Like many college students, I returned home this summer to find a job. I have been pretty lucky in the past - never great pay but good bosses and co-workers, and nothing too stressful. This summer, I learned that all good things must come to an end.
When I applied to the Mississippi River Museum, I didn't expect anything too difficult. I would be working in the cafe, so I would just make sandwiches and fill drinks.
Little did I know that I was sorely underestimating the job from hell.
The warning signs were there, though. I was suspicious when my application was lost twice, though that could have just been bad luck. I was a little worried when the manager was 20 minutes late for my interview, but everyone is late sometimes.
However, the job seemed to grow even shadier, as the woman who hired me was fired in the three days between my interview and call back. Still, I needed a job, and they were willing to hire.
The first day I arrived at 9 a.m. and was ready to go. Unfortunately, the staff leader who was supposed to train me was not so ready; she was 45 minutes late and quite hung over. So I learned to open the cafe on my own as she clung to a bucket back in the kitchen and called out orders every so often.
At 11 a.m. the rest of the workers came in and the real fun started. The two 16-year-old boys were just hilarious, as one greeted me by spitting at my shoe and the other used a wrestling move on me, pinning me to the counter. His girlfriend, the cook, saw this and screamed at me to stop hitting on her boyfriend."" I was off to an amazing start with this crowd.
I thought things would calm down as the customers started filing in, but once again, God was not on my side. Willy and his girlfriend decided to get in a huge fight and started throwing trays at each other in the kitchen, while Patrick found a can of cooking spray and a lighter and threw fireballs at me as I worked the cash register. The staff leader made a feeble attempt to take control, telling Pat the Pyro that if he wanted to make fireballs to do it in the kitchen instead of at the register. He set her bucket on fire.
Needless to say, it was not a very good sales day. I didn't know how to work the register, which was fine because all our customers left when they saw Willy and Pat throwing flaming dishrags at each other.
As I wondered how this collection of fine upstanding citizens all came to hold jobs here, one of the department heads came in to count money. It was then I found out that Pat the Pyro and Sarah, Willy's girlfriend, were the head of the department's kids. Basically, I had met Satan and would be working with his spawn all summer.
You must be thinking, surely things got better? No, my friends, if anything, things got steadily worse. In my two months in hell, I went through four managers and twice as many co-workers. After multiple burns, 12-hour no-overtime shifts and learning so many wrestling moves I could've made varsity, I put in my two weeks notice and began training the newest hellion to join the crew.
She was a 17-year-old high school drop out who went through a pack of cigarettes in her 6-hour shift. I wasn't really surprised when she quit the next morning or to find $20 dollars missing from the drawer.
However, it was my last day, and as my newest boss came to curse me out over the missing money, I held my head high and walked out, waving goodbye with just one finger.
If you want to share summer stories or compare wrestling techniques with Megan, e-mail her at mcorbett2@wisc.edu.
