Things I will NOT Do For Money

We all have our dream jobs and want to have a business. We want to be sustainable, and live comfortably, and not worry about money.

There are a lot of things a lot of people would do to make a good living. But I think I can speak for all of us when I say, there are some things some of us would never ever do (or do again) for a paycheck.

I think that what a person won't do says a lot about a person. We can learn a lot from a person's "wills" and 'will not's.' And I also feel like this could be a funny reveal if people get on board and say what they won't do for money.

The things I will not do are as follows:

1. I will not work in fast food ever again.

Fast food was my second job. I got a job at McDonald's briefly, transferred to a closer one to my house, and then got a job as a dog groomer (which is what I was already familiar with.)

Can I just say that I am so glad that wages for fast-food workers are going up? People can say what they want about "teenagers flipping burgers" or "middle-aged nobody managing a Maccas," but these people deserve some respect. Especially in rough parts of towns and cities, these guys are brave.

In my time working at McDonald's in the "wonderful" (sarcasm) city of Fresno, California, I saw a gang fight, an employee get spit on and food thrown at them, an employee got attacked through the drive-through window, and employees spit in rude customers food (one reason I am extra polite to my servers, no matter what restaurant I'm in!). My particular restaurant was held up in a gunpoint robbery (I wasn't on shift - thank the heavens!).

Anyone brave enough to work at a Fast Food restaurant deserves at least 15.00 an hour, minimum. Quite frankly, if these chain food stores can afford to put one on every major corner and street in every city in America, they can afford to pay their employees what they are worth.

Fast food is not for me. I hate the stress. I hate the drama. I hate the uncomfortable and ugly uniforms.

1. I will not work in hospice or with terminal human beings.

I was a caretaker for my grandfather. He had cancer, that had metastasized in his brain. I think of every trauma I have ever experienced, watching my Grandfather wither away mentally and physically until he died was the most emotionally scarring thing I've ever dealt with.

I also have a horrible habit of getting attached to people and things I am taking care of. I help rehome animals to furever homes, and I cry EVERY time. I'm a substitute teacher, and if I work at a school for an extended period of time I squall like a baby every time I have to leave the school. Those kids creep into your heart, I'm telling you.

So, I will not, for my own mental and emotional health, work with hospice. I came to this conclusion when one day I went ahead and discarded the idea of being a pediatrics therapist. I simply do not have the grit for what that takes.

And to the angels in human form taking care of dying kids and old people, just know that you are a freaking superhero. You deserve only goodness in your life. That kind of job takes a special kind of strength, one that I am willing to admit that I don't choose to have.

1. I will not sell my body in any way - not even feet pics.

I kind of feel like this one is a no-brainer for a lot of people. Not a lot of people are willing to sell their body. But you know, a lot more people are willing to sell pictures or videos of their body.

I personally can't. But not because I'm judgy of people who do it. In fact, I respect anyone who has the confidence to show themselves like that. Strippers, playgirls, online and physical - I'd love to have some confidence like that. Or... you know, the body to justify even having that kind of confidence (haha!) Hell. Sex sells, and if you're beautiful and can pay off your student loans while you study to be a doctor - go for it.

The reason I can't or won't is because... I have an overactive imagination.

And I make myself grossed out and feel dirty. Literally, I cannot stop myself from thinking about what people gonna be doing with those feet pics I joke about making. And so, selling feet pictures stays just that, a joke. Even though I have incredibly cute toes and could make good money, I can't. Because I have mental issues.

1. I will not work in garbage disposal - but not for the reasons you think.

I could not work in a dump or as a garbage collector. And the people who do work in that line of work, I have so much respect for them. I couldn't. I hate throwing up, and that is exactly what I would be doing.

Not because trash is gross - even though it is. I am a mom. Of girls and boys. I am a pre-school teacher. Kids are literally the most disgusting things on the face of the planet - with their germs, snot, nose-picking, booger-eating, putting bugs in their mouth existence. I LOVE kids, all kids, especially my kids. But kids are freaking disgusting. Okay?

I can handle gross.

But my nose cannot!

I have a permanent pregnancy nose. When my son poops in his diaper I can smell it through a closed door in another room of the house. I can smell decomposing food from a mile away (we literally have a trash can with a lid and scented bags, and we take the trash out almost every day). My cat's litter box sometimes gets cleaned out three or four times a day because I can't handle the smell.

Thank you to my garbage disposal employees. I literally could not do what you do.

1. I will not work with corpses - ever. Not even animal ones.

So I had to make the funeral arrangements for my grandfather. And because we are a traditional superstitious Native family, I had to do the things. I had to trim his beard and put his clothes on him. I had to wash his feet and place the things he would need in his next life with him. I had to cleanse him with sage smoke and cover him in herbs to prepare him spiritually for the journey into the next life. I had to choose an urn. And I had to watch him burn (luckily he wasn't in a see-through incinerator). And lucky, lucky me, I am the reliable descendant of the family so mom and great-uncle want me to do it for them too. Whoohoo.

Listen. Corpses freak me out. They are empty vessels. That corpse was once a breathing, living person who held a soul. This person had a mind, and experienced a whole freaking life. They had trials and tribulations. They had victories and losses. They had love, a whole family, or maybe they were alone.

They had a name, an identity all of their own.

It was looking down at my deceased grandfather that I developed this aversion to corpses (I wasn't attracted to them beforehand, just so you know, I just didn't get freaked out by the thought of them).

Knowing him, knowing the life he had lived. Knowing how grandmother had put a hit out on him with the mafia and he survived a 7-day torture stint with them, knowing he was a performer and had traveled all over the USA performing with famous people, knowing that he was a magician when it came to repairing engines... and here he was. Just a grey, cold, lifeless corpse. A dead guy on a slab, who couldn't introduce himself or tell his story anymore. His soul was gone.

And I accidentally looked into its eyes! That's a HUGE no-no!

I don't know. Corpses are weird. Okay?

What are some things you won't do? If you write an article on it, please comment here with the link!

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