People Who Deserve a Medal. (Or At Least A Paper Certificate)

So, my ever handy brain was churning this week (always dangerous) when I started thinking about the jobs that I am profoundly grateful not to have. Jobs so heinous, to either me personally or the world in general (mostly just to me personally), that I would gladly confine myself as a pencil pushing peon for the rest of my life just to avoid these occupations. And because I like to share, here's my top 5 list of awful jobs for your reading pleasure.

5.) Chamber Maid. I'm sure that this job probably doesn't offend a lot of people as much as it does me. I cleaned my bathroom today and I can't imagine doing it for a living. I know where the pee droplets and pubes came from on my toilet (Well, it's narrowed down to one of 4 suspects at least.) and I still thought scrubbing it was a gag worthy task. Not to mention that chamber maids have to change the bedding too. Now, at my house the worst I might find is a nasty snot streak on a pillow case or maybe a dried drool stain. Worst case scenario is the daughter had a bloody nose again, which only seems to occur at 2 am or when she's wearing a white shirt. That isn't necessarily the case at a hotel/motel though. Especially if it's one of those seedy rent by the hour types where skeevy spouses meet to have their affairs. (Huh, no, I don't watch too much television. I don't know where you got that idea.) The first time my boss told me to clean a room and there was a questionable stain on the bed spread I'd be all, "Hell no. I'm out."

A clean house is a sign of no internet connection.

4.) Proctologist. Imagine a job where every day had the potential to be shitty. Literally. Now, let me start by saying that I'm extremely grateful that there are people who obviously didn't have the same issue and actually became a proctologist. Because someone's gotta look at your ass and it's sure as heck not going to be me! Although, I guess the up side would be that you could tell everyone you work with a bunch of assholes and not be lying or exaggerating.

Did you hear about the depressed proctologist? He's been feeling down in the dumps.

3.) Bar Tender. Every night you get to go to work, listen to music, make people happy, and meet a lot of new people. Sounds like a dream job, right? Now fill in some details like: Every night you go to work from 7PM to 3 AM, listening to music so loud you can barely hear yourself think, make people happy by overcharging them for alcoholic drinks that are going to make them stupid somehow, and watch society at it's most inebriated. I mean finest. No, I meant inebriated. What other job can you watch people make decisions of questionable judgement that you are completely unable to prevent? It's a spectator sport of stupid decisions, whether it's drinking and driving or taking home that person who you probably wouldn't if you were sober, thereby causing a furtive walk of shame away from their place early the next morning when the alcohol haze wears off. Also, there's that stupid stigma about bartenders being like therapists because they hear it all. Yeah, I'm sure they enjoy that. I know I'd love to hear drunken ramblings, especially if they asked for my advice afterwards. Pass.

So a dyslexic man walks into a bra......

2.) Garbage Collector. I don't like things that smell bad. (I know, you're probably thinking how strange that is, right?) I don't like body odor, onions, garbage, or flatulence from dogs nor husbands in my house. So I think having a job where you get to collect people's stinky trash would be especially abhorrent. And what about the summer time heat? Can you picture the putrid funk being magnified by a ninety degree dry heat? Or even a damp heat whose antiperspirant has failed? That doesn't sound fun. And do you think the stink wears off and the workers come home smelling like the bottom of a garbage can? You know, the can that had a leak in the bag and you didn't find out until you took the bag out and the foul stench punched you in the face? And no one in your house can figure out what exactly leaked in the bottom of the can to make that smell that lingers ever so slightly even though you doused the can with half a gallon of bleach? Yeah, that one. 

Becoming a garbage man isn't hard, you just pick it up as you go along. But please refrain from the trash talking.

1.) Being a doctor or a nurse, especially in the ER. Any medical professional has my outright respect. Because they deal with every type of person out there, not to mention the mix of maladies that come with them. Not only do they see the clean, middle class woman with bronchitis, but they also see the 400 pound redneck who can't see his feet, doesn't wash them, and has a 4 inch gash that's infected and oozing all sorts of pretty colored liquids. (My stomach just rolled at writing that, can you picture me seeing this in 3D real life?) I'm squeamish, don't like needles much, and my gag reflex kicks into high gear at the words pus, blood, or exorcist-like-vomiting. That pretty much leaves me looking at my desk job with profound relief. At least the most harm to happen there is a paper cut. Yes, they might sting like heck but so long as no one's pouring lemon juice on them, I can make it through the day. 

What do you call a student who got C's all the way through med school? Hopefully not your doctor!

*All puns/jokes/one liners courtesy of googling and pasting. It happens more often than you know people.

I Am a Self Proclaimed Expert of Garage Sales

So last week a nearby town did their town wide garage sale. This is fabulous for lazy people like myself who like to garage sale but don't want to search all over the place. I mean this is fabulous, for busy people like myself, who don't have time to search all over the place. Yes, that sounds better.

I have always been a bit of a garage sale snob. There. I said it. I freely admit that I have standards when it comes to pawing through unwanted junk. (Who doesn't?) With that being said, I have been inspired to write "Fabulous Tips For a Successful Garage Sale From a Self Proclaimed Expert". (Or FTFASGSFASPE for short.)

Tip # 1: Remember that this is used stuff. Price accordingly. There is nothing that I like better than looking at baby clothes. (Okay, well there probably is, but for the sake of this blog, let's say that this fact is 100% true.) I don't care if it's at GAP or a garage sale, there's cute clothes to be had. However, GAP can get away with charging an arm and a leg for an itty bitty baby onesie with their logo on it. (Hello consumer branding!) Once it has actually been worn a few times by your baby, it has greatly depreciated in value. Don't expect me to pay $1.00 for a scrap of cloth that has been worn and washed a few dozen times. I'm sorry if that makes you mad, but if it's any consolation, blame the economy. (The economy already has a bad rep and gets blamed for everything anyway.)

Tip #2: If you do sell clothes, don't sell stained, frayed, or faded crap.  Remember when I said I was a garage sale snob? This is where my snobbery begins to run rampant. Mostly because I can't believe anyone would have to be told this. I don't want to buy your kid's stained pants. I don't care if he only wore them twice before throwing up strained carrots all over them and you couldn't quite get the orange tint out. They're done, kaput, finito. One sale I went to had the nastiest clothes that I have ever seen. I was actually embarrassed to be seen at a garage sale. (Think about that for a minute.) So I scampered off quickly while her head was turned.

Tip #3: If I have to work for it, it better be some cheap ass stuff. If you're going to throw 4 dozen paperback books or DVDs into a rubber maid tote and make me pull every one out to see what is in there, you better be selling them for a quarter or two. I shouldn't have to sort your junk. That's your job. It says so in the garage sale handbook. Also, I'm really not in the mood to wade through 3 feet of clothes that are every size you can find. Organize that shit. I might even pay a quarter more for your thoughtfulness.

Tip #4: Don't hover. Don't car salesman me. Just let me browse in peace. Maybe you had a retail job in college and old habits die hard. Maybe you're a closet stalker, I don't know. That doesn't mean you can follow me around as I peruse your used goods and dismiss them. How am I supposed to feel alright about not wanting a tacky neon green fish vase, that you clearly didn't even want, with you breathing the same air as I am? Go sit in your appointed look out chair with your money box and wait for me to come to you.

Tip #5: Wash it. Scrub it. Polish it. Yeah I get that you're thinking, "Well, I'm getting rid of it so why should I put the work into cleaning it?" Because it's the decent thing to do? Because no one wants to buy a shirt that smells like your musty, dusty basement? Because you never quite cleaned up junior's dirt and sticky kid fungus from his toys before shoving them in a box in the attic? How about those reasons?

Tip #6: Have a free box. This is a great item to have for a few reasons. First, you'll give someone a thrill to maybe find something they want and/or need and get it for free. Second, you'll feel good about yourself if you can help someone with something they want/and or need. And the third and best reason, free makes stuff go away. If you're done hawking your wares and just want it to leave your space, writing FREE on it seems to make it more desirable.

Now that I have provided you with these invaluable gems of salesmanship expertise, go forth and sell. Maybe your garages and yards be empty at the end of the weekend, and your cash box be full.

All I'm Missing Is The Laugh Track

Sometimes I feel like I live in one of those sitcoms. Not the crappy ones they're passing off now, but one of the good ones from the 80's and 90's. You know, when they valued family and taught life lessons in between the canned laughter on the laugh track. (Other times I feel like I live in The Simpsons.) This is one of those stories.

It all started Thursday when I got home from work. My daughter said, 'I have to show you something" and ran off to her bedroom. Only to return with a newborn rabbit on a tissue in her jewelry box. "I found it on the side of the road Mom and I didn't see it's Mother anywhere and I couldn't just leave him there!" This thing is brand new. Like not even opened it's eyes and staggers like a drunk when trying to walk new. Immediately I tell her she has to put it outside because maybe the mother rabbit is looking for the baby and is frantic.

Except.... we can't put him in the front yard because the neighbor's cat roams the neighborhood and would probably use it as a chew toy. Alright, the back yard is fenced, put him there. Good. Done. I make her wash her hands twice like a good paranoid Mom.

Hubby comes home and the story is repeated to him. We tromp out to the backyard to see if the bunny is still there. Yup. We clomp back inside.

Mom guilt starts creeping in. It's getting dark. The nights are cooling off to mid 50's now. Is that bunny going to survive those temps? The daughter is adding to my guilt with her out loud thoughts. "I wonder if he's OK. Did he just shiver?"

Meanwhile, hubby is looking up care of wild rabbits online. About the time I decide we have to find a box or something he goes out and comes back triumphantly with a box and some grass he ripped out of our lawn. We get the bunny. We read on what you're supposed to feed abandoned rabbits. Kitten formula. Huh. Nope, none of that in the house. Hubby suggests maybe I feed the baby one breast and the rabbit the other. Uh, no, not happening. Cows milk is equally loved and hated but it's the only thing this baby bunny is getting. I manage about 2 cc's. I feel pretty proud of myself. We give him a tissue as a blanket in his box. The kids are debating names.

"No!" I say. "No names! We are not keeping this bunny."

It turns out I was right.

Fast forward to the next afternoon. The daughter calls me at work. He squealed. I reassure her he's probably OK. (And leave out the part where I add, "But what the hell do I know about wild, newborn rabbits?") She calls back. He got a little blood on his tissue "blanket". Again, I say, maybe he bit his lip. He has sharp teeth after all. She calls back. Crying. The bunny is unresponsive. (After 20 minutes of CPR and chest compressions....kidding!)

Crap.

There's a dead baby bunny who was probably dead rabbit walking anyway since nature is notoriously cruel sometimes. But that's not going to be comforting or helpful if I say that. Instead, I race home to remove a decomposing animal from my house. Preferably before the younger kid notices anything is amiss. Now it's in the garage. Phew. Good one. And the boy didn't even see me move the box to the garage. I'm feeling pretty accomplished. Darling daughter has written instructions for the bunny funeral. (We all have to wear black except the baby because he doesn't have any black clothes.) The oldest calls his "I need a ride home from work" call. I leave to get him. When we return home, hubby has arrived. He's thrown the dead rabbit away. Oh, and he let the boy know about the rabbit dying thing.

"What?!" I cry. "Why didn't you just lie and tell him that we found the mama bunny and that we took him back to her? Why would you tell him he died?"

"He's 7 hon, I'm pretty sure he's old enough to know about death." replies hubby.

Uh, turns out that's a negatory. It's now time for bed and the kid is in bed crying over this poor dead bunny. Okay husband of mine, this is all you. You broke it. You fix it. When I emotionally scar the children, it's my job to untangle that mess. But this one was you, so...good luck with that.

This is the part where the parent would go in and say something wonderfully parent-like and amazing to the scared kid and make it all better, right? And then ends with a goofy joke. The funniest part is that this is going to make a great "Remember when" story 10 years from now. Until then, I'm dodging inquiries of when we're having a funeral for a missing body because it was disposed of before the kids conveyed their desire for a sunset service.

Cue the laugh track.