The Day the Cow Called in Sick

Depending on how old you are, you’ve most likely held a super random job at one point in your life. I’ve had some fun jobs, some awesome jobs, some ridiculous jobs; but the three below are by far the best. Not because they were my favorite (the first one isn’t even a real job) but because they made the best stories.

Job #1: Selling Magazine Subscriptions for Weepuls

What childhood is complete without a door-to-door sales job? If you were born outside the years 1983 and 1996, you most likely don’t know what Weepuls were. Let me enlighten you. They were multi-colored cotton balls, with googly eyes glued on them and a sticker on the bottom for feet. For the lucky kid (and parents) who sold the equivalent of about $3,000 of magazine subscriptions, you received a manila envelope with 45 cents worth of collectible cotton balls. And yes, we LIVED for the school assembly day when the Weepuls vendor came to town and disclosed the Weepul theme of the year. My personal favorite, Super Hero Weepuls.Weepuls

Job #2: Selling Girl Scout Cookies

This was when I discovered I wasn’t very competitive. After I’ve completed something once, I most likely won’t want to do it again. This includes Pinterest projects, running a marathon, getting published, and selling Girl Scout cookies. Somewhere around my third season as a Girl Scout, there was a tie at the end of the season for most cookies sold and the winner was to be awarded a Girl Scout Association t-shirt with a bumble bee on it. There was some pageant-mom style uproar about the Association not being prepared for the possibility of two winners. I never really cared about getting free stuff, especially if I didn’t need it so I just let the other girl have the shirt and sat there, happy as a clam, eating my Thin Mints. This was also the year my feet went from a size 5 to a size 8. I blame the Tagalongs.Thin Mint Pic

Job #3, 4, 5 and 6 were a blur… most likely under-the-table, oddball jobs that I won’t waste your time with. I can remember wearing overalls to one of them, everyday, but WAY before they were actually cool.

Job #7: Chick-fil-A Cow

Not my proudest moment, but definitely one of my dad’s favorite stories so here it goes. I turned 18 and two days later, decided I was going to take a year off to…. travel. Yeah, let’s go with that. During my “gap year” I took a job at a Chick-fil-A in Statesboro, GA. Other than Sue, a woman who sat on a stool wearing Depends, there was nothing but college students employed there. Aside from Sue, it was actually fun. Free food, lots of cleaning and organizing, and I saw all of the disgusting inner workings of a fast food kitchen. I was told I could have a long career at Chick-fil-A if I kept it up. I felt proud that this private school educated, sheltered white girl from SoCal had such an impact on upper management (insert naïve 18-year-old thought bubble here). But my career path at Chick-fil-A was short lived.

Before I proceed, let me introduce Heather. Heather was a petite, Southern belle who worked three hours a week, every Saturday, from 11:00 – 2:00. What also happened every Saturday, from 11:00 – 2:00, was the Chick-fil-A mascot visited the restaurant and stood on the corner, waving like an idiot at every Confederate flag covered pick-up truck that drove by. One particular Saturday, I came in and was stopped by my manager who proceeded to ask, “You always wear tank tops under your work shirt right?” I always wore two shirts so of course my answer was, hesitantly, “Yes?” He proceeded to tell me how Heather called out sick and because of multiple reasons including the fact that I had a tank top under my work shirt; I would need to fill in. Um, I’m sorry, what? My act of trying to fit in with the crowd, drink Bud Light, eat fried chicken, wear Abercrombie, and smoke cigarettes was thrown directly out the fast food window. I stood there staring at him with my private school education and thought, hell no. No. Not Happening. You’re hilarious, but no.Chik Fil A Cow

Around 11:23am that Saturday morning, I stood on the corner sweating my “Eat Mor Chikin’” ass off as I waved at yet another pick-up truck. At that point in time I decided it was time to throw in the towel. Within two days, I was on a plane heading home and swore to myself I would never step foot in that state again.

 

I hope this made you giggle or at least brought back some of your own work memories! Side note, I was recently asked to go to a conference; in Georgia. I tactfully declined as I had “other commitments.”

Your multi-talented friend forever (unless you move to GA),

28 & Holding

 

 

 

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