Jobs That I’d Get Shit-Canned From On the 1st Day

I was reading an article from Tim Denning last night and it was about being unemployable. The gist of it was what it takes to get to a point where you’re more valuable than employees within a company, as a freelancer.

Tim says you should strive to be great so you can name your terms and not have to answer to anyone else. People who talk about having job security by being a regular employee with a set wage and schedule are anything but secure.

If that company goes under or starts losing enough money to lay off employees, you’re likely fucked.

I don’t like the idea of someone else being in control of my future and financial well-being. I don’t want to have to ask for time off if I’m sick. I don’t appreciate some middle management douchebag getting promoted ahead of me because he’s more likely to kiss the boss’ ass than I am.

I realized that I could never go back to being employable. And I started thinking about a few jobs that I know I could never do. Here are some of the ones that scare me badly enough to keep writing two or three entertaining blogs every day.

Being a Teacher

I have so much respect for people who are teachers. To me, there aren’t too many more-important jobs than shaping the minds of young people. The amount they are paid is ridiculous though. It’s pathetic considering the things they deal with in their profession.

It’s not nearly enough for what they have to endure from some of their poorly-behaved students and their equally shitty parents. There is no way I’d make it through the first day without just ripping into a parent or two. I’d also likely have the largest collection of cell phones ever known to a teacher.

I’d have an awesome side hustle reselling those phones. Or at least a business where I could subcontract the kids doing yard work or babysitting in order for them to earn their phones back. They’d have to bring The Godfather of Junior High an envelope back and make sure that it isn’t light.

Working at Olive Garden

This one would be pure unadulterated Hell. First off, being Italian and knowing what actual authentic Italian food tastes like. Secondly, being a cook, myself. I’d put the Wine-Drunk Italian Chef’s Baked Ziti ahead of anything on the Olive Garden menu that you’re going to overpay for. Trust me, check it out here:

Then there’s the vibe. The clientele. I don’t think I could handle that many white people in one place. This isn’t a Lynyrd Skynyrd or Taylor Swift concert, for Christ’s sake. I’d have to sneak into the wine section and grab a bottle on the sly just to get through one shift.

Being a Member of Congress

I can’t imagine a more prestigious job that I’d likely hate and have to quit in just one day than being a member of Congress. The Senate, or the House of Representatives, it wouldn’t matter. I’d be doomed right from the start.

I’d likely choose to be a Senator. If I had to be a Representative alongside Marjorie Taylor Greene, Lauren Boebert, and George Santos, I’d lose my shit. I’d start singing “Who Are You” by The Who to Georgie and he’d likely get offended.

Dumb and Dumber would both laugh at him and then I’d ask Hoebert if she has a monthly membership rate or just charges by the hour for her call girl side hustle. I don’t think she’d appreciate that much, but fortunately, I don’t give a fuck.

Then I’d mouth off and ask MTG if she has an STD from her BFF at the GYM. I’d then tell her to go see her OBG and get tested for HIV since she’s down with OPP, ASAP. I think she’d lose her S-H-I-T, and my days of being a REP would be over.

Working on Rusty Shackleford’s Farm

Some of you may or may not know this, but my best Medium friend, Rusty Shackleford is a farmer. When he’s not tantalizing you with his writing tales of PC building, Huel protein powder consuming, and tales about his body hair, he’s providing food for store shelves nationwide.

It’s an admirable profession. And one that I’d last exactly one day on.

First off, I’d have not a clue what to do. I’m a city boy through and through. A damn Yankee, as he’d likely call me. Plus I’d never be able to even find him to ask questions about the job.

Dude wears camouflage. Like, lots of it. I think his bathroom is wallpapered in it. So I’d be wandering around aimlessly, not being able to locate Rust-Shack. I’d get bored. I’d be on my phone with our BBB Discord Server.

Jason: “Robin! I can’t find Rusty! He’s MIA!”

Robin: “Uh, I thought he was a redneck, not a POW?”

Gareth: “I think redneck is a racist term?”

Jason: “Don’t listen to that idiot we had to ban from the server. She doesn’t know her ass from her elbow. Somebody help me, I’m starving. It’s past lunchtime and I haven’t seen Rusty all day!”

Victor: “C’mon, Jason. Find that article I wrote about prison tamales. You know you’ve been wanting to try it.”

Jason: “That’s actually true. I wonder if Rusty has Doritos around here somewhere. He should, he’s a stoner, after all.”

*Rusty, appearing out of nowhere like The Predator when he makes himself visible.

“Here you go, Brother!” *Tosses the bag at me. “Where have you been all day?”

*Jason, jumping out of his skin, and then bent over in pain. “Shit! My bad back! And Christ, is that my heart?” *collapses to the ground.

“Give me a funeral like Marlon Brando’s”, I whisper, as Day 1 on the farm and my life both come to an end.

I’m just going to take Tim’s advice. And read even more of his writing for pointers. Like The Animals once said in their famous hit song: We’ve Gotta Get Out of This Place. If it’s the last thing I ever do.

It’s time to take this writing thing to some next-level shit. I’m not built for Joe-Jobs. &:^)