When that uni b inc kicks in we'll never have to work again.

I started tutoring calculus when I was 15. I had a brief job as a dishwasher. And then I started teaching as an undergraduate teaching assistant. I've been teaching math my whole life since then.

I flipped burgers, flipped some more burgers, got a summer job converting visualization code from FORTRAN to C in a physics lab, which made me all full and myself and such. Flipped some more burgers, got a job running the campus film association, flipped more burgers, got a job running a section of applied materials lab, coolest job ever. I was the master of the hydraulic testing machine. I get to pull on steel bars until they break, crush concrete blocks until they explode, play with liquid nitrogen and even liquid helium to see what that does to materials. Ran labs for freshmen and sophomore, became a TA, got a gob with USGS testing ground water, write ground water modeling software in FORTRAN, did field work drilling wells for USGS, then I graduated and got a real job.

Burger flipping too much of a challenge for you?

Boru

(April 23, 2021 at 2:00 pm)BrianSoddingBoru4 Wrote: Burger flipping too much of a challenge for you?

Boru

Indeed, I tried hard to escape it.  

But just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.

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BTW, I also had a brief job as a cosmetic surgeon.   When I intimated I have access to liquid nitrogen, a very brave soul of judgement as yet Untempered by experience asked if I can remove a skin mole for her.   

I did, and she lived.

Never had a job until I turned 18. Mostly because I was a teen mom, busy taking care of my kids. Does that count as a job. Part of me feels like it almost should. Kids + Going to school = no time for a job.

(April 23, 2021 at 3:05 pm)Anomalocaris Wrote:

(April 23, 2021 at 2:00 pm)BrianSoddingBoru4 Wrote: Burger flipping too much of a challenge for you?

Boru

Indeed, I tried hard to escape it.  

But just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.

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BTW, I also had a brief job as a cosmetic surgeon.   When I intimated I have access to liquid nitrogen, a very brave soul of judgement as yet Untempered by experience asked if I can remove a skin mole for her.   

I did, and she lived.

I know what you mean about escaping. One of the chief reasons I became a musician was that, by the age of 10, I’d had enough of farming. A noble and vital profession, to be sure, but not for me.

Boru

Up until the age of fifteen chores around the house, washing dishes, hoovering, cleaning rooms, mowing the 3/4 acre garden and some brushcutting and wood chopping got me my £5 a week pocket money. I would also have helped out during baling season with the neighbouring farmers during the summer. Between fifteen and seventeen I had a one day a week job at the local petrol station doing car-washes, filling petrol, fixing punctures and general storeroom management (ie humping boxes of produce in and out of the store). After that I was in college and various summerjobs in the likes of Tescos and night jobs in bars and night clubs tided me over until I graduated into full time work.

Edit to say: The general housework was a great grounding for living in my own place, in addition to what I mentioned I also learned how to cook, iron, sew and lots of other stuff you need to do for yourself. I'm fully domesticated.

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(April 23, 2021 at 3:41 pm)Divinity Wrote: Never had a job until I turned 18.  Mostly because I was a teen mom, busy taking care of my kids.  Does that count as a job.  Part of me feels like it almost should.  Kids + Going to school = no time for a job.

Being a mother is the biggest, hardest job.

I didn't have any out of family jobs as a kid or teen. My jobs as a kid were chores. 

The one I fucking hated the most, and they didn't even give me an allowance for, was, in the fall and winter, sweeping these brown "pea pod" shaped leaves (not pea pods, mind you, just tiny brown dead leaves shaped like beef and snow pea shaped leaves. I had about 12 or 16 steps from the back porch, down to the basement of the townhouse. The brown leaves would get wet, and stick to the concrete like a stamp. My late mother would not be happy untill every leaf was gone. It didn't matter that sometimes I would get to the point of grating my fingertips and fingernails to pick up each leaf. It wasn't a matter of simply sweeping. I don't know the species of tree that left those leaves. But when they got wet, it was like trying to peal Crazy Glue from sandpaper.

Handing dad the wrong size socket.