dirtyjobsSo, couple weeks ago I told you about some of the shitty/not so shitty jobs I’ve taken to make a dollar.  Each job was a brand new experience to me, but I knew going in they would all require a bit of grit and a lot of patience.  In short, I’ve never had a job that I expected to be easy.  Easy is fine for some things, but easy at work is boring, I prefer a challenge, something to keep me engaged and vested in the outcome.  I’ve hated plenty of my jobs, too, and none moreso than in Corporate America (can I get an ‘Amen‘?), but the only way a shitty job situation is going to change is if I change it myself, right?  Well, some of my changes were more interesting than others, after the jump:

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Masseuse: So, there was an ad in one of the weeklies to make money at massage, at a place that was called Bodyworks and was supposed to be a massage spa.  So I get there and this short, perky woman gives me the intro and explains they take walk in’s for therapeutic massage.  She says I don’t have to be a licensed masseuse because they don’t claim to staff them, and it’s basically just rubdowns for 45mins to an hour.  She says no one is promised any sexual activity, it’s strictly rubdowns, but then she tells me that she sometimes does her massages topless for her regulars and they tip her more.  That’s up to me.  Okay.  Well, I’m no dummy, I see what’s going on here.  She says I can start immediately and see if I want the job, so I took a few clients that day.  I had 4 clients that day, one was this older guy who tried feeling up the back of my thighs when I was moving around his head.  He was trying to be playful about it — I gave him an “uh-uh!”, same as I would a dog or a small child, he stopped.  The thing was, she never explicitly gave me any instruction about whether or not these dudes have paid for and are expecting a hand job, so I didn’t really know how far I was supposed to go.  In the end, I only did it for the ones that didn’t creep me out (subjective, I know), and it was always over lightening fast.  Dirty job?

– Outcall masseuse: After my day of intermittent happy endings, the chick calls me up and says that if I want, I can do outcall work for the spa as well.  She explains that it’s the same thing as what I did that day, except the clients pay extra for you to come to their house.  Again, she says there is no sex, and again she doesn’t say/not say what is likely to take place.  The outcall work pays double, she books the clients and gives me the address, I am instructed to call her when I get there and to call her again in 60 mins.  I was more nervous than usual for the first one and I wanted my friend to go with me.  The bitch said ‘no’ but she let me borrow her car which was actually what I wanted in the first place because mine wasn’t running.  The guy was really nice, actually.  I was late getting to his house and after making the phone call and deciding where he wanted to lay down, almost half the time was gone.  I gave him a massage and when he flipped over, he actually shot his wad with no help from anyone and then got red faced and sheepish.  The rest of my adventures in this chapter are saved for blindingly drunk moments of sharing but in conclusion; did I have sex for money?  No.  Did I give hand jobs for money?  Yes. (And make no mistake, massage “therapy” is only one stop before this kind of  “massage”.)   And this is why, I can never hate on hookers, because it’s just a business transaction, a service performed and money exchanged, The End.  Questions?

Stripper: A natural progression, really.  Sex work is interesting, and curiously human and encompasses many different things and a lot of it is actually not about the act of sex itself, just the illusion and excitement and mystery that comes with sexual experience.  The opportunity to slip into the persona you fantasize with, a chance to be a different side of yourself.  I started as a waitress, because it gave me time to check out the environment and talk to some of the girls, see how it works.  We could talk all day about the troubled and drama magnet girls that you find working as strippers, but let’s save that for another day.  Most of the girls were bitches, yes.  I was friends with one girl who went by Chloe, she was Hungarian, tall and hippy, which I found to be a gorgeous aesthetic.  The basics are, you dance the main stage and then move on to the other stages (3 or 4) and then you wait until it’s your turn again.  In between the stage is when you work the floor, where the goal is to get the customers to spend money on you, buying a dance or a drink.  Just like with massage, the key is time management.  You get a guy to buy a dance, but you time it so the song is half way over already, this sets up the next song and so on.  You have to watch out for the eager ones, these dudes will literally shoot off in their pants at the table and then it gets awkward for everyone.  Or, you get a guy for a private dance or booth, and then talk most of the time.  It’s amazing the amount of money men will spend to talk to your breasts, seriously, it’s ridiculous.

– Peep Show Attendant: I was only ‘dancing’ a couple nights a week so I still needed another job since one of my roommates had moved out and we had to cover the rent.  I was in a shop with a stripper friend who was getting new gear, when I got a job working the counter of the shop.  They stuck me with the graveyard shift and after a couple of days the manager told me I had to ‘straighten up’ the video booth also.  The video booth was this section in the back where you could watch your porn in a little booth if for some reason you couldn’t take it home.  Again, porno smell was in full force.  So yeah, it was part of my job to go back there with the rubber gloves and industrial cleaner and fuckin’ wipe the booths down.  THIS IS A DIRTY JOB, MIKE ROWE.  But otherwise it was fine, there was a lot of time to read.

Sheetrocker: This is when I was still living at home and my parents keep nagging me during the summer.  HEAVEN FORBID I sleep in during the summer, it was apparently a mortal fucking sin as either my Mom or Dad would flip on the lights and pull off the covers at 7 fucking am.  My Dad was working construction and my Mom was cleaning houses – these were my choices.  My Mom used to make me clean with her on the weekends anyway, so I opted to go with my Dad.  The work was hard, physical and grueling in the sweltering humidity of a gulf coast summer.  I didn’t go as fast as my Dad did but I tried my hardest not to slow him down.  Between roofing material, drywall, compound and sandpaper, my hands were all cut up and my skin was as unbalanced as Mischa Barton on a bender.  But there’s something very satisfying about creating something with your own hands, and going the whole day without chattering to your co-worker about what an asshole your manager is, is not a bad thing.  I put up walls, repaired roofs, cleaned gutters, snaked terlets, sprayed insulation, cut branches, painted ceilings, stained cabinets, you name it.  And I learned to hate the phrase, “elbow grease”, because my parents would say it over and over again.  “kadinsky!  We’ll never finish at this rate!  Put some elbow grease into it, girl!”


– Front Desk at Gym, Food Court, Drug Dealer, Insurance Salesperson: These jobs all had the same theme of ‘Not Leading Anywhere Good’, so they were fairly short lived.  The food court job was Mrs. Fields Cookies and yum as it was, it’s a bit sickening to realize this woman is making SO MUCH FUCKING MONEY selling cookies.  Cookies.  Cookies that anyone can make, and she can sell them for $2 each.  Insane.  Insurance Sales was never going to work for me as it involved cold calling old people and trying to scare them into buying long term care insurance – depressing, pass.  As a dealer, I never really made bankable money at it, just mad money from upcharging douchebags my girlfriends and I would meet out.  20 for X that I bought for 7, 120 for an eightball that should be 100 that I got at 80, shit like that.  Drug dealing is a great networking tool, though, I have to say.


– Software Sales, Installation, HR Generalist, IT Help Desk: In my twenties I started wanting nicer things and more fulfilling days, so I hit the job ads and started working the corporate life.  I worked with a couple of dot com startups that busted, learned FoxPro db’s with a small software firm that shared a building with former POTUS George H. Bush (saw him in the gym once), and had the most fun working as an HR Generalist for an industrial plant.  It was a busy job that didn’t pay enough, but I knew all of the 1000 employees and they knew me.  And they might spend too many hours bitching to me in my office or in the caf, or in the hallway outside the bathroom, but I felt really good when I was able to help them.  When HR was able to do something beneficial for a change, something that made people happy.  The inter office romances at this place were the best also, I still think fondly of some of the stunts we pulled.  Sex on the boss’s desk?  H-O-T.  Anyway, I moved into IT and things progressed from there.

My work now is something I can support my family on, but not inspiring or enjoyable in any way.  I do it by rote; ask client this, recommend client that, escalate, manage, forecast, report.  Blurgh.  I’ve learned what supreme and absolute assholes people can be, so there’s that.  But I want to make a change, I’ve been getting increasingly restless and less inclined to kiss my clients asses in the manner to which they are accustomed.  I wonder lately, will I always be like this?  Will I always bore with what I’m doing after a few years?  Maybe so, but I guess I’ll just have to figure it out.

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