i've been lucky in my jobs - not too many bad ones. just a few stand out.
the library job with the librarian who'd had the same hairdo - shellacked in hairspray - for as long as the teen staff could remember. we'd play a game of dare which involved touching the blonde beehive she cultivated. whoever got caught lost. it was too easy, tho'; she couldn't feel her hair being touched. mostly it was kinda creepy.
and the law library job that consisted entirely of unsnapping law journal binders apart, removing newly offending papges, placing onion-skin thin piles of revisions therein, and snapping them closed. those binders snapped hard, and drew my blood more than once.
i liked being in the stacks, but several hours of unsnapping, papers, snapping.....while standing and facing yards of more journals, tethered to the metal cart that i piled the pages on...that was just creeping boredom, me drying up so i was in danger of turning to paper dust.
then there was the wacko boss who needed hormones but only took them some random weeks. she would leave cooing, loving messages on my answering machine day after day....until she'd leave one reaming me out. rinse, repeat, rinse.
that pattern lasted until i got her and the big boss fired - for sleeping together. when they told me, i guess they assumed i was ok with it. but i was a volunteer, not actually getting paid, and i was on the board. i wasn't playing that game.
but overall, they were not so bad. until i got a 'professional' job. i was hired for a pilot program at a retirement home; bring social services to the residents, instead of vice versa. ok, seemed like a good idea. i interviewed in the director's office, took a tour, saw some cute little old ladies and men. i got hired and never saw the director's office again until the day i left, 6 months later.
my office was a 12 x 20 brillantly and florescently lit cement-block and concrete floor cell. the walls were a uniform industrial blah color somewhere between rancid beige and bilious green. the furniture was standard issue social work leftovers - mismatched metal desk, old confused computer, hulking metal file cabinets. the boss was thru a door in her carpeted office with a bathroom in it. i wasn't allowed to use her bathroom. as if.
the residents weren't mostly cute little old people. they were mostly crochety, gossipy, sick, confused [or all of the above] seniors. i'd been hired to work with the seniors, but i mostly did filing. the few times i saw clients, i was working on medicare applications. then, those were 11-page documents that had to be filled out in a very specific manner, often a skill far beyond those who were applying for it. i only worked 4 hours a day; sometimes i spent 3 hours on one form, 'neglecting' my other duties.
my boss must have never been sick in her previous jobs; she was out sick at least once a week. the first few times she took off work, the only notice i had was a note on the floor from the receptionist. i had no training, no backup, no resouces, and confused residents wandering into the office looking for the boss at random intervals.
but soon those days became welcome breaks from working with her. she'd let me do some work, then criticize me terribly for it, then tell me to do it again - exactly the same way. i never got whatever distinction she'd intended. or maybe she hadn't intended one.
i tried to like my boss. and so when my roommate called for me because my kitten was seizing in my arms and the boss demanded to talk to me, i hoped she was going to be nice. instead she told me to come to work or lose my job. i went in to work that day, afraid the kitten was going to die while i was away. she went blind in one eye, instead.
two weeks later, on my sixth month anniversary / end of my grace period, i got a poor review. i quit the next day.
and i had to put the kitten to sleep, two weeks later.