THAT bad. (Not that good, either, but still)

Christmas eve, early 90's- the exact year now escapes me. A customer of mine, who was, I'm told, "connected", as in mob ties connected, but a helluva nice guy in any case, calls me up around 9PM. Seems he needs a hand- his toilets have stopped working, and he has family over for the holiday. So, I look at the crap under the tree, still in it's wrappings, and figure I'd better get started on paying for it, and tell him I'll be right over. I'm figuring a quick in and out job, and I wasn't exactly dressed for working- sneakers, decent jeans, etc. I don't bother to change, in order to save some time, and head on over.

I get there, and his ONE toilet indeed has stopped up- even though there's nothing in the bowl. Running a sink only makes the toilet overflow- OK, problem's in the pipe downstairs, I'll snake this out and be home by bedtime. Nope. Problem is, he has a lift system, and it aint lifting- it's leaking. ALL. OVER. THE. BASEMENT. I quickly ascertain that the pump that moves the water out, isn't. Time to get down and dirty.
I can BARELY see a cement block peeking above the water level, so I shut off the water main, to prevent any MORE influx of poo-flavored water, and manage to shove a cement block over where I can access the tank (picture something like a 30 gallon trash can with a lid that bolts on), and use another as a stepping stone to get to it. In my sneakers. I disconnect the pipes coming into the tank, which fortunately already have unions, and pull the power cord from the outlet.

At which point, his Ivy League son-in-law comes stomping down the steps of the basement/ indoor pool of filth and stench. Standing on the bottom dry step, literally an inch above the high tide mark, he starts to ask questions and make comments on how nasty "this is". He ALMOST makes it sound like it's somehow my fault it happened in the first place, without having the stones to actually insult the man holding the big wrench. I wrestle the pump assembly out of the tank, and manage to flip it over for a look see on yet another cement block. The intake is jammed, and jammed immensely well. some sort of cloth, or maybe a small rodent- it's kind of hard to tell at this point. I have to disassemble the pump, squatting on a cement block in a lake of crappy water.

I get the bottom off the pump, and untangle what was once a very nice washcloth, but will never be one again. As I extract it, I ask- are you missing any washcloths? And it comes to light that Ivy League's little angel, who could do no wrong, says he flushed one while in the bathroom- no reason WHY, he just did it. Grandpa's pissed, Ivy League is embarrassed, and I'm still squatting on my cement block perch in a lake of crap. I put the pump back together, set it on the floor, and see if I can get the pipes to connect with the pump outside the tank. While I'm doing this, Ivy League starts acting a bit more friendly, and asks me if I like being a plumber. I tell him it's OK, but you know, not everyone can handle being a plumber. He asks the obvious question "'cause of the poop?", and I tell him no, not everyone is equipped to handle the glamor! :lol: :lol:

Ivy League promptly laughs so hard he falls off the last step, and ends up ankle deep in shit water, in his expensive Italian loafers, which are now a complete write-off. He's barely able to pull it together enough to get his feet out of the water, he's sitting there laughing fit to bust a gut. I manage to jury rig the pump, and fire it up, pumping most of the cellar's contents out into the actual septic system, and then unplug it. I re-assemble the tank and pump, test it, and call it a night. Best tip ever from Grandpa, by the way- I'm not sure if he liked the fact that I saved him from having NO facilities at all for the weekend (anyone with a pump would be closed), or if he was giving me an attaboy for getting his son in law to fall in.

To this day, I think of that night every time I so much as see a cement block sitting on a basement floor.
I too am a retired HVAC / Elec. contractor . I did a little plumbing once in a while , but I wasn't licensed for new construction on plumbing .
I was working on the boiler in an old city school that had been bought by a private concern .Hardley any lights working just a bare 60 watt bulb hanging in the boiler room .This place had been deserted for about 10 years . There was about 6 inches of water on the floor and there was a big self priming sump pump over a pit that would run but wouldn't pump .
So the most obvious problem is always the first you check ,right . There was a union on the 1.5 inch intake pipe so I just broke it and pulled the pipe up to inspect it . I held the pipe up to try and gather a little light and looked up into it to try and spot the blockage . Alls I can see is dark so Im thinking I'll try and blow thru it . First I'll bang it around and try and dislodge it then check again .
As Im looking 2 little beady eyes start coming down the pipe into my face . I fling that SOB clear across the boiler room before it can bite me in the face .
Upon less panicky inspection I find a partially decomposed rat had been sucked into the pipe ass first . I changed my blowing thru pipe policy after this incident .
Do not bathe if there is no water.
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I never gave a damn about a man who could only spell a word one way .
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Samurai Penguin » Thu May 12, 2011 9:15 pm

Does almost dying at work count as a "case of the Mondays?"
The Flat-Earth fools are so obsessed with eliminating carbon dioxide(which is what plants need to make oxygen for our use) that they've ignored its little brother, carbon monoxide. Since the latter almost killed me today, you might forgive me for thinking their priorities just a bit out of whack.

Carbon monoxide is a principal component of the exhaust from internal combustion engines. It is odorless and invisible. And if it's leaking into the cabin of your vehicle, bad things can happen. I found that out today at work, and it's scary how it can sneak up on you.

I had no idea what was going on. My extremities were numb, my heart was pounding, I couldn't catch my breath...I honestly thought I was having a heart attack. I actually called an ambulance, and I'd sooner reattach a ripped-off limb with duct tape than see a doctor. Once the Fire Department paramedics showed up and put me on an oxy bottle, everything started getting better. By the time the ambulance got there and put me on a monitor, my heart was back to normal.

They figured it was "dehydration and/or anxiety" and gave me the OK. Dude...wait, what? I've been broke and homeless, lost everything I had over and over again, been through bike crashes, car wrecks, three scorpion stings, earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes, had my back trailer blown over and been twenty feet from a lightning strike. And now I'm having an 'anxiety attack?' WTF-ever.

I went across the lot to buy a couple of extra bottles of water, and once I got back in the truck, I started feeling weird again. WTF...oh, I get it! I got it back to the yard with all the windows down, and I'm still not quite myself. Hopefully, I'll be back to whatever passes for normal in the morning.

So, how was your day at work? ;)
You want to know the crowning irony? Apparently, the CO was coming from a malfunctioning Regeneration unit, which collects the soot and other particles emitted by the normal operation of a diesel motor and burns them off like a mobile blast furnace. That's right--I was almost killed by the emissions from the emissions-control device.

I knew those damn greenies were out to get me. :mrgreen:
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by KnightoftheRoc » Fri May 13, 2011 4:10 pm

Well, this one didn't result in an ambulance, but I was almost killed OTJ once, because no one thought to tell me the dangers involved with freon and heat. I was just learning the AC trade, and we had a factory leak on a coil we'd just installed in a crawlspace in an attic- one of those little "rooms" to the side of the attic, that is stuck into the eave. I located the leak, and let the pressure drop, then fired up the torch and got out the braizing rod- it was a spot job, and shouldn't take but a few seconds, once it was up to temp. The torch flame was a wierd greenish/purple color- the green coming from the copper tubing, the purple I couldn't account for. Suddenly, I noticed I couldn't breath, like my lungs had been paralyzed, or my diaphragm. I was choking to death, in a room full of air!

I shut off the torch and dragged myself out, and was able to get my breath back, but still had no idea what had happened. It turns out that freon, when superheated (like from an acetylene torch) degrades into a nerve gas! I was being subjected to a phosgene nerve agent! Lesson learned. Always vac down the system before attempting a repair.

This was one of those "jobs from hell", as it turned out. The front lawn wasn't even close to level with the driveway, and while climbing up on the rear tire to reach into the truck bed, my foot slipped off the tire, my upper body flipped upward, smashing the back of my head into the pipe rack attached to the top surface of the tool box body. Gravity re-asserted itself, and I then fell straight down, landing with my nose on the top of the box, my entire, moving, body weight behind it. Breaking my nose. I hit the ground and fell onto my back, catching a rock in the left kidney, which bruised nicely, just as the icing on the cake. I bled like a faucet from the nose, and pretty much just laid there on my side, groaning and bleeding for a while. I finally got up, checked my mug in the truck's side mirror, and yup- nose is busted, no mistaking it. I screwed up my courage, placed the base of each thumb to the sides of the nose, and with a squeeze, yanked the nose back into line. OH. MY.GOD! There's a pain you don't want to experience- it's as bad as breaking the nose, all over again. Maybe worse, because you are going it on purpose, lol.

Anyway, that's how I busted my nose the first time. I've had "assistance" from other people since then, in later breaks.
silentpoet wrote: My first two warning shots are aimed center of mass. If that don't warn them I fire warning shots at their head until they are warned enough that I am no longer in fear for my life.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Samurai Penguin » Sun May 15, 2011 11:19 pm

OMFG!!! Dude, phosgene gas can kill you inside of two seconds. Someone was watching over you that day, no lie. :shock:
"Some folks just need to tuck their e-penis back in before it gets cold and we all laugh." --Brash
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by That German Guy » Mon May 16, 2011 12:09 am

Samurai Penguin wrote:OMFG!!! Dude, phosgene gas can kill you inside of two seconds. Someone was watching over you that day, no lie. :shock:
Two seconds? That stiff isn't even all that nasty, it's just sneaky. Low to medium doses are hard to smell or otherwise detect, and once your lungs are damaged enough (~4 to 24h later) you start drowning in your own bodily fluids, to put it nicely.

Death in seconds or minutes from phosgene poisoning is almost impossible though, unless you are talking huge doses. In that case, the proteins in your lung tissue are denatured, stopping all gas exchange, killing you in about three minutes from lack of oxygen.

/smartassery ;)
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by wee drop o' bush » Mon May 16, 2011 7:59 am

I worked for 4 years as a support worker in Supported Accomodation for adults with Psychiatric illnesses who also had mild learning difficulties. I loved it 8) There are too many stories to tell but In one of the appartments lived a guy who I had known since he was released from Psychiatric Hospital into community care. He was a registered sex offender, with a history of threatening to kill people, indecent exposure & public affray etc etc. He had been sectioned & detained in hospital for a few years, had been treated, stabilised & then released under legal guardianship. Despite his history we quickly stopped bothering to wear our panic alarms as he was generally scared to say boo in case he was sectioned again. 4 years down the line he was just another resident & whilst we were careful and stuck to his agreed care plan we didn't feel under threat from him.
Part of my job was to go into each persons flat at night, get them to take their meds & ensure they were in their flat & their door was locked. I had noticed he had been grumpy for a few days but went in to see him as normal. As soon as I walked in he locked the door behind me & stood in front of it & laughed while rubbing his hands together he had never done this before! I thought ''OK, oh shit Louis you're on a mental ledge here'' I knew I had to ignore what he'd done completely and behave as normal. I chatted the usual bullshit with him telling him to take his tablets & get to bed. I then walked straight to the door, turned the key & opened it praying the whole time he didn't reach for my neck I turned round & he was still giggling & rubbing his hands so I looked him in the face & told him to lock the door!
I then walked quickly up to my office, locked the door and sunk onto a chair. I knew his violent history & knew that if I had panicked at all it would have had a very different outcome. I wrote it all down & his medication was altered slightly & our shifts were changed so that we weren't ever in his flat on our own.
I'm only 5'' 0' & he's about 6''3' so |I'm glad I was able to bullshit my way out of it :D
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Meat N' Taters » Mon May 16, 2011 9:45 am

Right out of high school, I got a summer job to help pay for college expenses. Retail at a store that sold baby furniture/baby-oriented stuff. There was this one guy there, Jake. He was a retail guy, same as me. I think he had been there a few months longer. Anyhow...this guy was a total "lifer". His aspiration was to be a manager there. Great, whatever floats your boat. Problem was, he was a complete douche. He would try and order his co-workers around, and "manage" things. That doesn't go over really well with people who share your same job description and whom you hold no authority over. Anyhow, while most of my peers ignored him, for whatever reason, he just bugged the shit out of me. I put up with it until I could take no more. Now, when I get pissed, I use profanity and holler. When I get SUPER pissed, I do not. I remain calm and then proceed to say the cruelest, most for-the-jugular vicious thing I can think of. Well, on this day, ol' Jake pushed my buttons just so. I think he tried to tell me to go gather the shopping carts from the parking lot. When I pointed out that he was not a manager, he responded with "No, but I will be", while smiling the most self-important douchebag smile ever. I responded to this by saying "A two dollar raise and the right to wear a vest over your shirt. You sure don't set the bar very high, do you sport?" I watched his world crumble as he walked off without a word. He never asked me to do anything again. As an aside, I ran into him about a year later, after I had long since quit the job, at the community college. He said hi to me, and was STILL a raging dick. First thing he said was "Remember Denise (the only semi-attractive girl that worked there)? Her and I are going out this weekend." Same douchebag smirk. I decided to de-sack him one more time and responded with "Take her to Prince's. She loves their strawberry milkshakes." Fuck you Jake, wherever you are.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by riverjoe47 » Mon May 16, 2011 11:13 am

That German Guy wrote:
Samurai Penguin wrote:OMFG!!! Dude, phosgene gas can kill you inside of two seconds. Someone was watching over you that day, no lie. :shock:
Two seconds? That stiff isn't even all that nasty, it's just sneaky. Low to medium doses are hard to smell or otherwise detect, and once your lungs are damaged enough (~4 to 24h later) you start drowning in your own bodily fluids, to put it nicely.

Death in seconds or minutes from phosgene poisoning is almost impossible though, unless you are talking huge doses. In that case, the proteins in your lung tissue are denatured, stopping all gas exchange, killing you in about three minutes from lack of oxygen.

/smartassery ;)
I remember a story from our shop . Doug had gone down to a bank in a small town that was our regular customer . Over the weekend the chiller had cracked a fitting and was leaking Freon into the basement . The manager called a local appliance store since they couldn't get ahold of our shop over the weekend .
The appliance store guy had attempted to repair the leak on the fly which is virtually impossible since as soon as the braze liquifies the pressure blows it out . Ofcourse as soon as the Freon hit the flame it turned into Phosegenes so the " technician :roll: " got a bottle of oxygen off his truck cracked the valve next to his nose and crawled back to the leak and attempted to continue his work . So now he's filled the basement with Phosgenes and he's got oxygen spewing out next to his flame . Luckily he finnaly gave up before he killed himself or some of the bank personel .
Do not bathe if there is no water.
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I never gave a damn about a man who could only spell a word one way .
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by KnightoftheRoc » Wed May 18, 2011 10:30 am

riverjoe47 wrote:
That German Guy wrote:
Samurai Penguin wrote:OMFG!!! Dude, phosgene gas can kill you inside of two seconds. Someone was watching over you that day, no lie. :shock:
Two seconds? That stiff isn't even all that nasty, it's just sneaky. Low to medium doses are hard to smell or otherwise detect, and once your lungs are damaged enough (~4 to 24h later) you start drowning in your own bodily fluids, to put it nicely.

Death in seconds or minutes from phosgene poisoning is almost impossible though, unless you are talking huge doses. In that case, the proteins in your lung tissue are denatured, stopping all gas exchange, killing you in about three minutes from lack of oxygen.

/smartassery ;)
I remember a story from our shop . Doug had gone down to a bank in a small town that was our regular customer . Over the weekend the chiller had cracked a fitting and was leaking Freon into the basement . The manager called a local appliance store since they couldn't get ahold of our shop over the weekend .
The appliance store guy had attempted to repair the leak on the fly which is virtually impossible since as soon as the braze liquifies the pressure blows it out . Ofcourse as soon as the Freon hit the flame it turned into Phosegenes so the " technician :roll: " got a bottle of oxygen off his truck cracked the valve next to his nose and crawled back to the leak and attempted to continue his work . So now he's filled the basement with Phosgenes and he's got oxygen spewing out next to his flame . Luckily he finnaly gave up before he killed himself or some of the bank personel .
Holy crap! I was indeed lucky, the leak I was messing with was a pinhole leak, and not under pressure until I heated up the coil. If he had a bottle of oxygen, and was a "pro", why didn't he use a SCBA setup?
silentpoet wrote: My first two warning shots are aimed center of mass. If that don't warn them I fire warning shots at their head until they are warned enough that I am no longer in fear for my life.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by riverjoe47 » Wed May 18, 2011 11:38 am

No that guy was about as far from pro as you get , but I must say he was tenacious . I never really felt inclined to risk my life just to give someone AC . :lol:
Do not bathe if there is no water.
Chinese, Shan proverb

I never gave a damn about a man who could only spell a word one way .
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Jeriah » Wed May 18, 2011 12:09 pm

I've been teaching art at the college level for three years now, and while my stories aren't going to be NEARLY as good as most of yours (they don't involve poop, generally, or risks of serious injury), there are some serious eye-rolling WTF moments. Here are some highlights:

1. Did you know that most American high school graduates don't know how to use a ruler? At least it seems so here in Chicago. Ask someone to measure something, and they will do all SORTS of weird shit. The most common error is misunderstanding the difference between the end of the ruler, and the origin. The end of the ruler is the end of the physical piece of material the ruler is made of. The origin is the point marked "0" on the scale. There is frequently a gap of 1/4 or so between the end of the ruler and the origin. This is sometimes omitted on cheap POS wooden rules, but on most plastic rulers and higher-quality rulers of all materials, the gap is there so that there is an unambiguous start point. Students regularly use the end of the ruler as the origin, adding approximately 1/4" to their measurements. Add to this, though, their odd habit of "counting inches," wherein they measure one inch, then slide the ruler over to put the end of the ruler where they think the 1" mark was before, and repeat that. So instead of lining up the origin with one end of the object to be measured, and then seeing where the far end falls, they actually measure one inch at a time, and count, out loud, "one...two...three." This is of course highly inefficient, highly inaccurate, and means that the end-of-ruler-vs-origin confusion is multiplied: instead of being off by 1/4" overall, they're off by 1/4" PER INCH. It's insane.

2. Hammers. Seriously? Many students seem to not know how to hold and use a hammer. Grasp the hammer near the end of the handle, raise it above/back from the nail being driven, and let gravity pivot your wrist forward so the weight of the head does most of the work, right? Some variation permissible depending on the task? But many, many students, when asked to drive a nail, choke up on the hammer so they're grabbing right under the base of the head, and then try to basically "punch" the nail in. Parents, if your child's high school doesn't teach shop, take some responsibility and teach them these skills at home. Parents of female students, in particular, seem to have fallen victim to gender stereotypes about who does and does not need to be taught to use tools, with the result that many female students, through no fault of their own, lack these essential skills.

3. I know I'm a laid back instructor, but seriously, it is not cool to show up to my class baked as hell, stupid as shit, eyes all red, stinking of pot, and then telling me your eyes are red because of your contact lenses. I spent five years living in Humboldt County. I know you're stoned. And while we're on this topic, absent-mindedly setting your jeweler's bag of bud on the desk while working on your drawing isn't cool either.

4. Yes, you're hot. Yes, I appreciate your wearing low-cut shirts to class, and consciously adjusting the neckline to be more revealing before coming to me with your lame-ass excuse for why you were absent or didn't get the work done. No, it doesn't change the academic requirements of the course, no matter how sweet your voice is. (I have not yet had a male student attempt to curry favor with me in this way, but rest assured, it would achieve no greater level of success.)

5. That's cool that you went to Mexico to visit your family. Leaving after the second day of class, and not returning until after the mid-term, and then asking what you need to do to make up what you've missed, not so much. You missed half the class! What the shit?

6. Being locked up in jail doesn't excuse your absence from class. If you want to pass this class, you're going to have to stay out of jail. How you do that is up to you.

7. This is a classroom, not a day-care center. Please do not bring your infant child to class. (Seriously...more than one person has thought this was an okay thing to do.)

8. Speaking of children...you know where babies come from, right? Mommy and daddy kiss under a falling star and then the stork lays an egg in the cabbage patch? Right. Please try to avoid getting knocked up during the course of this semester, as it may adversely affect your academic performance. And by the way...getting pregnant, or getting someone pregnant, isn't an "accident" any more than shooting yourself in the head playing Russian Roulette is an accident. How you go about preventing, or solving, this problem is up to you.

This list has been edited to reflect my actual, gender-neutral allocation of responsibility regarding unintentional pregnancy, and to reflect the fact that when a student comes into my care without having been taught something, it is the fault of their previous education and their parents, not their own fault. Thanks to ZombieGranny for pointing out the ambiguity of my previous language.
Last edited by Jeriah on Thu May 19, 2011 9:12 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Meat N' Taters » Wed May 18, 2011 12:29 pm

Damn, that sounds a hell of a lot different than the art classes I took in college. I picked them as electives because they werent as bad as some other ones. Plus, I would try and hit on the goth chicks. They didnt much like me though because I had goals and shit.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Jeriah » Wed May 18, 2011 12:33 pm

Meat N' Taters wrote:Damn, that sounds a hell of a lot different than the art classes I took in college. I picked them as electives because they werent as bad as some other ones. Plus, I would try and hit on the goth chicks. They didnt much like me though because I had goals and shit.
I literally picked my college (as a student) based on the probability of there being hot goth chicks there. Unfortunately, goths went extinct right around that same time (2000); I caught a few of the stragglers but they were more black metal chicks than goth chicks.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Meat N' Taters » Wed May 18, 2011 12:42 pm

Jeriah wrote:
Meat N' Taters wrote:Damn, that sounds a hell of a lot different than the art classes I took in college. I picked them as electives because they werent as bad as some other ones. Plus, I would try and hit on the goth chicks. They didnt much like me though because I had goals and shit.
I literally picked my college (as a student) based on the probability of there being hot goth chicks there. Unfortunately, goths went extinct right around that same time (2000); I caught a few of the stragglers but they were more black metal chicks than goth chicks.
That was about the time punk finally died too. Pyramid stud belts and Hot Topic shirts sounded the klaxon for that one.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Krustofski » Wed May 18, 2011 12:52 pm

Jeriah wrote:Students regularly use the end of the ruler as the origin, adding approximately 1/4" to their measurements.
Wouldn't that technically substract 1/4'' from their measurements?
4. Yes, you're hot. Yes, I appreciate your wearing low-cut shirts to class, and consciously adjusting the neckline to be more revealing before coming to me with your lame-ass excuse for why you were absent or didn't get the work done. No, it doesn't change the academic requirements of the course, no matter how sweet your voice is.
Ehehehe. "Unless you consider me starring to be preferred treatment, you are not getting anything out of this, but please carry on." has been my motto while TAing as well.

Also, great timing man. Monday was the first day on my new... teaching... job. :lol:
Off the internet until further notice.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Jeriah » Wed May 18, 2011 1:07 pm

Krustofski wrote:
Jeriah wrote:Students regularly use the end of the ruler as the origin, adding approximately 1/4" to their measurements.
Wouldn't that technically substract 1/4'' from their measurements?
Ah. If you're measuring the length of something, yes. On the other hand, if I say, "Make a mark every inch along the edge of your paper," for copying a photo using a grid, then the error will result in their making the mark at 1.25" rather than 1". But yeah, for "How long is that?", you're right, it would subtract.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Meat N' Taters » Wed May 18, 2011 1:24 pm

I never quibble about fractions of an inch. I have inches to spare.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Krustofski » Wed May 18, 2011 2:12 pm

Jeriah wrote:On the other hand, if I say, "Make a mark every inch along the edge of your paper," for copying a photo using a grid, then the error will result in their making the mark at 1.25" rather than 1".
I didn't think about it this way. That's probably due to your job being about creativity (creation is the key word here), while my job is about analyzing things. Or maybe because I'm sometimes a bit slow on the uptake. :lol:
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Jeriah » Wed May 18, 2011 2:14 pm

Krustofski wrote:
Jeriah wrote:On the other hand, if I say, "Make a mark every inch along the edge of your paper," for copying a photo using a grid, then the error will result in their making the mark at 1.25" rather than 1".
I didn't think about it this way. That's probably due to your job being about creativity (creation is the key word here), while my job is about analyzing things. Or maybe because I'm sometimes a bit slow on the uptake. :lol:
Nah, it's because I said "measure" instead of what I actually meant. :oops:
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by riverjoe47 » Wed May 18, 2011 5:33 pm

Slimy rats , the occasional whiff of Phosgenes , Amonia , Sulphur Dioxide and the inhalation of that powdered asbestos doesn't seem so bad now .
Hats off to all teachers .

Closest thing I ever did was coaching kids which is fun right up til that 16 th birthday .
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by ZombieGranny » Wed May 18, 2011 7:16 pm

Jeriah:
2. Just because nobody bothered to teach a girl how to use a hammer, is no excuse to bitch that she gives too many hand jobs....
and by the way, is she giving those to females?
Are the males who hold the hammers the same way also doing it because of the hand jobs they give?
8. The female is responsible for the entire existence of that baby (the one she has no safe place to leave and so brings it to class in number 7)?
My impression is it takes a female AND a male to create one; perhaps you could rant at the males as well.
Or again, it is all the female's fault.

I don't find your list funny at all.
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