Crap jobs

The bar staff in the Dail bar.

Must have to listen to some scutter being talked each day.

Met a guy once who worked as a turkey wanker.

Since then whenever I'm having a bad day at work I think 'well, at least I don't have to **** turkeys'.

Jizz moppers for those private booths at sex shows. That's a pretty bad job

Rasmus wrote: »

Ok just so I don't have to google it, why do turkeys need to be wanked?

Because they can't master-baste themselves?

Politician

Article in the paper a few years ago about a British woman living in riyadh. Her job was to take care of the Kings piles!!!!

Postman that has to deliver to Labra Park in Ballyfermot.

Call centre work is my idea of hell. On the phone for hours to the public while some manager in a cheap suit goes around talking about churn and call volumes.

I posted this on a similar thread:

The worst job I ever did was bouncing in a pub in Killorglin in Kerry during Puck Fair. While having been a doorman for a couple of years, this was the first contract I had myself. I arrived on the first day only to be informed that the back room of the pub was full of a group of well-known and dangerous Travellers from Tralee who decided to pop in for a few dozen pints while casually armed to the teeth. After politely remonstrating with the apparent leader of the group they decided to leave before the "shades" came; however one of them attempted to dig me on the way out leading me to grab him in an armlock and turf him out the door; which thankfully I managed to close and lock in time as the lads proceeded to smash three windows in the front of the pub. About three hours later they came back and through a huge firework with nails taped on to it at me as I stood at the door, thus leading to my leg getting cut to sh*t. Thankfully most of them got arrested later on in the day for fighting another group of Travellers from Limerick so I avoided getting a slash-hook in the face for my efforts.

If dealing with violent nomadic lunatics wasn't bad enough, the local farmers and mountain men were nearly as bad. Some of the people there were like something out of a time-warp back to the 1950s; it was like a cartoon portrayal of Irish drunkenness. The bar opened at 7am and closed at around 4am. I had to start on the door at 10am and already had to turn people away for being out of their minds. One day the farmers drove in cattle for sale at 5am and the entire street was covered in cow sh*t. One auld fella actually fell asleep in a pile of sh*t he was so drunk, and tried to attack me because I refused him entry. While attempting to wrestle me in the door he smeared a huge dollop of excrement onto my face. This was at 11am in the morning.

Later that afternoon around lunch time some other man pulled out his dick and p*ssed all over a woman's back. On average I had to throw out at least fifty people, about five of which went peacefully. People openly lit cigarettes in the pub and by the end of it I had to admit defeat and let them smoke in the back room, just as long as the cops couldn't see in the window. Trying to roust them out of the pub at 4am was akin to a life-or-death battle with every sing customer.

At one stage a local character, who announced his name as "Sexy Richard" jumped in over the back wall. Pulled off his top advertising his prison tattoos and dared any man or woman to fight him. After evicting the unruly patron (in which a brief struggle ensued) he came back the next evening and bought me a pint.

Insane place. Insane people. I'll never be back.

Being a sewer worker would be crappy