It was the worst of times. It was the best of times.

My favorite job:

My worst job:

I would have to mention two different jobs as being the “worst job” I ever had, and they were for different reasons.

When I was still in college, but on break during one summer, I got a job “on Base” (Camp Lejeune Marine Corps Base). My mom was working, as a clerk typist, somewhere on base. This was late in her career. I got a job with a “maintenance” company that was cleaning & repainting an old cafeteria building. She drove me in to work that morning (she ended up being within walking distance, but several blocks away).

The job I was given was mopping down the ceilings with a caustic solution (maybe Clorox and water) to remove any old mold. I think this would have been in preparation of repainting the walls & ceilings. The ceiling was very high up. Think of it as a two story building, but no second story, just a really high ceiling on the single floor. Well, they had a really tall wooden ladder that swayed a little when I climbed it because it was really tall, but narrow. There was a bucket with the cleaning solution, and I was give a mop with a wooden handle and sent up the ladder.

So, I dip the mop into the liquid and then lift the mop head up and scrub the ceiling. Almost like mopping a floor, but in the opposite direction. Well, I didn’t like being high up on this ladder, but the clincher was that I had no work gloves and as I mopped the ceiling, the cleaning solution would run down the wooden mop handle and onto my hands and arms. I did this work for about four hours, until it was time for lunch. I realized that the cleaning solution was “eating into my skin,” so I told the boss that I was going “home for lunch” and was going to buy some work gloves. But, I ended up walking several blocks and found my mom. I took the car to drive into Jacksonville (NC) and home. I didn’t get any work gloves, and I didn’t go back to work after lunch. I drove back later to pick up my mom after her work (probably 4:30 pm).

I never went back to that job. I only worked four hours. But later that night and possible for a couple of days, I was washing my hands in the bathroom sink (at night because the light was on), and I looked down and could press the skin on my fingers and small air bubbles would come up through the pores of my skin with the water on my hands. The cleaning solution had eaten down into my skin, and yes, they were raw for several days.

I think it was several months later that I got a check in the mail paying me for the four hours I had worked. I don’t recall how much I was paid, but I thought it was good pay for such a short time of actually working.

In my twenties, and after college, I got a job as a house parent for emotionally disturbed children. This was a State (of North Carolina) funded job and was located in Elizabeth City, NC. I was still living down in Jacksonville, NC but the scheduling worked like this. I worked from Sunday afternoon until Friday at lunch and lived in a “half way” house during that week. There was just one other “parent” staff person, and when I was working she was a pregnant white woman. And we only had two children to look after.

These children were “emotionally disturbed.” They both happened to be boys. One a teenage white kid, and the other a little black child about 9-11 years old (I don’t recall his exact age, but I don’t think he was a teenager yet.).

Here is part of the rub. I said we worked from Sunday to Friday, not even a full week. But, then we were off for 9 days. Work five days and then take nine off, making the full two week period. Oh, and the State provided all the perks that you might need to be happy. Color TV, games, food, a nice house, and even money to go out for ice cream and/or a movie. The problem was that these kids were an emotional drain on the staff (us). In reality, it took a couple of days to prepare yourself to work in this environment, and then it took a couple of days to recover after working just five days under that strain.

The little boy could not take orders from an adult, and would physically react. I recall having to wrap my arms and legs around his arms and legs to keep him from hitting or kicking me (and biting would also be a possibility) during one of his “tantrums.” It was sort of like he was demon possessed, and would lash out, but after a while he would calm down. *I normally protected myself pretty well, except for one time. The child was “acting out” and I was trying to protect my pregnant co-worker and in so doing the kid managed to kick me in the face (more like running sandpaper over my cheek, instead of a punch, but only because the kick missed most of me).

We would try to reward these kids when possible. I they behave, we all go out for ice cream and a movie (their choice) at the end of the week. And, they would be good for a while, but they “always” found a way, just before the reward was to come, to “act out” and spoil the possibility of a reward. They always found a way to “shoot themselves in their foot.”

I said the little boy couldn’t take orders from an adult, but here is the funny thing. One time (during the summer) we went to a local school where they were having some kind of youth program. These children were from the community . This wasn’t just for emotionally disturbed kids. So the two boys were down on the gym floor with a bunch of other kids, all milling around, playing. The other staff person and me were up on a raised area next to the gym floor, talking to other adult staff from the school/program. At some point, I see a big black kid run into our little boy. The other boy didn’t do it on purpose, and he was much bigger than our kid. I saw our boy turn and look up at the bigger kid with that demon-like anger in his face and his body tensed. I was helpless to step in because I was so far away from either of them. And then it happened, instead of our boy jumping on the big kid to fight him (as he would have with us), his facial demeanor completely changed, the anger went immediately away, and he untensed and walked away. When I saw this, I knew the little kid could control his anger but chose not to (with adults). In that brief encounter, he had realized that the bigger kid would have “kicked the shit out of him” if he had started a fight, and so, he chose to “let it go.”

I don’t recall how long I worked at this job. Perhaps for a summer. But, and I haven’t met one in a long time, you can recognize people who work with emotionally disturbed children easily. They are laid back, and that is for their own personal protection. So, it would take me two days to prepare to go to work. I would work five days. It would take me two days to recover from the stress, and then I would have five days to enjoy before the whole cycle started again. And, I would imagine that although the State of North Carolina was probably paying a pretty good chunk of change to fund this merry go round, the general public would be completely satisfied that they didn’t have to face the angst and anger of these children.