The Worst Job in Los Angeles

metropolis.jpgSo the L.A. Business Journal‘s taking nominations for “Best Workplace in Los Angeles,” and this got me thinking: What’s the worst job?

Skid Row paramedic? Janitor at Farmer John’s? Personal slave to an 8-figure-earning tyrant with multiple addictions?

You bitch and moan about your workplace, your boss, your co-workers all the time, but now’s your chance to share. Tell us why you have the worst job in the worst workplace in Los Angeles.

We’ll leave comments open on this post for a week to collect your anecdotes about workplace Hell-A. At the very end, staffers will take a vote …

If we agree you have the the absolute worst job in Los Angeles, we’ll treat you to the stiffest drink on the menu at Tiki-Ti (may we suggest the tiki-traditional “Suffering Bastard”?) and some very sympathetic ears.

Just a few rules …

The Worst Job in Los Angeles

  1. Keep it real. Most bad jobs are evil enough without embellishment and – besides – bullshit always smells like bullshit. Skip the fiction and stick to the ugly facts.
  2. Don’t name names. If your workplace is hell because of a boss or specific co-workers, you’d better not accuse them by name (or title) of anything criminal, negligent or even unpleasant – unless you can afford a libel lawyer sharp enough to help prove in court what you say is true. (Have you seen the cost of a good lawyer lately?)

    Remember – on the internet, you own your own words, and they can’t be deleted once you post them.

  3. Age 21 and older, please. No matter how much you’ve suffered, bartenders just won’t serve 20 and younger.

So that’s it. Post away. The floggings will continue until morale improves. Might as well sing a little, right?

11 thoughts on “The Worst Job in Los Angeles”

  1. I love this idea! But clarification please — are you taking SUGGESTIONS for worst job in LA, or are soliciting anecdotes from people who believe theirs is the worst job?

  2. Minus the yelling and angry agent assts, I have to say that I like my job too… I could have told horror stories about my last one, though!

  3. How about “any of them?” Los Angeles is the worst hellhole of a job market I could possibly imagine.

  4. In High School, for one fine day, I cleaned out the grease pit at a BBQ joint (pretty famous one) in Pasadena as a sort of temp-to-perm tryout for the gig. Picture me, skinny white kid, literally climbing in to the BBQ pit to scrape the grease off the floor. Did I mention the stench of liquid smoke? The “worst” part is that I (a.) didn’t get the damn job, and by the tone of the owner I don’t think she ever intended to hire me anyhow and (b.) was compensated for my day’s labor not with money (who wants that?!?) but with a full rack of BBQ. Which I promptly deposited in the trash can outside the front door in full view of the owner.
    Maybe not the worst job in LA, but it was a really shitty day.

  5. How about LA county, not LA city?
    Picture if you will the desert, home of an aerospace/military industrial complex. A Parks and Recreation department for a town of 123,000 in a small arid valley. At City Hall: cronyism and Cold-War era centrist bigotry, complimented by plastic American flags.
    A museum– an institution of higher learning, progressive attitudes. A curator. Director, really. A staff of seven women… pretty, young Anglo-Americans… and one man.
    A temporary position. For seven years. No daily overtime. No benefits.
    The Big Strong Man gets to do all the lifting. Especially if he’s a supervisor. Kind of a supervisor. But he is temporary…. 7 years.
    Give the tour, Big Man, because the Younger Girls don’t know how, and guys are loud, y’know… and let’s not discuss Evolution in this dinosaur exhibit. Skip the word “cave-man”.
    Skip showing this artwork, it has a nude male in it. Remember, breast good, penis bad.
    And if you don’t pull this 15 hours straight, you can always go work for the circus– says the poster inside the boss’s office. It sucks cleaning the kitchen after her. She doesn’t prepare raw chicken on her George Foreman Grill very well.
    “When you’re curator of YOUR OWN museum, you can have YOUR workers clean the kitchen,” she adds.
    She “loves to watch a man vacuum,” too.
    All of the intellect of a historian, all of the dirty work of a contract laborer, detailing a newly remodeled house every 6 weeks. This “house” is remodeled with eight-thousand years of human history.
    While your subordinate workers, all (pretty white girls?) under 28, openly vocalize that “Men Suck.”
    The Devil truly is in the details.
    A museum. Bigotry. Labor violations. Deliberate manipulation of “fact”.
    You think Dirty Work is bad? How about compromising every honorable notion you have every known?

  6. Many years ago I got paid minimum wage to pick up bodies for a mortuary, either from the bed they passed away in or, most often, from the Coroners office. The owner insisted I wear a white long-sleeve shirt and tie, even though I would often get blood and other body juices on my sleeves. And if nobody was up and dieing, they’d send me home to be “on call” meaning that i was supposed to clock out, go home, wait near the phone, and rush right back when someone croaked. Needless to say, I let my answering machine take those frantic calls while I just laughed.

    It was interesting to see the process of death (trust me, cremation is the way to go) from inside the industry but it sure was one of the worst jobs I ever had.

  7. What about ‘skinny white kid’ means you can’t do physical work? I don’t get it. If you were a skinny black kid or a skinny brown kid, are you more suited to scrubbing bbq pits? You probably had a shitty day, because you, sir, are shitty.

  8. Come on now. Why go racial on the “skinny white kid”? The hapless lazy bloke was only trying to paint a picture. Why do my black brothers and sisters(yes am black) always have to go the racial route. Can’t we all just get along?

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